Boundaries With My CEO

I was the textbook definition of a "velcro girlfriend." If I could have spent twenty-four hours a day physically fused to my boyfriend’s side, I would have. I was in the middle of my nightly routine—clinging to his neck and begging for one more goodnight kiss—when a flicker of strange, translucent text drifted across my vision like a live stream comment section. [Is this side-character actually brain-dead? Can’t she see the Lead is doing a tactical lean-back?] [For real. He doesn’t even want to touch her.] [He only dated her to keep the "crazy fans" away. She really thinks she’s the love of his life? Delusional.] [Almost there, guys! The real Heroine is about to make her entrance. Our little stage-five clinger is getting the boot any minute now!] I stared at the floating words, my heart dropping into the pit of my stomach. My fingers, which had been laced tightly behind Cade’s neck, slowly began to lose their grip.