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under her fingertips, though well aware the sensation was really originating in her brain. She tried to still her breath as Peytr caressed the curve of her breast, which felt just as real, causing her nipples to tense.
    Peytr leaned in and whispered, “I love you.”
    “I love you, too,” she answered. It was the first time they’d said it, the culmination of a month of anticipation building from their chance meeting at a penthouse party. Now, the first kiss. Veronika held still as Peytr leaned in, his eyes closed. Veronika kept hers open, not wanting to miss a thing, anticipating the sound of the door opening, of Anya’s husky howl of surprise.
    “Hey, sweetie, do you—” A male voice that was not Peytr’s broke the spell. Veronika leaped from Peytr like she’d been goosed.
    She spun to find Nathan gawking at her via screen.
Shit, shit, Goddamn it.
She’d forgotten to set up a block.
    “Oh. Sorry,” Nathan stammered. “I’ll come back.”
    “No. It’s all right. I—” She hurriedly banished the interactive as the heat recently building in her loins migrated to her cheeks. “What is it?” She felt so incredibly stupid.
    “I just wanted to see if you wanted to meet up with the gang at Ponyface for a drink later on.”
    “Yeah, sure.” Her lips felt numb.
    “Great, I’ll, uh, let you know what time once I know.”
    Nathan beat a hasty retreat. As soon as he was gone, Veronika covered her face with her hands and wished for death. How was she ever going to face him again? Yes, romance interactives sold by the millions, so theoretically what Nathan had caught her doing wasn’t particularly strange, but it was still pathetic. Millions of people also masturbated, yet people didn’t want others popping in while they were doing it. How could she have forgotten to put up a full block?
    If it hadn’t been only three p.m., Veronika would have dealt with her searing humiliation by drinking heavily, but that would have to wait a couple of hours. Instead, she decided to work. Focusing all of her attention outward, toward the plights of others, seemed like the best way to pass the next few hours. Maybe with a day or two’s distance this would feel less humiliating.
    She conducted some advanced searches, using her own signature algorithms to find potential matches for a client having trouble locating men on her own. It was difficult to concentrate. Pulling it up from her system, she replayed the recording of the moment she’d turned to discover Nathan floating behind her, froze the image of his face, covered her own at the sight of his thinly concealed shock and embarrassment.
    Was she getting weird from being single for so long? Lots of thirty-two-year-olds were single, but some were better suited to being single than others.
Nathan
was certainly suited to being single (to Veronika’s eternal dismay). But she wasn’t. It always felt a little off—a little wrong—to come home to an empty apartment. It was as if her life was on hold, the real part yet to get under way. And it was making her weird. Five or six hours a day of romance interactives was a little weird.It was also childish. Virtual environments were for children. Adults inhabited the real world.
    On top of all that, there was the threat of technomie. Because of the nature of her job, Veronika already spent too much of her time interacting with screens, sending subvocalized voice messages, and texting. Instead of withdrawing further from human contact, she should be immersing herself in the real world. Maybe raw-lifers exaggerated the dangers, but the research was clear: In-person contact was vital to healthy functioning. She should give the interactives up. She should delete them all, even the new Peytr Sidorov one she’d been saving. Go cold turkey.
    The thought of it swelled her eyes with tears. It would be like going through a breakup; her apartment would get so much emptier. Which was probably a good reason to do it.
    No. Some other time, when