Page 47 of The Boyfriend Algorithm

“It’s a word if I say it’s a word.” But he steps back, gives me a nod—not the approval nod, not yet, just the I’m not done with you nod—and moves back toward the bar.

Ruby’s hand finds my arm. Her fingers press briefly, a silent thank you that I feel in my entire body.

Josh arrives at 8:47 p.m.

I know it’s Josh before Ruby tells me because I’ve studied his Instagram and I recognize his face—the practiced ease of his smile, the way he enters a room expecting to be welcomed. He’s wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and there’s a woman next to him—blonde, attractive, her hand on his arm—and that’s Audrey. Her dress is orange and red and seems to accentuate her bottom.

I look at Ruby.

Her smile changes. This one is thinner. Tighter. If I hadn’t spent eleven days memorizing every variation of her expressions, I might not notice the difference. But I have, and I do, and the sight of her real smile being replaced by a fake one generates a response in me that is…unpleasant.

I don’t like Josh.

This is notable because I don’t dislike anyone. I’ve never experienced this before—not with the lab technicians, not with Gemma’s pointed questions, not with Ben’s interrogation. Those interactions generated caution, or curiosity, or the neutral non-response of encountering someone who simply exists in the same space. But Josh generates something different. Something hot and tight that sits in my chest and makes my hands want to do things I haven’t authorized.

He hasn’t even spoken to me yet. I dislike him based entirely on the fact that Ruby’s smile just changed because he walked into a room. A man who can alter Ruby’s happiness by simply being present is a man I have a problem with.

This must be what hostility feels like. It’s very unpleasant. I understand why humans try to avoid it.

Josh sees Ruby. His face does the thing I expected from his Instagram—the wide, easy smile, the slight widening of the eyes that’s supposed to communicate pleasant surprise but reads to me as performance.

“Ruby! Hey!” He’s walking toward us, Audrey in tow. “You look great. Wow. And who’s this?”

He extends his hand to me. I take it. I don’t match his grip the way I matched Ben’s—I exceed it. Not by much. Just enough that his smile flickers for a fraction of a second before he recovers.

“Aiden,” I say. “Ruby’s boyfriend.”

The word feels different tonight than it did in the lobby. Heavier. More deliberate. I’m not just identifying myself. I’m marking my territory, and I know this isn’t rational, and I know it isn’t part of the backstory Gemma built, and I don’t care.

“Great, man, that’s great.” Josh claps my shoulder and turns to Ruby. “So how’s the bakery? Still hanging in there?”

Still hanging in there.

Like it’s a hobby. Like it’s a lemonade stand she runs on the weekend. Like the thing Ruby pours her entire life into is something small and quaint and barely worth mentioning.

I think of several curse words I’ve never used before.

Ruby’s jaw tightens. I see it. I’m standing close enough now—half a step closer than I was a moment ago, close enough that my arm brushes hers—and I feel the tension move through her body before she covers it with a laugh.

“It’s going great, actually,” she says. The performed voice. The performed smile. “Really busy.”

“That’s awesome. Oh—babe, come here.” Josh reaches back for Audrey and pulls her forward with a hand on her waist. The gesture is casual and possessive in a way that I notice and Ruby notices and neither of us comments on. “Aiden, Ruby, this is my fiancée, Audrey.”

Audrey steps forward and she’s warm in a way that is clearly genuine. She extends her hand to me first—firm grip, direct eye contact, real smile. Then she turns to Ruby.

“Ruby, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Josh has told me so much about you.”

This is a kind thing to say. It is also, based on everything I know about human social interactions, almost certainly not true.

“We should come by the bakery sometime, right babe?” Josh turns to Audrey, who nods, and I dislike him more.

He’s shorter than I expected. Five-eight, maybe five-nine. Average build, average face, the kind of man who relies on confidence to fill the space his presence doesn’t. I’ve studied his Instagram. He looks better in photos, where he controls the angles. In person, standing in a room with Ruby four feet away, he looks like exactly what he is—a man who had something extraordinary and mistook it for ordinary.

Ruby is nervous. I can feel it in the arm pressed against mine—a faint tremor, the rapid pulse at her wrist.

I want to calm her. I want to take the nervousness away. I want to stand between her and every person in this room who makes her feel like less than what she is.

So I stop thinking about the plan.