Page 4 of Texts From My Exes
Ezra burst out laughing and waved the last sheet. “This guy doesn’t exist. He’s barely realistic evenon paper.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, straightening up. “They only voteafterthe dates. And I have plenty of time to either find an actor or fake enough footage to make it believable. The point isn’t whether he’s real—the point is the story; the idea, the illusion that I’m dating an ex again, letting them follow along. The last few updates got me over thirty million views. I’m this close to getting sponsorships, which means this close to proving I can keep the apartment and that Iama successful creative.”
Ezra snorted. “Right. Gotta find that talent in something, because you definitely didn’t inherit your aunt’s ability to paint.” We both glance to the naked mural. “Or your?—”
“I know my family’s talented…and that…my gifts are more hidden.”
The silence dropped like a weight between us.
I picked at the corner of the almond bag, voice quieter. “I’m really good at reading people. At making them laugh. At building something out of nothing and making it feel real enough to matter.”
Ezra watched me, I could feel his eyes on me. His voice softened. “You’re really good atstartingthings.”
“I know.”
“You just never finish them.”
“I know that too.”
Neither of us talked after that. We just sat in silence surrounded by fake dates, bad decisions, too much caffeine, and a maybe too perfect AI boyfriend named Vex.
What had my life come to?
At least I had my best friend by my side, neon glasses and all—as long as I had him and kept the apartment—I’d be fine.
CHAPTER
TWO
HARPER
Message received. Been using that contraption for your eyes on my fingers, getting them nice and strong the way you like them, see? I can read the signs! Text me back if you wanna check my grip, ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
—Jaxon
The theater was dark except for the glow of overpriced previews and the unmistakable sound of someone trying to open a Twizzlers bag like they were trying to disarm a bomb as loudly as possible. It’s always the licorice or chips, always. Between that, and the loud chewing brought to you by Dots from the early 2000s, and I was already on edge.
I glanced around at the couples—hands linked over cupholders, soft giggles and heads leaned in like the atmosphere alone was enough to triple their serotonin intake and repeatedly smack their dopamine like a hammer on a bender.
“Don’t you ever want to date?” I whispered, side-eyeing Ezra over a bucket of popcorn he was guarding like it contained state secrets. He sniffed it, then slowly brought it over to me. Was he offering or testing me then getting ready to zap me if I tried to take some?
He didn’t look over at my line of sight. “Iamdating. Her name’s Excel. We’re in a committed, formula-based relationship. So. Hot. Sometimes she gets so excited when I use my fingers, she freezes altogether.”
I snorted. “First off, gross, second, you’ve never dated anyone except Charly from senior year in college, and that was like what, one date? Are you permanently married to your computer with your spreadsheet as your side piece?”
He finally looked over at me, mouth drawn all serious. “First of all, the spreadsheetisthe wife. The computer is the sidepiece. Have you no morals? I wouldnevercheat.”
“Pardon me good sir, my mistake.” I nudged him with my elbow. He looked down and moved his arm.
“And second,” he added shaking his arm before grabbing a handful of popcorn, “maybe Idohave the perfect woman built up in my head. Like your little AI boyfriend, Vex.”
Well, that’s more than he’s said on this subject in, like, years. “Well, we know you’re not gay after that one time you accidentally took ecstasy and?—”
“You swore,” he hissed, eyes wide.
I grin and gently shove his hand down. “It was a really nicedick, Ezra. She said so. Like, twice. And begged you for it before you passed out and had to be carried into the ER for dehydration.”
He groaned into his hoodie like he wanted to disappear. It was funny then, still funny now.
