“I don’t needmeditation, Morgan. I needBrock’s phone!”
She rolled her eyes but opened the bedside table and slipped out the cell. “One of us had to go through it. You don’t know anything about this guy you keep sneaking out to see.”
“I’m not sneaking out to see Brock, and neither of us needs to know anything about his personal life.”
Morgan grinned. “Not even about the app he has that controls a vibrator remotely? Or the pictures of his giant dick and washboard abs? What about the texts from his ex that say she can’t stop thinking about how hard he fucks her? At least let me tell you about those.” She looked down at her cell phone and turned it to showme the screen. “Four-hundred-and-twenty-thousand people want me to tell them about the Tinder messages, and it’s only been fifteen minutes since I asked if they wanted to hear another one.”
I frowned. “I can’t believe you think it’s okay to invade a person’s privacy like this. It’swrong, Morgan.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. But if what that man wrote iswrong, I don’t want to beright.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I huffed and marched out of the room with the cell phone.
Morgan yelled after me. “Wait! What will I read to my followers? I promised them two more messages!”
“Here’s an idea…” I turned back to look at her. “Read them a goodbye note. Then turn your phone in to your therapist and actually try getting some help. Because I think you need it.”
***
Hours later, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. I wasn’t happy with Morgan, but I’d managed to stop seething over what she’d done. Though not because I was any less mad. It was more that my focus had shifted. To Brock. To the photos that were only a few swipes away. To his dirty texts. To theremote vibrator app. That last one had been the center of my attention for the last hour, and I couldn’t help myself… I finally gave in and slipped the phone out from under my pillow.
On the third screen in, I was pretty certain I’d found it.
BuzzBuddy.
The name might’ve been funny if I were in the right mood. But I’d had a bug up my ass ever since Morgan had spilled about all the crap on Brock’s phone.
I stared down at the dumb app icon—a pink vibrator with a lipstick kiss on the side—anxious to click in. Though eventhatfelt like an invasion of Brock’s privacy, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I went to Google and typed in BuzzBuddy.
BuzzBuddy—control your woman’s pleasure, even when you can’t be with her.
Beneath was an article that explained how the app worked. Essentially, it connected to an insertable vibrator that could be controlled remotely. The end user could do things like increase the vibrations and add G-spot stimulation. There was also add-on hardware available, things like a clitoris massager and a prostate gland stroker.Jeez.The thing supposedly even had the ability to determine when a woman had an orgasm. I continued to scan the article, half reading and half not, until a certain sentence caught my attention.
The BuzzBuddy also records session history, including dates, times, and length of playtime.
That got me thinking…
Maybe I can just take a quick peek.
It wouldn’t be like I was reading his personal thoughts and messages.
It would only be somefacts—dates and times.
Who knew? Maybe Brock hadn’t even used the thing.
I gnawed on my lip as I closed out of Google and swiped back to the app.
Let’s face it, I was never going to sleep without checking it out now.
And I was at a mental-health facility, for God’s sake. Ihadto do what was best for my mental health, right? Sleep was too important.
I rolled my eyes at myself and groaned, yet I clicked into the stupid app anyway.
My heart raced as I poked around. It wasn’t easy to navigate, but eventually I found an option calledSession History. Clicking in, my eyes grew wide.
“Holy crap.”
There werepages and pagesof sessions. Seeing them all in black and white made me a little nauseous. But one entry in particular stopped me in my tracks. Because it had been recorded two nights ago—while I was sleeping in bed right next to Brock.