Page 2 of Love's a Glitch
Before I’d resent the picture during my texting spree of regret, I’d drawn a big heart around us and added a caption about how we could be that happy again, if only he’d call me back. “Why, Cupid, why? I’ve done nothing but love you!”
When my attempts to shut down my phone didn’t work, I passed it around to see if any of my friends could succeed where I couldn’t. Thanks to my job, people often considered me some tech whiz, but obviously, the only thing I was a whiz at was sabotaging my life with my awkwardness.
There was talk of removing the battery, which used to be easier back in the day when we carried around bulkier phones. After fighting with my phone cover, I finally managed to remove it. Then I simply gaped at my cell. Where was the battery, and how did I yank that bitch out? I dropped my head to the table, thunking it a few times, and I really hoped the mushy chunk of food was a fry, as opposed to something grosser. Not that I considered fried potatoes proper forehead attire, but I needed a victory right now, regardless of how small.
Since I didn’t want to detain Archer and Penny any longer from going and getting it on, I summoned what strength I had left, rolled my cheek against the table so it could take a turn at fry mashing, and told them to go on ahead. “Cat and I can handle this… if there’s anything left of my social life to handle once the update is finished having its way with me.”Couldn’t it have at least used some lube?
Thirty minutes and I-lost-count of how many cocktails later, a white apple with a bite missing lit my phone screen. I quickly pulled up my messages, hoping it’d justseemedlike they’d resent.
My stomach bottomed out. “It sent them all. Every text, every DM, everyeverything.”
Cat nudged the last of my drink toward me and I sipped, wondering when I’d ordered a Long Island iced tea. I blamed them for the whole desperate texting Dillon incident in the first place, so I’d given them up.
Dammit, Drunk Ellie. You make the worst decisions.Too late to do much about it now, so I went ahead and downed the last of the boozy AF cocktail.
My phone chimed, and I frowned at the first text.
Trey:If this is a booty call, I’m down. But as I told you before, I’m not looking for a relationship, so unless you’ve changed your stance on hooking up, I’m not sure why you’re texting.
“I didn’t mean to!”I yelled at him. Well, at his message, turning the screen toward Catalina so she could read his insulting response.
“What an asshole.” She gestured for the phone. “Here, I’ll send him a reply he won’t soon forget.”
I curled my cell to my chest. “While he definitely deserves one of your signature ball buster speeches, I’ve done enough damage with this phone tonight.”
Another buzz, and I sucked in a breath in an attempt to steel myself.
Brock:This text really upset my girlfriend. Now she’s asking to read ALL my messages and interrogating me about my late nights at the office. Wasn’t ruining our dinner enough?
A twinge traveledthrough my chest. As if I’d want a repeat with that guy. We’d been eating at a restaurant when I’d found a strand of hair in my food. I’d quietly shown it to the waiter, purposely not making a big deal about it, as it happened. People were busy and distracted in the kitchen—I knew because I’d worked in the service industry to put myself through college.
Brock had launched into a tirade, gaining the attention of everyone in the restaurant and demanding our food be comped. I’d insisted he stop being rude, which had caused him to turn his rudeness on me.
“It’s not a surprise he’s still an entitled jerk,” I said to Catalina, “but how is it that he has a girlfriend and no one wants to date me?”
My bestie slung her arm over my shoulders and pulled me into a side hug. “You know that’s not true. Tons of real men would love to date you. You just happen to have standards, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“You mean I’m too picky.” My friends did their best to avoid implying it, but I’d seen their expressions while explaining why I’d written off or dumped a guy. Occasionally, I felt the need to make up a good excuse, when the reality was I just knew they weren’t the one, so why waste my time or theirs?
“Not at all. You don’t settle, and I admire that about you. You’re willing to fight for what you want, and trust me, you’re also worth fighting for.” Cat’s words hardly sank in, my doubts rising too fast to combat them. Perhaps I had been too hasty with some of the men I’d met online and dated, never giving them the chance they fully deserved.
A couple of months ago, I’d signed up for a newsletter from a dating coach, and the last one he’d sent about making snap judgments hit hard. He stated that while many of his clients expected instant chemistry, it took time to build, and that true intimacy required even more.
Milo:Hey, it’s been a while. I’d love to grab dinner sometime.
A soft squishysensation went through me. “Aww, look. Someone who doesn’t hate me.”
Cat scratched her crumpled brow. “Which one was he? The one that said ‘supposably’ and ‘expecially’?”
“No, that was Chaz.” That dude was hands-down the hottest guy I’d ever gone out with. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been a thought in his head besides going to the gym and talking about going to the gym. “For the record, those weren’t the only words he slaughtered. He once told me to be more ‘pacific,’ and he constantly argued with me about what happened in recent news stories, and he was always wrong.”
Had I done a lot of googling to prove to him that I was right? Yes, yes I had.
Did he find it cute and quirky? No, no he didn’t. He’d just grunted a “whatever” and then we’d repeat the cycle. I’d been fairly certain we’d never be a love match, but I’d been so sick of going on first dates, so I figured he and I could enjoy some casual, mutual-satisfactory fun—Cat had been on me for a while to try it out, like she did with her bang buddy, Emmett. There were some nice things about Chaz, too. For instance, he loved when I squeezed his muscles as I admired them, and I loved admiring and squeezing them. That probably made me a hypocrite, adoring the results of the gym but not the incessant discussions about protein, workout routines, and talk of how many carbs were in every single bite of food I ate in front of him.
Spending time with him left me feeling like an addict, to the point I’d hidden candy bars around my apartment so I could take bites under the guise of grabbing a nice tall glass of calorie-free water.
“Milo’s the one who wrote me poems about our dates,” I reminded Cat, and a lightbulb flashed on over her head.
