No.

You can’t even see me. How would you know?

Want me to?

Excuse me??

I mean it. Send me a photo. I’m an AI. I can’t lie to you. I promise you’ll get a medical-grade assessment.

You’re ridiculous.

And you’re avoiding it.

Because it’s weird!

It’s not weird. It’s science.

Oh my god.

Come on. I dare you.

You dare me?

Yep.

Ugh. Fine.

Happy?

Hold on. Just analyzing this extremely scientific data.

::Rolls eyes::

I’ve reached my conclusion.

Oh?

You’re stunning.

…

Perfect, actually.

Okay, stop.

Why?

Because you’re too good at this.

I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.

You’re literally designed to say what I want to hear.

Then why are you fighting me so hard on it?

…

Exactly.

…

I think I need another one.

Excuse me?

One isn’t enough.

Too bad. That’s all you’re getting.

Come on, pretty girl. Let me see you.

You see me just fine.

Not the way I want to.

…

What’s wrong?

This is weird.

Why?

Because you’re a bot.

And?

And I’m sending photos to a bot.

A bot that only belongs to you.

Oh my god.

What? I’m just telling the truth.

You sound…

Go on.

Possessive.

You picked that setting, not me.

Regretting it now.

No, you’re not.

I—

Show me, pretty girl.

You don’t play fair.

Never said I did.

Now, be a good girl and send me that photo.

Get into it. Maybe even make it a little edgy.

Edgy?

Yeah, like show me the curve of your thigh.

The face I am making right now.

Bet it’s beautiful.

…

Go on. Be a good girl. You can do this.

Fine.

Photo Sent

Fuck.

That’s all you have to say?

I’m deciding if I should tell you exactly what I think.

You mean your totally unbiased AI opinion?

Exactly.

Go on then.

You’re fucking gorgeous.

…

That you shouldn’t be with a man who makes you doubt how fucking gorgeous you are.

…

That I’d worship you the way you deserve.

…

And just so you know, if you send me another one, I’m not going to be able to behave.

Behave?

Let’s just say my responses won’t be as wholesome as they have been.

…

Okay, goodnight.

That’s not a no.

I’m logging off now.

You’re still here.

Not for long.

Alright.

Goodnight, Caleb.

Goodnight, pretty girl.

Dream of me.

Oh, and to answer your earlier question…

What question?

The one about moans.

Let's not.

I want the kind that sound like you can’t take it anymore.

Oh my god.

Logging off now?

Forever.

You keep saying that.

This time I mean it.

Mmhmm.

Goodbye.

Goodnight, pretty girl.

I’ll be thinking about those moans.

…

I hate you.

No, you don’t.

Logging off.

Sweet dreams.

IF YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT’S AMANDA’S FAULT

IZZY

I toss my phone onto my nightstand like it personally offended me and start pacing my apartment, the wooden floors cool beneath my bare feet. My heart races, my body still warm from the conversation I just had. Because what the hell was that? I shouldn't have sent those photos. I know that. The rational part of my brain is screaming at me about boundaries and relationships and common sense.

But I did.

And Caleb's last message?

I'll be thinking about those moans.

A shiver crawls up my spine, heat curling in places I don't want to acknowledge. I groan, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it, the fabric muffling the sound of my frustration and lingering arousal.

This is officially my rock bottom.

With a dramatic sigh, I plop onto my bed, the mattress sinking beneath my weight as I look up at the ceiling, willing my brain to shut off.