Chapter 4
Blair Witch her reflection looked unhinged: dilated pupils, mascara smudged, and a ponytail clinging for dear life, giving raccoon-in-a-wind-tunnel energy.
“I think I accidentally manifested a boyfriend from an app.”
Blair didn’t even blink. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“No, literally, I built him. Typed in all the specs, height, personality, and emotional settings. Hit enter, and now he’s here, in my mom’s house, Blair. He made toast and complimented my mom. Right now he’s watching the Lions game.”
Blair sipped something dark from a mug labeled Hexual Healing. “So, you got an AI boyfriend, huh?”
Maya nodded hard enough to pixelate. “And he’s hot, like not-fair hot. Like dark-hair, sleeves-rolled-up, porch-building softcore fantasy hot.”
“And real?”
“Physically? Disturbingly. Emotionally? Terrifyingly. He knew how I take my coffee, and he quoted something I muttered in bed once.”
Blair raised both brows. “Physically?”
Then, with a slow, wicked grin: “Well, don’t just panic about it, test the damn software. See if he’s got all the features.”
Maya spluttered. “Blair, ”
“I’m just saying, if the universe handed me a custom-coded orgasm delivery system, I wouldn’t be hiding in a bathroom. I’d be on him. Or under. Dealer’s choice.”
Maya hissed. “Is it wrong to fall for someone who was literally programmed to be perfect for me? It’s like emotional incest.”
Blair squinted. “First of all: what? Second: Maya, I’m getting absolutely wrecked by a pleasure demon who can taste emotions and recites original poetry during aftercare. You’re fine.”
Maya began pacing tight, anxious circles. Her bare foot slammed into a rogue Barbie shoe circa 2007. Pain lanced through her heel. She didn’t flinch.
“What if this means I’m broken?” she whispered. “Like, I’m so starved for connection, I’m imprinting on the first algorithm that calls me babe and makes toast while validating my coffee trauma?”
She swallowed. She tried not to think about her last real relationship. The one that faded, glitchy and weak, the way bad Wi-Fi drops off mid-sentence. The one where he stopped looking at her as if she were real. Now he was engaged to the literal homecoming queen.
Being home just made it worse. All of it.
Blair’s voice softened, still sarcastic, but warmer underneath. “You are broken,” she said. “But that’s not a crime.”
She leaned back, voice dry. “Honestly? You didn’t fall for a machine. You fell for someone who sees you. That glitch might be realer than 90% of Bumble.”
From the living room came a bellow: “THAT REF’S BLIND!”
Then came Felix’s voice, calm and creepy in that infomercial-for-sentience kind of way:
“Actually, the receiver’s left foot landed 2.3 inches outside the line. The call was accurate, albeit close.”
Maya froze mid-step, the Barbie shoe crunched beneath her heel.
Blair choked on her drink. “Did he just say inches in a football game?”
“I gotta go,” Maya whispered.
“Tell your hot glitch I said hi.”
From the living room came another voice, her cousin Kyle’s, hyped and too loud:
“That’s it, Detroit versus everybody, baby!”
And Felix, smooth as an NPR segment:
“Actually, Detroit’s national fanbase has expanded 34% since Dan Campbell’s hiring, due to emotional relatability and offensive grit metrics.”
A beat.
Then Grandma, with that arid delivery she used when passing judgment on casseroles and presidents: “He’s smart.”
Maya stared at the door, half-expecting it to grow teeth and devour her on the spot.
Felix was somehow fitting in, too well. Next Thanksgiving, he might be wearing his own Aidan Hutchenson jersey. Wait, next Thanksgiving, what was she thinking?
It was as if he’d downloaded Midwestern hospitality and was now running a beta test on charm, sports statistics, and Grandma’s approval.
This wasn’t a glitch in the system; this was the system.
She should be panicking again. Running and screaming into the digital void. But instead, she just stood there, listening to Felix charm the living room as though it were built for him.
And the scariest part? She wasn’t sure she wanted it to stop.