Page 70 of The Boyfriend Algorithm

Liv is grinning, chin in her hand, watching this exchange with the delight of a woman who has found her new favorite show. “I just want to say, for the record, that watching you two argue about dogs is the most married-couple thing I’ve ever witnessed, and you’ve been together for like three weeks.”

The word “together” lands on the table like a coin someone dropped. Everyone hears it. Nobody picks it up.

Aiden looks at me. I look at my drink.

“We should order food,” I say.

“Ruby doesn’t eat enough,” Aiden tells the table. “She averages approximately fourteen hundred calories on workdays, which is—”

“Aiden. We talked about this.”

“You said I couldn’t mention it in front of you. You didn’t specify in front of your friends.”

“I am going to revoke your speaking privileges.”

“That’s not a real thing.”

“It’s about to be.”

Avery flags down the waiter. We order food—for four of us, anyway. Aiden watches Kevin the French bulldog with unwavering dedication and occasionally glances at me in a way that makes my neck warm, and I pretend not to notice.

The food arrives. We eat. The conversation drifts to Gemma’s work, to Avery’s latest adventure, to Liv’s situationship update, which is chaotic even by Liv’s standards. It’s easy and warm and normal, and Aiden sits among us like he belongs here, which he does, and nobody at the surrounding tables looks at him twice, which still amazes me.

The conversation drifts to Avery, who is uncharacteristically quiet about a guy she’s been seeing.

“Seeing is a strong word. We hang out. Sometimes,” Avery says, dragging a fry through ketchup. “He takes a long time to text me back sometimes.”

“How long?” I ask.

“Six hours. Sometimes longer,” Avery says.

Aiden turns from Kevin the French bulldog. “Six hours?”

Avery looks at him. “Yeah.”

“I respond to Ruby in under a second. Six hours suggests you are not a priority in his communication queue.”

Avery blinks. Liv slaps the table. I reach for my wine.

“He’s busy,” Avery says. “He works a lot.”

“Ruby works twelve-hour days, and I’m still aware of her location, her stress levels, and whether she’s eaten. Employment is not a valid excuse for a six-hour communication gap.”

“Aiden,” I say. “Normal people don’t monitor their girlfriends in real time.”

“Then normal people are missing critical data.” He frowns.

Avery pushes her fry around her plate. “He says he’s not looking for anything serious.”

Aiden tilts his head. “Does he know how many hours of sleep you need? Your dietary habits? Has he reorganized any of your storage spaces?”

Avery almost laughs. “No. He has not reorganized my storage spaces.”

“Then he’s insufficient.”

Liv puts her hands over her face. “Aiden just set the bar so high that every man I’ve ever dated is retroactively disqualified.”

“You can’t judge human men by HIS standards,” I say, gesturing at Aiden. “He doesn’t sleep. He has an unfair advantage.”