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    How To Date An Android
    How To Date An Android
    How To Date An Android
    Ebook50 pages39 minutes

    How To Date An Android

    By Cora Zane

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    About this ebook

    In a world run by androids, Caitlyn Quincy is one of a few humans still living in the city. Most days she stays to herself, processing invoices in a small shop selling relics from the past.

    Milo Swain spots Caitlyn, and it's sparks at first sight. He's never experienced such a strong physical reaction to anyone. He'd love to get to know her, but Caitlyn has no idea how to date an android.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCora Zane
    Release dateSep 12, 2013
    ISBN9781301084821
    How To Date An Android
    Author

    Cora Zane

    Cora Zane is probably best known as the author of the Werekind Werewolf Series of e-books. She began writing professionally in 2005 and has since published over twenty stories through multiple publishers, including Cleis Press. Her erotica work has been called "Surprisingly Kinky" by Library Journal, and a "Charasmatic Standout" by Publisher's Weekly. She is also a former P.E.A.R.L. finalist and a winner of the Freya Award. Primarily an erotic romance and erotica author, she has also published horror and slipstream stories in various anthologies. You can visit her online at www.corazane.com.

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      Book preview

      How To Date An Android - Cora Zane

      Chapter 1

      New Georgetown, Carolina Islands

      2255

      It’s Friday, the second week of November, and Caitlyn Quincy braves the biting cold to eat a sandwich by the fountain in Market Square. All around her, the shopping district bustles with midday foot traffic, while the New Georgetown clock tower overlooking it all ticks off the remaining minutes of her lunch hour in distant silence. She sits where she always does, facing the park, which is nothing more than a grassy slope that stretches between the cobbled quad and the narrow jogging track along the murky, Iron River.

      Icy wind whips up off the choppy waters of the canal, stirring Caitlyn’s long ginger hair and tangling it across her face. She shakes her head to free herself, a gesture that sends the birds hanging around the enormous central fountain into a frenzied flutter of anticipation.

      The birds frighten her if they get too close. She’s wary of those noisy wings and shell-like beaks. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches them hopping along the ground. They’re completely fearless when it comes to people and she admires them for that, but only in the skeptical way an amateur artist might care to admire a rival’s painting—best carried out from afar.

      With a gloved hand, she brushes away the stray strands of flyaway hair clinging at the side of her mouth before she takes another bite of sandwich. There isn’t much in this section of the city to lend convenience to human living anymore, but the hum of persistent traffic and the view of the river are familiarities she isn’t yet willing to give up. That much she’s inherited from her late father. That, his little shop, and his stubborn unwillingness to follow his neighbors, who all gradually moved away to the human run communities strewn throughout the Mainland and along the Southern Farming Belt.

      Her father is gone now, dead for some five years. Nothing holds her here anymore. She could leave the city if she wanted to. One of those secluded, farming communes would surely take her in, but she was born on this island. The Market District has been her neighborhood since she was a little girl. She belongs here just as much as the androids that have turned the area into a chic borough for artificial living.

      Caitlyn takes another bite of tomato sandwich and watches the pigeons shuffle closer. They are shameless, the birds. Practiced beggars. She shoos the closest ones away with her boot. They would land on her and eat her lunch if she’d let them.

      It isn't easy to do with her gloved fingers, but she pinches off a chunk of bread crust left over from her sandwich and tosses it down, watching the closest birds hop toward it, wings fluttering.

      She dreads going back to the shop, but the moon-faced tower clock reads twelve-fifty-two. Already she’s lingered too long, and there is still walking to do.

      Crumpling the cloth wrapper in her hand, she licks her lips then brushes the crumbs from the front of her red pea coat, which she wears knotted at the waist with a matching belt. She wishes now she’d brought something to drink, a juice or seltzer water, but a quick glance around for a vending machine to buy something proves fruitless. She’s not surprised.

      Those older style vending machines have been vanishing for some time, like so many

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