Page 12 of Love Me Stalk Me
I gape at her, heat rising to my cheeks. "What."
"Iknow,right? Technology is a gift."
She hands me her phone, the screen showing a text conversation with what appears to be an exceptionally attractive man who writes paragraphs instead of one-word answers. Before I can even process what I'm looking at, she snatches my phone off the desk, the case making a scraping sound against the wood.
"Okay, you're getting one too."
"Wait—"
"No arguments." She's already downloading the app, her thumbs moving rapidly across my screen. "I'm giving you the gift of the perfect man. You're welcome."
I rub my temples where the headache has now fully settled in. "This is ridiculous."
"You know what's ridiculous? Your actual boyfriend."
The comment settles in the air between us before she tilts her head. "So... are you ready to admit you need to dump his ass yet?"
I exhale slowly. "I don't?—"
"Don't what? Don't love him? Don't like him? Don't remember the last time he made you come?"
“Amanda—"
Amanda leans back against my desk, tucking my phone where I can’t reach it, one perfectly sculpted brow arched. "Tell me I'm wrong. How was yourbig celebratory dinnerwith Evan?"
I hesitate for a second too long, which is already an answer. Amanda's eyes narrow immediately, picking up on my reluctance.
I force a shrug, the fabric of my blazer tight across my shoulders. "It was fine."
She tilts her head, waiting, her silence more effective than any question.
I shift my weight onto one hip. "He was on his phone the whole time."
Her mouth opens. I know that look. I'm about to get the full dramatic, hands-in-the-air level of outrage, like a reality TV contestant about to flip a table, so I cut her off before she can start. "And then he—" I wave a hand vaguely, like brushing over the words will somehow make them more palatable. "Showed me some fitness influencer and went on abouthow great she looks."
Amanda's eyes go murderous, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm sorry, he didwhat?"
I reach for another sip of my soda, looking anywhere but at her—the window, the stack of papers on my desk, the framed retail management certification on the wall. "It wasn't that serious."
"Not thatserious?" Amanda makes a strangled noise, like she physically can't process my words. "You got a promotion. Ahugepromotion. And instead of celebrating you, he ignored you and then made you feel bad about yourself?"
"I didn't say he?—"
"Oh my God, do not start defending him." She lifts a hand, stopping me. "Because I know that tone, Izzy. That's yourI'm about to make excuses for a man who doesn't deserve themvoice."
I bristle, setting my soda down with more force than necessary. "He didn't do it on purpose."
Amanda gapes at me. "How does a grown man accidentally ignore his girlfriend and then compare her to a thirst trap on Instagram?"
I shake my head, arms crossing over my chest. "He wasn'tcomparing?—"
She barks out a laugh. "You're right.Comparisonhe thinks implies you were in the same league to begin with. He straight-up showed you another woman he finds more attractive. Do you hear yourself?"
A hollow feeling spreads through my chest. I don't want to have this conversation. Not with her. Not withmyself.Not when I already know she's right.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Amanda?—"
"Idon't get it,Izzy," she says, pushing off my desk and pacing a little. Her heels make soft impressions in the carpet with each step. "You used to have standards. You used to know your worth."
