Page 44 of Love Me Stalk Me
His eyes darken slightly, but he sits up straighter. "The owner of this place is also a nutritionist," he says, like this is supposed to be impressive. "I hired them to help you with your diet."
I just stare. I wait for him to laugh, to say it's a joke, that he isn't actually doing this.
But he doesn't.
He just looks at me expectantly.
Like I should be grateful. Like this is the best gift he could possibly give me—professional help to fix what he sees as my greatest flaw.
Like I should thank him for pointing out, yet again, that my body doesn't meet his standards.
A slow, simmering anger rises in my chest. For a brief moment, I think I'm finally going to say something. I think I'm going to tell him off, to tell him exactly what I think about him treating me like I'm some kind of problem he needs to fix. The words build in my throat, a pressure seeking release.
But then he gives me that look. The one that says there's no arguing with him on this. The one that says if I fight back, he'll just twist it around until somehow, it's my fault. And maybe he's right.
Maybe working with a nutritionist won't be so bad. Maybe I do need to be better about my diet. Maybe I am overreacting. I swallow back everything I want to say, shrug my shoulders, and say, "Okay."
Evan smiles, like this is proof that he was right all along. Then, like clockwork, he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling.The waitress comes back, setting down some kind of kale dish that looks like it was blended with despair and garnished with disappointment.
I take one bite.
It tastes like grass.
I chew.
I swallow.
And I tell myself not to cry.
HE MADE HER CRY. I'M GOING TO END HIM.
CAL
Izzy saidshe had alast-minute meeting.
I didn't buy it.
And sure enough, when I glanced at the security feed a few minutes later, I saw her getting into Evan's car.
Jealousy hits me immediately, raw and unwelcome. I shouldn't feel this way about a woman who isn't mine, who has a boyfriend, who I barely know outside of surveillance feeds and brief interactions. But I do.
I'm feeling anger, mostly, pulsing through my veins.
Possessive in a way I have no right to be.
Dangerous because I know exactly how far I'm willing to go.
I should not be this pissed about her going out with her own boyfriend.
Except, it's not about that. It's not about him being her boyfriend. It's about the fact that he's Evan. And I know—with absolute certainty—that he's going to do something to hurt her feelings tonight. The pattern is too clear, too consistent to ignore.
I know that because I know his type. The kind of guy who doesn't appreciate what he has. The kind of guy who thinks love is about control, about shaping someone into the version of themselves that's most convenient for him. I've seen it in how he treats her, how he talks to her, how he barely acknowledges her presence.
And Izzy—Jesus. She's too good for that.
She deserves better.
I check her GPS feed, the blue dot pulsing on my screen. She's at some health-conscious restaurant. The location shows a place with a 4.5-star rating and a menu full of words like "sustainable," "organic," and "grain-free."
