Page 183 of Love Me Stalk Me
I pull her closer, my arm firm around her waist, keeping her right where I want her for just a few more minutes.
"That's a good idea," I tell her.
She tilts her head up at me, brows knitting together.
"What?" I ask, confused at the look on her face.
She hesitates, then lets out a soft laugh, almost self-conscious. "I guess I'm just not used to a guy being supportive of me going out and spending time with my friends."
That's a fucking problem. I slide my hand down her back, a silent reassurance—I'm here. I'm not them. You’re safe.
"Get used to it, pretty girl," I murmur. "Because I like the idea of you having friends. And even though Amanda is a little disturbed?—"
She snorts, laughing against my chest. "Completely deranged," she agrees.
"Total menace to society," I add.
"She really is."
We both chuckle, shaking our heads.
But then I sober, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad she's in your life, though," I say honestly.
She inhales deeply. Then, quietly, she says, "Thank you."
I can tell she means it. Every single letter of it. She shifts a little in my arms, stretching, her fingers still drawing those lazy patterns against my skin.
"Usually, when I see Amanda, I just stay over at her place," she says. "We drink a lot, and it's just easier thatway."
That makes sense. But still.
"That's fine," I tell her. "But I can come sleep outside her door there too."
She bursts out laughing, head tipping back against the pillow. I watch her, soaking in the way she looks so fucking beautiful when she's carefree like this. Her laughter fades just slightly, and she nestles deeper into my arms, like she's trying to disappear.
"No," she mutters.
I raise a brow. "No?"
She shifts again, ducking her head a little, voice quieter than before.
"I don't wanna give Amanda access to you when she's drunk."
That makes me pause. I tilt my head, watching her, reading her. It's not jealousy. Not exactly. It's insecurity. A tiny, nagging voice in her head telling her she's not enough. That Amanda would be more appealing. That Amanda is the type of girl men choose.
I don't fucking like that.
I reach down, gripping the curve of her thigh, squeezing firm enough to steal her breath. My hand trails upward, feeling every inch of it before I tip her chin up to face me.
"Izzy, listen to me," I say, my voice steady. "Even if Amanda threw herself at me, I wouldn't go for her over you."
She stays quiet, eyes searching mine.
"You wanna know why?" I ask.
She nods, barely there. I grip her thigh again, fingers digging in slightly.
"This is what I like," I tell her. "A body with curves to grip." I trail my hand higher, up her waist, along her ribs, until I cradle her face in my palm. "A beautiful mind, a beautiful person, to go with a beautiful fucking body," I say. "Amanda is not my type. Never will be."
