Chuck sat in front of his laptop in the Bass penthouse, a glass of scotch in hand. “Let’s see what the world has to offer me,” he muttered, scrolling through an app filled with predictable bios: “Love long walks on the beach,” “Coffee is life,” “Looking for my partner-in-crime.”

He smirked. “Amateurs.”

After swiping with all the finesse of a Wall Street deal, he sent a message that was pure Chuck: witty, slightly dangerous, and impossibly charming. Then… the waiting began.

The first date? A barista who brought her cat along. Chuck tried to be polite, but the cat jumped on his lap mid-sentence, scratching his designer suit. Disaster.

The second? A yoga enthusiast who only spoke in mantras. “I feel the universe aligning…” she droned as Chuck checked his watch for the tenth time.

By the third, Chuck was convinced online dating was a cruel joke. That’s when you appeared—his friend, confidant, and partner in mischief—scrolling through his shoulder, laughing.

“You’re pathetic,” you said, grinning. “This is what you do for fun? Swipe left, right, left… and end up with a cat-scratched ego?”

Chuck raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk forming. “And what would you have me do, oh wise one? Teach me the ways of love—or amusement?”

You leaned closer, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes. “Both. But first, let’s see just how disastrous we can make your next date. I want popcorn for this.”

The next match was a cooking class instructor. Things started promisingly… until Chuck set the flour on fire trying to flambé a dessert, while the instructor screamed and you nearly fell off your chair laughing.

Chuck shot you a glare, smoldering yet embarrassed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”