one of those and I’m always freezing.”

I gesture toward her outfit. “I can see that. Do you always sleep in that? It looks…cozy.”

Oddly, she can pull it off. I’ve seen many women of all shapes and sizes and enjoyed exploring just about every body type offered to me, and I’ve never really cared about what they wore because I was more focused on what was underneath. But Rylee looks cute in the too-big clothes hanging off her body, and it’s almost endearing to see her fidget.

Tugging on the sweatshirt, she shifts on her feet until she decides to sit down on the arm of the couch. “Mostly. My old roommate used to get annoyed with me because I liked keeping the apartment warm. She thought it felt like hell, and I’d be in at least two layers with a blanket on me.”

The tidbit interests me, so I don’t let the opportunity slip away to ask about her previous situation. “Is this roommate still around?”

She shakes her head. “She moved to New York City to chase her dreams. I’m happy for her, but that was sort of the end of the end for me. My best friend sent me a ton of potential places I could look at, but I’d need a roommate still to split the costs and there’s a lot I need to consider before I commit.”

“Like?”

Her lips rub together, her eyes aimlessly staring at the TV. “My job. Steady work. I don’t want to get somebody’s hope up and then let them down by not being able to keep up my end of the deal. That’s not how I was raised. Tiffany would have to pay a little more than her half on the months I couldn’t get paid what I needed for my share so we wouldn’t lose the apartment. She never complained, but still.”

I respect that, even if I still don’t appreciate her type of employment. “Are the places your friend found around here?”

Her eyes trail off. “Yeah. Most of them aren’t horribly priced, either. I’ve been looking on Craigslist—”

“Craigslist?” I cut in, staring at her in disbelief. “Are you a snag short of a barbie, love?

“Am I a…? What does that even mean?” She blinks, her nose scrunching as she gives me a confused look. “Do you just randomly remember that you’re Australian when you talk sometimes? It’s hard to tell.”

I roll my eyes. “Are you stupid? Daft? A moron? Some things sound better the way we say them. Less insulting, in this case.”

“What sounds better?”

“Things like…brekkie.”

“Brekkie,” Rylee repeats slowly, eyes narrowing. “Is that breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t you just say breakfast?”

“Brekkie is shorter. You Americans always make things longer than they need to be. Australia is a mouthful too, but I won’t go into the specifics of why we don’t waste our time with proper names because that’s not what we’re talking about.”

“It could be.”

I eye her. “Craigslist is the worst place to find a roommate. There are actual killers on there. You’d be better off asking around.”

“Killers exist everywhere,” she points out matter-of-factly. “I could randomly meet someone and think they’d be the perfect roomie, and then find out the hard way that Ted Bundy is their idol. And who am I going to ask? I don’t really know anybody here besides the people I’ve worked with or worked uncovering.”

One of my brows arch. “Uncovering, huh? Perhaps your job is more interesting than I gave it credit for.”

“You know what I mean.” She sighs, sliding onto the cushion closest to her and curling her legs toward her chest, hugging her arms around them. “I know you don’t like what I do, and I get it. I don’t always like it either. But it is a job. For now, at least.”

I can’t help but wonder, “Is this what you’ve always wanted to do?”

There’s a moment of quiet, contemplation swirling in her eyes as she stares off. “Yes and no. I’ve always wanted to write. I thought I’d be a journalist, not a tabloid writer. But when opportunity knocks…”

We fall into silence, save the television on as background noise. I won’t reprimand her for doing what she has to because I have no right. Everyone does something they’re not proud of at least once in their lives. At least Rylee has the sense to feel bad about it.

Eventually, she breaks the quiet. “My family doesn’t know that I lost the apartment. Or that I’m struggling.”

Shifting my body to face her, I ask, “Why not?”

“Do you like worrying the people you care about?”

Fair point. “No. It’s never fun.”

She gives me a pointed look. “They’ve always supported me in my endeavors and made sure I knew I had a home to come back to whenever I needed it. But I was determined to prove to them I’d make it on my own out here. And I’ve done a fairly good job up until recently. The last thing I want to admit is defeat at 25, even if they’d get me the first ticket they could and welcome me home.”

I watch her for a moment, noticing the way her soft features ease when she talks about her family. I can relate. “You’re close with them.”

“Yes.”

I smile. “I am with mine too.”

She cringes. “I know.”

“Ah.” I suppose someone in her position would know that. “Right.”

Resting her chin on her bent knees, she stifles a sigh. “I love my family, but I love being here and being independent. Except, I’m not independent anymore because my job hasn’t been picking up any of my stories, I have no insurance, I’m constantly worrying about if I can afford my medicine, and it’s…” Words fading, she shakes her head.

Hearing the waver of her tone, I offer what little comfort I can. “You can still be independent while letting people help you, Rylee. Nobody can strip that from you.”

Her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth, like she wants to believe me but doesn’t know if she can. Swiping it over her bottom lip, she

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