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As the keeper of a vagina, I had to admit, it was cool.
“She yours?” Zip asked. “Yes,” Snapper said. “No,” I said at the same time. Zip looked between Snap and me, an expression of resignation slid over his features, and he mumbled, “Christ, not another one of these.”
“Help me out here, Rosie, ’cause you mean the world to me and I don’t wanna do dick to fuck my chances of having a shot with you.”
“Stop bein’ you for five seconds so I can get outta this bed,” he ordered gruffly. Snapper sounded nice talking gruffly. But I nearly burst out laughing, contained it and beat back the snort doing that welled up in me before I asked, “Who do you want me to be?”
“Someone annoying.” “Snapper,” I whined dramatically, “you know I don’t like it when you throw your clothes on the floor.” “Now you’re bein’ cute and I still wanna fuck you.” “I have syphilis,” I lied. He started laughing. “And I used to be a man,” I went on. He started laughing harder. “A gay man, so we’re good,” I told him.
