“Me neither.”

“Get a table or something,” Chris says.

We pick a spot across the room from the bearded guy. The table’s surface has bright blue bubbles floating all over it, and when I touch one, it pops. Adam slides his hand across the table and the bubbles move around him, blown away by his movements but never going too far from the surface.

“This is awesome,” he says, as he pops the bubbles one by one. Each time, another bubble appears in a different spot. He’s probably the only guy in here more excited by the technology than the half-naked girls. “Check this out. You order at the table here.”

A menu hovers over the bubbles. From it, we can order food and drinks, as well as other…entertainment.

I scan the list of names and photos of girls we can request. There are a few guys listed too. I find a way to narrow it down to only Asian women, which cuts it down to three. Only one of them is available right now.

“That’s her!” Zoe says. “Jasmine! Or I think it’s her. That’s not her name, but it looks like her. I just…I can’t believe she works here.”

I focus on the photo of Jasmine—one of the older women listed, maybe in her late thirties or early forties. She’s pretty, with raven-black hair and porcelain skin, but compared to the barely twenty girls she looks almost ancient.

“Sorry, Future-Adam. Looks like you’re paying for this too,” Adam mutters while he orders a private room with Jasmine.

“Okay, now I really want to go in there,” Trent whines.

I wish I knew how to mute him. “Now what?”

Adam orders two sodas and pops another bubble. “I guess we wait.”

A minute later, the scantily clad waitress sets our sodas on the table without a word. A ring of light appears around each glass when it touches the surface, and the bubbles cluster around them.

I pick up my soda and chug it to relieve the pressure in my throat. When I set it down, windows appear above the table asking if I want to order another soda, along with suggestions for other drinks and an icon to “share with your friends.” Adam leans forward to examine the options, but I shake my head and look away.

A woman with short, black hair and a ton of eyeliner comes to our table. She’s well stacked, wearing a bra flashing with digital colors, a matching skirt that’s smaller than some of my underwear, and a flexi that looks like fish scales. But there’s something sad about her, with the fine lines around her eyes and the caked-on makeup, like she’s trying too hard to be twenty again.

“You order the private room?” she asks, sounding bored.

Is this Jasmine? I glance at Adam, but he shrugs.