Page 17 of Debugging Love

“So bad,” I choke out. I dab my eyes with my napkin.

Morgan leans toward me, her beaded bracelets jangling on her wrist. “Tell us everything. I want to laugh too.” She stands and wanders into the kitchen. “Preferably without choking myself.”

“I’m your comic relief. I get it.”

“Yourdateis our comic relief,“ Kayla corrects.

“You are so much more than comedy.” Morgan reappears with a water bottle. “Didn’t I predict your date would be a train wreck?”

“I’m not sure train wreck covers it. He used an avatar.” I grab my phone, open MatchAI, and pull up Chance’s profile. “See this guy?” I angle my phone toward them. Morgan walks over and squints at the screen.

“I could overlook a lot for that,” Kayla says.

Morgan concurs. “He’s hot.”

“He doesn’t exist. He’s AI-generated.”

Kayla gasps.

Morgan’s eyebrows nearly touch her hairline. “Your date uploaded a fake picture of a fake person?”

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows plummet to normal resting position. “What does the real Chance look like?”

“Look at this picture and think opposite.”

Morgan settles onto her heels and crosses her arms. “Short, fat, bald fifty-year-old with advanced rosacea?”

“No. Dark hair, dark eyes.”

“Short?”

“No.”

“Advanced rosacea?”

“No.”

“Horrible dresser?”

“No.”

Kayla bypasses Morgan’s questioning and gets to the point. “Is he hot?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s a jerk.”

“Is he hot?” Morgan presses.

I spin around—carefully—stretch out my legs and prop my head on a throw pillow. My gaze rests on the blue and turquoise Mark Rothko print above the couch. “Maybe.”

Morgan walks over and sits on my shins, her pelvic bones drilling into my legs. “Ow. Your butt bones feel like Chinese throwing stars.”

“There are benefits to being thicc,” Kayla says.

Morgan stands. “Move your chicken legs.” I bend my knees to give her room.

“How could a date with a hot guy be a train wreck?” Morgan asks.

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