Page 71 of The Boyfriend Algorithm

“I don’t see how caring more is an unfair advantage,” Aiden says.

Nobody has a comeback for that.

Avery looks at him for another long moment, then picks up her wine and takes a slow sip. “The guy’s name is Derek,” she says to Aiden. “If I show you his texts, will you tell me what you think?”

“I would be happy to analyze Derek’s communication patterns.”

“This is not happening,” I say. “You are not making my synthetic boyfriend your relationship advisor.”

“He’s already better than my therapist,” Avery says, pulling out her phone. “And he’s free.”

Aiden leans toward Avery’s phone with the same focused intensity he gave Kevin the French bulldog, scrolling through her text messages.

We’re splitting the check when Aiden leans close to me. His mouth is near my ear, and his voice is low, and I feel the warmth of his breath on my neck.

“Ruby.”

“Mm.”

“When we get home, can I do that thing you liked? With my tongue?”

I choke on my water.

Gemma looks up. Liv’s head snaps around. Avery pauses mid-sip.

“You okay?” Liv asks, eyes wide, already suspicious.

“Fine.” I’m coughing. My eyes are watering. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

“Are you sure? Because you look—”

“I’m FINE.”

Under the table, Aiden’s hand rests on my knee. Warm. Steady. His thumb traces a slow circle on my skin, and his face is perfectly innocent, and I know—I know with absolute certainty—that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Check please,” I say to no one in particular, and Aiden’s thumb keeps moving, and Liv is squinting at me like she’s solving a puzzle, and somewhere across the patio Kevin the French bulldog barks once, and Aiden’s head swivels, and I realize this is my life now.

A dog-obsessed synthetic man who says the worst things at the best times and the best things at the worst times, and I chose this, and I’d choose it again, and my ears are red, and I don’t care.

We leave the bar. Aiden holds the door. Of course he does.

“Text us when you get home,” Liv says, hugging me. Then she leans in and whispers, “The tongue thing?”

“Goodbye, Liv.”

“I need details, Ruby. I need them to survive.”

“You’ll survive without them.”

“Debatable.” She pulls back and points at me. “Tomorrow. Call me. I want a full report.”

“You’re not getting one.”

“I’ll wear you down. I always do.” She turns to Aiden. “Aiden, it was lovely as always. Take care of her.”

“I intend to,” he says, and the way he says it—simple, certain, like a vow he doesn’t know he’s making—makes Liv go soft for a second before she catches herself and puts her sunglasses on and walks away.

Avery hugs me next. Quick, tight. “You’re happy,” she says. Not a question.