I ignore the impulse to take it and blow out a breath. “A name leads to a number. A number leads to”—I wave a hand, struggling for the words—“other things.”
Brian tilts his head. “Does someone need a refresher course on the whole how-babies-are-made thing?”
“I’ve had three,” I deadpan.
“Sure. But Snooki’s almost six. That’s basically a doctorate’s degree in celibacy.”
I glare at him. Hard.
Brian strolls past me and starts fiddling with my wallet.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving it for you in case you grow a brain. Or balls. I’m also exchanging these crisp c-notes for condoms.”
“A hundred dollars a condom? That’s highway robbery, considering they’ll never see the light of day.”
“First of all, genius, they’re not supposed to see the light of day. And second, when Mt. Vesuvius finally erupts, you will thank me.”
“Mt. Vesuvius?”
“It’s what we all call your dick.”
I glare.
Brian gestures at my zipper solemnly. “Pressure like that could take out a city block. It’s being added to the FEMA watch list as we speak.”
Zac adds. “The poor girl will need a personal injury waiver.”
They laugh like hyenas.
I cross my arms. “Are you two done?”
“Almost.” Zac wipes at his eyes, chuckling hard. “Should we warn her about the blast radius, or let her find out the hard way?”
“At least supply her with a mop.”
“I hate you both,” I mutter, undoing the first button of my flannel shirt. “Unlike you two players, I don’t date.”
“Reformed players,” Zac corrects, then gently adds, “No one’s asking you to dive into the deep end. We’re just suggesting you do… coffee. Or lunch.”
“Is that what the condoms are for? Lunch?”
“Dip in a toe.”
Brian shrugs. “I’m pretty sure Mt. Vesuvius could use a little thirst quencher.”
“Stop calling it that.” I hold a finger up. “I’m about to get sold to the highest bidder for one date. One. If that’s not cannonballing into the deep end, I don’t know what is.”
“Pay to play doesn’t count.” Brian shakes his head. “That’s doing your civic duty. Parading your wares down the catwalk for half a second before you’re auctioned off like prized, revirginized beef.”
Zac nods, thoughtful. “Possibly to someone online.”
I peel off my shirt. “What do you mean?”
He puffs air in his cheeks. “Some women like to bid from home. You know. They’re private.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is private code for eighty?”
