Page 8 of The Stuffing Situation
Her fake boyfriend.
Her AI-generated, made-to-order, definitely-not-supposed-to-be-here boyfriend.
He was watching football with her family.
Probably learning how to throw a spiral. Probably reciting the rules of pass interference with the sultry precision of Alexa in seduction mode.
Maya grabbed her phone, hands unsteady, and launched FaceTime as if firing a flare into the sky.
Blair answered on the second ring.
She was wearing an oversized hoodie, clearly male, and her hair was in that suspiciously tousled state that could mean post-sex or pre-ritual. Behind her, candles guttered. There were either runes scrawled in salt or a particularly ambitious fall centerpiece from Trader Joe’s.
“Happy Thanksgiving, bitch,” Blair grinned. “You look like you’re about to fake your own death.”
“I might.”
Maya leaned toward the mirror; 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 labeledHexual 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 beonhim. Orunder.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’refine.”
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 triednotto 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 lookingat 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. “Youarebroken,” 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!”