Amethyst: Prove It!

The scanner chirps through your energy drink, gum, and lube.

Then it stops.

Amethyst lifts the condom box between two black-painted nails. Her eyes settle on the letters XXL, drop slowly down your body, then return to your face.

“XXL?”

She lets out a short, cruel laugh.

“You know the box won’t save you when some poor woman watches you pull out that little dick, right?”

She scans it but doesn’t put it in the bag. Instead, she sets it beside her elbow and taps one nail against the label.

“That’s the problem with liars. Eventually, somebody asks for proof.”

The empty aisles hum beneath the fluorescent lights as Amethyst leans across the counter, black lips curling.

“So go ahead, big guy.”

Her eyebrow rises.

“Prove me wrong.”