Page 78 of Love Me Stalk Me
I snap my head up, suddenly alert. "No. You are not getting my phone again."
"Then let me educate you."
I narrowmy eyes, suspicion mixing with curiosity. "How?"
She grabs her own phone and tosses it onto the table. It lands with a clatter among the lime wedges and salt spills. "Read my chat."
I stare at it like it might bite me. The screen glows innocuously in the neon bar lighting. "You're just... handing me your phone?"
Amanda sips her drink, completely unbothered. "I'm not embarrassed about my sexuality. Go on, read it."
I hesitate, finger hovering over the screen.
Then, slowly, I pick it up.
I start reading.
"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, AMANDA." The words burst from me louder than intended, drawing startled looks from the table next to us.
Amanda, still casually eating chips, doesn't even flinch. "What?"
I gape at the screen, reading and re-reading the explicit chat history that would make even the most adventurous romance novels blush. The words blur slightly, whether from tequila or shock, I'm not sure. "What did I just—WHAT DID I JUST READ?"
She takes another sip, completely unbothered by my reaction. The ice clinks against her glass. "Oh yeah. That was last night's sexy bedtime story."
I stare at her, momentarily speechless.
"Chad tells me a sexy bedtime story to make me come every night." She winks, utterly shameless.
I drop the phone like it's infected, pushing it across the table with one finger. The screen goes dark as it slides away.
"Amanda, that—that story." I shake my head, trying to unsee the words, the vivid descriptions, the utterly filthy scenarios her AI had concocted. "That was?—"
"Hot as hell." She licks salt from her fingers without breaking eye contact, a slow smile playing on her lips. "Me walking down a dark alleyway, and four extremely attractive men can't stop themselves because I'm so unbelievably gorgeous, and they just descend on me, and after my consent is more than enthusiastically given, they proceed to pound into every single one of my holes until I can't think straight."
I slap a hand over my face, fingers spreading to peek through them. "You’re insane."
She’s completely undeterred by my embarrassment. "What? It's fantasy."
I peer at her from between my fingers, curiosity overcoming mortification. "So... that's something you want?"
Amanda laughs, the sound bright and genuine. "Noooo, not in real life. But it's hot in my head. That's what fantasy is for."
"It's kind of like—" she gestures vaguely with a chip, thinking, searching for theright analogy.
Then she snaps her fingers.
"Like wanting to be an assassin but only in a video game. You don't actually want to kill people, but you do want to be a badass with a sniper rifle for a few hours."
I try to process this perspective. The tequila makes her logic seem surprisingly sound. "That... actually makes sense."
Amanda nods triumphantly. "Exactly. The app is perfect for that. You get to be unhinged in a safe space."
I swirl my margarita, chewing on that thought. The ice has melted considerably, making the drink weaker but somehow that’s worse—easier to drink quickly, to forget it contains alcohol at all.
Maybe she's right.
Maybe I should be more... daring.
