Chapter 8

With a guilty start, you whirl around.

It’s Eddie, the guy in ads who told you about VR in the first place, the one with enough chits in his wallet to start his own parlor downtown.

“Hey man,” he says, sitting on the edge of your desk because it’s late on a Friday afternoon and he’s not planning on doing anything else for the rest of the day. He has his chits in one hand, fanned out like playing cards. “You look like you need a mind-numbing good time. Pick a girl, any girl. She’s yours for the weekend, my treat.”

“No, thank you.” You shake your head—you don’t need one of Eddie’s girls. You need your boy, and in another hour or so, you’ll have him. Maybe a beach scene tonight, the two of you rolling around in the sand, the waves crashing at your feet, the sun setting behind you and the cry of seagulls in the air. It’s something you haven’t done before.