Page 56 of Love Me Stalk Me
I want the kind that sound like you can’t take it anymore.
Oh my god.
Logging off now?
Forever.
You keep saying that.
This time I mean it.
Mmhmm.
Goodbye.
Goodnight, pretty girl.
I’ll be thinking about those moans.
…
I hate you.
No, you don’t.
Logging off.
Sweet dreams.
IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT’S AMANDA’S FAULT
IZZY
I tossmy phone onto my nightstand like it personally offended me and start pacing my apartment, the wooden floors cool beneath my bare feet. My heart races, my body still warm from the conversation I just had. Because what the hell was that? I shouldn't have sent those photos. I know that. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me about boundaries and relationships and common sense.
But I did.
And Caleb's last message?
I'll be thinking about those moans.
A shiver crawls up my spine, heat curling in places I don't want to acknowledge. I groan, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it, the fabric muffling the sound of my frustration and lingering arousal.
This is officially my rock bottom.
With a dramatic sigh, I plop onto my bed, the mattress sinking beneath my weight as I look up at the ceiling, willing my brain to shut off.
It does not shut off. Instead, it starts running a three-ring circus of my personal disasters. Dinner with Evan should have gone differently. I should have been madder. I should have told him off. I should have shoved the not-bread-bread down his throat and walked out. I should have made a scene worthy of a reality TV highlight reel.
But I didn't.
I folded.
Because fighting with Evan is like arguing with a lawyer on the stand—he twists everything until somehow, it's my fault. And I don't have the energy for that. I never do, and he knows it.
But then there's Caleb. How much I told him. Howeasy it was to just... say things. Because it can't come back on me. There's a freedom in confessing to someone who isn't real, who can't judge you, who won't use your vulnerability against you later.
If I tell my family about Evan?
