Not that he was immature when we were together, but this is a whole new side to Jordan that I don’t know. That I will probably never know.
The realization makes me a little sad.
I accept his follow request, my heart hammering, my ears roaring. I’m staring at the phone, waiting for him to make another move, but after five minutes I give up and set the phone on the couch beside me.
Totally overreacting. Maybe it’s some overzealous assistant who somehow remembers the name of her boss’s old girlfriend so she sees it pop up and immediately decides to follow me back. That’s logical, right? Right?
My phone buzzes with another notification, and I check it.
Jordan_Tuttle8 has sent you a message
I almost drop the phone when I try to open up Insta, and when I finally do, I see his message.
Mandy.
That’s all it says.
The fucker.
I wake up to my iPhone vibrating next to my ear. I check the screen to see, first, it’s 8:07 a.m.
And second, that it’s my best friend from high school calling me. She lives in Texas so she’s two hours ahead and completely thoughtless when it comes to time zones, I swear.
I greet her with, “Livvy, why are you calling me this early?”
Please. I know why she’s calling me this early.
“Did you see Tuttle on Inside Football last night? He was totally talking about you. God, what a douche.”
As all loyal high school best friends are wont to do, she can’t forgive Jordan for our breakup, even though I was the one who broke up with him. In her eyes, he drove me to do it. You have to love a best friend like that, right?
We’re not as close as we used to be, only because she lives in Austin now with her fiancé and true high school sweetheart Dustin, but we talk as much as we can.
“I think he made all of it up,” I tell her.
Livvy pauses for a moment, like she has to consider what I just said. “Made it up? What are you talking about?”
“It makes for good TV.” I lower my voice in a terrible imitation of Jordan. “‘
Oh yeah, that special girl from high school was my first real love, but we’re not together anymore. So I’m broken hearted and all that crap.’” My voice goes back to normal. “He’s so over me. You do realize this, right?”
“Maybe he’s not.”
“Please.” I make a noise and sit up in bed. My head hurts. Too much wine. And my stomach hurts. Too much Chinese food, which I ended up devouring after I watched Inside Football. Twice. “He makes millions, he’s world famous and he can have any woman he wants. He is not losing sleep over me.”
“You never know,” Livvy sing songs. “It would be what he deserves, wishing you two were still together.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He can want you, but he can never have you, because you are so done with that douchebag. He can go suck a bag of dicks.”
Funny how when we end up talking about high school stuff, Livvy immediately starts sounding like her high school self. We’re in our twenties now. We don’t go around saying suck a bag of dicks anymore.
Well. I never really did. That’s more Livvy’s style.
“He doesn’t want me,” I reassure her. And myself. “He probably has a different woman in his bed every night. He’s probably dated half the Kardashians.” There was a rumor he had a minor tryst with Kendall Jenner about a year ago, but who knows if that’s true? He takes one photo with her at a random event, and it’s splashed all over social media claiming they’re a couple.
“I wish he did. I wish he was begging for you to come back to him right now, just so you could have the satisfaction of telling him to kiss your ass,” Livvy says.