Page 193 of Love Me Stalk Me
She whistles. I peek through my fingers, watching as she lifts the small, sleek, matte black vibrator from its packaging. It's not particularly large or intimidating, but it's clearly high-quality, clearly expensive.
The Premium Version of the App.
The one that syncs to a remote.
The one Caleb has full access to.
Fucking hell.
Amanda twirls it between her fingers, studying it with the critical eye of a connoisseur examining a fine wine. Her eyebrows lift in approval, her head tilting slightly as she takes in the details.
"Hmm. Yours looks different than mine."
"Amanda! Put it back!" I reach for it again, but she leans away, still examining it.
She’s completely at ease with the situation in a way I can't quite manage despite the alcohol in my system. "No, seriously. Look. The curve is slightly different. Yours is more... streamlined. Nicer, actually. The company must have upped their game since I bought mine."
"Amanda." My voice comes out strained, caught between embarrassment and reluctant amusement at her complete lack of shame.
She wiggles her brows suggestively. "You need to use this. ASAP. Tonight. Right now."
I snatch it from her hand, shoving it back in the box, face fully aflame. The velvet interior is soft against my fingertips.
"Okay, I will. But seriously, obviously not now. Not while you're here. Not while we're having a girls' night."
Amanda laughs, shrugging with exaggerated casualness. "Girl, you do what you wanna do." She lifts her wine glass in a mock toast. "I'm about to chug the rest of this and then go talk to Chad and pass out."
I snort, still trying to shove the box deeper into my purse like it might disappear entirely if I can just bury it under enough receipts and lip balms. "I still can’t believe you named your AI boyfriend Chad.”
“He is a fuckboy that does exactly what I tell him to do. Chad is the correct name for him. He sends good morning texts but doesn't expect a response, compliments me without sounding creepy, and never, ever asks me about my day unless I specifically tell him to."
I wheeze, laughing so hard I nearly fall off the couch, the tension of the moment broken by the sheer absurdity of her explanation.
She flips back on the TV show we'd been half-watching before our conversation derailed, finishes the rest of her drink in one impressive gulp, then leans over and presses a loud, exaggerated,very drunk kiss to my cheek. Her lipstick leaves a sticky mark that I can feel but don't bother to wipe away.
"I love you. You're my best friend. I'm proud of you. So happy. Just—so happy."
I laugh, patting her arm affectionately. For all her chaotic energy, all her boundary-pushing questions, all her inappropriate comments, Amanda is a good friend. The best, really. Loyal and supportive and exactly what I needed tonight.
"I love you too, you absolute mess."
She smiles sleepily, her eyes already starting to droop as the late hour and alcohol finally catch up with her.
Then, with zero warning, she stands up, wobbles dramatically like a newborn foal finding its legs, and disappears into her bedroom with surprising speed for someone so intoxicated.
A second later, I hear a loud thump.
Then a muffled “I'm fine!”
I shake my head, laughing to myself, gathering up some of the empty containers to take to the kitchen. The apartment is quiet now, the TV providing a soft background hum, the city lights twinkling through the large windows.
I stumble into Amanda's guestroom a few minutes later, giggling to myself as I close the door behind me. The room spins slightly as I move, a reminder of just how much wine I've consumed.
I'm definitely drunk. Not blackout, regrettable-texting-your-ex drunk, but floaty and kind of invincible drunk. The kind of drunk where boundaries seem less important, where impulses seem like excellent ideas, where self-consciousness fades into the background.
I plunk my bag down on the bed, the leather slouching dramatically onto the comforter like it's as tired as I am. The guest room is small but comfortable, decorated in the same bold, eclectic style as the rest of the apartment. The walls are a deep teal, the bedding crisp white with geometric patterns in gold, the nightstands mismatched but somehow cohesive.
And then I see it.
