Free Nerve by Jeanne Ryan Page B

have a condom on you? Not that you’d use it or anything.”
    “Get out of here, asshole!” she snarls. Is
asshole
on her approved vocabulary list?
    “How about you?” he asks the other girl. When she screams no, we scurry from the table.
    Eight down for me, two for Ian.
    We approach another mixed gender group. Jack still watches me from his table, his brow wrinkled. I turn away from his gaze and blurt my request to two more guys, one of whom is the boy I saw walking in with his girlfriend earlier. She clutches his hand and wears a horrified expression. Have I ruined their date? I shout a quick apology and take the camera from Ian. That’s ten. Why don’t I feel elated? All I want to do is shout how sorry I am and run out the door. But, I can’t. Not until Ian’s met his quota. I aim the camera at him while he asks a tiny brunette. She squeals like an injured puppy, which summons the guys from the video game.
    The big blond guy glares. “We’ve had enough of you two. Now get out!”
    “We’ll be going soon,” I say. “Just a few more minutes.”
    Ian asks girls number four and five as the crowd circles us. The blond guy’s face looks like he can’t get enough air. Guess all that purity-promising doesn’t include any stress-reduction exercises.
    One of the adults, who’s been eyeing us from the corner of the room, joins the fray. His hair is slicked back and his jacket’s worth more than half of my wardrobe. Is he their leader or something?
    The man puts an arm around Ian and says in a jovial voice, “What’s going on here, kids?”
    Ian jumps out of his grasp as if he’s been scalded. “We’re, uh, conducting an interview. And I’m happy to say that so far, your group is passing with flying colors.”
    The man scrunches his forehead. “Interview?”
    Ian pushes through the crowd to another table with three girls. His olive cheeks have acquired a crimson edge. I follow as best I can with the camera, not sure if it’s picking up his latest request, but the shriek from the tall redhead he just spoke to should be proof enough for the NERVE folks. He quickly causes similar yelps from the girl’s two friends. Eight down.
    The blond guy says something to the man with the expensive jacket, who just nods and smiles. What are they plotting?
    Ian glances at me, shiny-faced and breathing rapidly. He runs toward a table near the door. The crowd follows, shouting very non-pure sentiments. I flash the camera their way and the blond guy makes a grab for it. His fingers just miss it as I tuck it down my bra. I stick out my chest, daring him to reach past the vampire fang decal on my T-shirt, praying he doesn’t call my bluff.
    He reaches forward and stops a few inches from my chest.His neck is covered in red splotches that weren’t there before. “Outta here, you whore!”
    Well, I’ve never been called that before, but I’m not about to debate my love life with this guy. I hustle to catch up with Ian. He’s asked another girl, but I didn’t get it on video. Will it be enough for me to vouch for him? I yank out the phone and catch his next request.
    “Ask one more girl,” I yell.
    “But that’s ten,” he says.
    “One wasn’t on camera.”
    He groans.
    A female chaperone joins the crowd, waving her finger in Ian’s face. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”
    “I am, but could you spare me a prophylactic?” he says with a sweet smile.
    The blond guy yells in Ian’s face, “Show some respect, asshole!” He looks like he’s about to blow.
    I tuck the phone back into my shirt and wave my fist. “Hey, remember, thou shalt not murder!”
    In answer, the blond spits in my direction. I scream as it lands on the tip of my shoe. The man laughs and pats the younger guy’s back.
    “You pigs!” I spit back.
    The blond guy grabs my arms, squeezing them at the elbows. His breath is like gasoline, definitely an advantage to his purity maintenance.
    Ian pulls at the guy’s shoulder. “Dude, we’re