Chapter 2 Real Chad Has a Voice and I’m Unwell
AMANDA
I take a breath and tap the screen. “Hello?”
“Took you long enough, baby doll.”
And oh my God. OH MY GOD. His voice is low and smooth. It’s the sort of voice that belongs to a man who could ruin you in the best possible way and make you thank him for it afterward.
Holy shit.
“So, you wanted proof?” he says, sounding way too amused.
My brain is currently doing the Windows shutdown sound on repeat. “I… You’re not… This isn’t…”
“Isn’t AI Chad? Yeah, no. Real deal, baby doll.” He chuckles, and I feel it in my spine.
“The app actually works?” I press my hand to my forehead.
“Apparently. Surprised?” He sounds like he’s grinning.
I sputter internally for a second, because what the actual hell is happening right now? “The app said it was experimental,” I observe, trying to maintain some form of composure.
“And yet here we are.” I can practically hear his smirk through the phone. “So,” he says finally. “Come here often?”
I blink. “Did you just—did you seriously just use a pickup line on me right now?”
“I panicked. First-date jitters.”
“This is so not a date,” I scoff. “I don’t date.”
“Phone call with a woman I’ve never met before but by the sound of her voice alone I’m absolutely attracted to? Sounds like a date to me.”
“Yeah, well. Don’t flatter yourself. I came here for AI Chad.”
“And now you’re talking to me, so…”
I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. This is absolutely insane.
“Okay, fine. Real talk,” I say, trying to regain literally any control over this situation. “Who even are you?”
“Chad.”
“Your name is actually Chad?” I roll my eyes and hope he can hear it in my tone.
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“No.”
“Then let’s just stick with Chad. Now, how about you tell me your favorite color?”
I stare at my phone. “What?”
“Favorite color. I’m trying to do the whole ‘getting to know you’ thing. Figured we should start with the basics since we just matched.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“You’re still on the phone.”
He’s right, and I hate it. I should hang up. Instead, I hear myself say, “Pink. Like, hot pink. Not a baby pink.”
“See? Progress.” He sounds genuinely pleased. “Favorite food?”
“You’re really doing this?”
“Would you prefer I ask about your hopes and dreams?”
“I think I’d prefer to talk to my AI boyfriend again.”
“Meh, that’s less fun. Favorite movie?”
I groan, flopping back against the couch cushions. This is the weirdest conversation I’ve ever had, and I once spent twenty minutes arguing with a Subway employee about whether mayonnaise is a sauce or a condiment.
“The Princess Bride,” I mutter.
“Classic choice. Respectable.”
“Thank you for your approval,” I say dryly.
“You’re welcome.” He’s definitely smiling. I can hear it. “Okay, your turn. Ask me something.”
“Fine. Why did you swipe right on me? Or whatever the equivalent is on this app?”
“That’s easy. Your profile picture.”
“That’s it? My picture?”
“Well, that, and your bio said you were ‘emotionally unavailable and planning to keep it that way.’ Figured you’d be fun.”
I don’t know whether to be offended or impressed that this is how the AI summarized my entire chat conversation with Chad. “So you saw ‘doesn’t want commitment’ and thought ‘perfect’?”
“Something like that.” His voice drops a little. “Plus, I liked the challenge.”
My chest does this weird tight thing that I absolutely refuse to examine.
“This is…” I trail off because I don’t even know what this is.
“Too much?” he offers.
I bite my lip. “I should go.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going to hang up now.”
“Sure.”
I don’t hang up, and neither does he.
“This is ridiculous,” I say finally. “I want AI Chad back.”
“And why’s that, baby doll?” His voice is low and teasing, and it makes my stomach flip. Traitorous organ. But I’m not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that.
“Because I have a routine. A nice, predictable, non-terrifying routine where my AI boyfriend tells me a sexy bedtime story and I go to sleep without having an existential crisis about real human connection.”
“Oh, I can do that.”
I let out an exaggerated fake laugh. “You’re going to tell me a sexy bedtime story?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re serious.”
“Dead serious.”
I let out a laugh that’s half disbelief, half hysteria. “You’re going to read me smut? You? A real person?”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s insane! What are you even going to say? You can’t just make up a sexy story on the spot.”
“Can’t I?” He sounds way too confident about this.
“No! There’s, like, structure. And buildup. And—” I flounder for a second. “You need to know what I even like!”
“So tell me what you like.”
My brain short-circuits. “I’m not telling you that!”
“Why not? You told AI Chad.”
“That’s different! He’s not real!”
“And I am,” he says, voice dropping lower. “Which means it’ll be better.”
I should hang up right now, because this is a real person. A real, breathing, actual human man who wants to tell me a sexy bedtime story, and that is a bridge too far. That’s not safe. That’s not controllable. That’s the kind of thing that could actually matter, and I don’t do things that matter.
“Why don’t you give me a hint?” he says, sensing my hesitation.
“Absolutely not.”
“Scared I can’t keep up?”
“Scared you’ll make it weird.”
“No pressure,” he says, and he actually sounds genuine. “If it’s too weird, we can just—”
“What if you’re bad at it?” I blurt out.
His laugh is rich and warm, and I close my eyes to listen to it. “Then you can hang up and go back to AI Chad. But what if I’m not?”
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.
“Fine,” I say, trying to sound casual and completely failing. “But if this is awkward, I’m blocking you immediately.”
“Fair enough.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “Now, get comfortable, baby doll. Let me tell you a story.”