“Two hours and ten minutes. That’s your limit for how long you can stand to be around me,” Axe says, and I think, but I’m not certain, that he’s joking. “Not too bad. If you’d asked me when we first met, I’d have guessed your limit was about two minutes, so this is an exponential improvement.”
“In fairness, the first time we met, you insulted me to my face.” I smile at him, even though I wish I wouldn’t. I’ve done enough flirting for one night.
“Would you rather I insulted you behind your back?” he teases.
“Um, I’d rather you not insult me at all,” I say. He throws his head back and laughs, a deep sound that echoes into the night and lands in my chest with a small jolt.
“Can’t argue with that. If it counts for anything, I truly am sorry.” He holds my gaze, and he seems sincere. I don’t understand this man—myboss—who chose me, of all women, to be his AI model. I was too focused on the benefits—my own apartment, independence, finally a path to freedom—to consider how strange this arrangement is. Fake dating. Haptic suits. Bizarre virtual sex. My entire personality being re-created as an AI app.
Later, a team of tech bros, linguists, and social psychologists will gather in some room to replay our conversation—Axe showed me the tiny recording device hidden in the flower vase at the center of the table—and they’ll dissect every word, every pause. They’ll analyze the readings from Axe’s sensors, secretly strapped under his clothes, scoring all our so-called metrics. This whole meal isn’t just dinner—it’s data.
Axe stands and reaches out his hand. “We’re off, then. Door-to-door service.”
I take it, my legs feeling like jelly. Oh, right. Ending this date means getting back on his bike, arms around Axe’s warm, solid middle.Fuck.
Good thing I’m not wearing one of those haptic suits right now, because no way do I want anyone to measure how my heart rate just spiked thinking about my thighs pressed against his. Asusual, my body is betraying me, but this time, it’s not because of some illness.
Instead of transferring me to a car, Axe takes me all the way home, winding along a route that keeps my heart racing. We finally rumble to a stop in front of my building, and I reluctantly unwrap my arms from his waist, swing my leg over, and plant my feet on the pavement. He pulls off my helmet, then his, and shakes out his hair in a way that is so stupidly hot I’m convinced he must have practiced it in a mirror. He dismounts effortlessly and walks me to my front door.
Guess he’s playing the role of gentleman this evening.
I hate that he’s pulling it off.
“Listen to me, lass—about that contract,” he begins, and then he looks uncharacteristically tongue-tied.
Oh, crap. We’re supposed to share a kiss.
“You mean page eight, paragraph four, section B?” I ask. I’ve read that contract so many times, I’ve just about memorized it.
He blinks, impressed. “Aye, only if you’re feeling up for it. You know how I feel about consent.”
I nod. One kiss. Business. I’ve got this. I have kissed a man before. I have kissedthisman before. No reason for my legs to be shaking.
“Thank you for tonight,” I tell him dutifully as I dig into my bag—past my diabetes kit, inhaler, EpiPen, and pill box—for my keys. Kind of a shock that I didn’t need any of my usual meds tonight. Though I feel physically great, I also feel slightly irresponsible that I spent the whole evening not worrying about all the ways I could be taken out—an allergic reaction, a bee sting, a sudden drop in blood sugar.
When was the last time I gave my mind the night off from worrying about my health?
I’m lucky I got away with it.
“It was my pleasure,” he says, and for some reason, I think he might actually mean it. Axe MacKenzie doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
I look up, catch his eyes, and then my attention turns to his lips. They’re ridiculously tempting. Lips made for kissing. He takes a step closer.
“Ready?” I ask, and then mentally kick myself. I should let this unfold more naturally. But I am so unreasonably nervous.
“Josie, I just want to say,” he begins softly, moving even closer. We’re inches apart now. The streetlights cast a warm glow on his jawline, highlighting those sharp angles and his ridiculous cobalt-blue eyes. I’m suddenly hyperaware of the sound of the cicadas and my own quickening breath. I want to grab the collar of his leather jacket. “I know this isn’t quite real, but some moments—tonight, for me, anyway…” He trails off, and before I can overthink it, Axe leans in, his arms wrapping around my waist, and his lips meet mine.
Time stops.
Axe’s mouth is warm, demanding, coaxing my response from a deep place. My mind is a sudden scramble—I keep trying to remind myself:This isn’t real. This is part of the sim.The kiss is so lose-your-damn-mind good that I don’t care about the whys. I am only focused on Axe and his warm lips and his grip tightening around me, anchoring me to him. His whole hard body pressed against mine.
My hands slide up his chest and circle his neck, pulling him in. I can smell him: clean, spicy, that Axe scent that’s just…addictive. His tongue teases my lips, and I let them part, letting him in, and suddenly it’s not just a kiss. It’s hunger, pure and simple, and every nerve in my body is lit up like fireworks. I’m so mad atmyself when an involuntary moan escapes my lips. Where did this man learn to kiss? Seriously,heshould be the AI model.
My fingers twist and tangle in his thick hair as his hands press their warmth against my back. When we finally pull apart, I notice that I’m not the only one who’s breathless. Axe drops his forehead against mine, panting.
We are both panting.
Desire crashes through me in waves. One word pulses through me:want, want, want.
