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“No.” I shrugged helplessly. “This is how I’m wired.”

“Well, then—” He tapped his temple. “There’s a lot to be said for having a simple mind.”

“Youaresimple,” I muttered dejectedly. “And I’m simple for listening to you.”

“Do you still have those condoms?” he asked then.

I glared at him. “Did you not hear a word of what I just said?”

“I heard you,” he replied calmly. “Now answer the question.”

“No,” I muttered, shoulders sagging. “I panicked when they fell out on top of her in Claire’s room so I just threw them in her bin.”

“What a waste,” Gibsie whimpered, biting on his fist. “Ugh—right, so you need to go to the chemist. Pronto.”

I gaped at him. “But I just told you—”

“I know you what you told me.” He cut me off with a wave of his hand. “And I’m tellingyouthat the road to fatherhood is paved with good intentions.”

“It’s ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions,’ Gibs.”

“Considering pussy is one of the leading factors in a man’s admission to hell, I’d say both statements are fairly on point, lad.”

“What?”

“Just buy a packet of condoms. Put one in your wallet. Even if you don’t use it, it’s there.”

“I don’t want to tempt myself.”

“Andthat’syour first mistake,” he told me. “It’s not the condom in your wallet that will lead you into temptation. It’ll be the naked girl sprawled out beneath you.” Waggling his brows, he added, “The one that floods you with all thefeelings,” in a teasing tone.

Jesus, he was making sense.

How the hell was he making sense?

“Better safe than sorry, lad,” he added with a shrug.

“You’re right,” I choked out.

He winked. “I know.”

* * *

“Would you step back, Gibs,” I growled, bristling with tension as I stood in the condom aisle at the chemist. He was hovering so close to my back that I could feel his chin resting on my shoulder. “You’re breathing down my bleeding neck!”

“Why do they do that?” he asked, unperturbed. Stepping around me, he reached down and picked up a rectangular pink box from the bottom shelf. “Why would they put pregnancy tests next to condoms?”

“No clue.” I shrugged. “But they do it everywhere.”

“Well, it doesn’t exactly scream out that they have confidence in their product, does it?” he continued, waving the test around aimlessly. “It’s like ‘Hey, wrap up your dick, buy some lube, hell, even throw in a cock ring for a bit of craic, and have a great fucking time, but just in case it fails, you know where to come back to confirm the end of your life.’” He rolled his eyes. “I think it’s a terrible marketing idea.”

“It’s not a marketing idea, lad,” I muttered wearily. “It’s for convenience.”

“And here’s more of it,” he grumbled, grabbing a box of ovulation test strips off the top shelf. “Are we preventing babies, confirming babies, or planning babies?” His voice rose with his outrage. “Which is it? All three? What the fuck, Johnny?”

“Weare preventing babies,” I growled, snatching up a twelve-pack of extra-safe condoms. “The rest of that shite isn’t for us, so put the tests down and walk away, ya bollox!”

“I should make a suggestion,” he huffed. “On hownotto traumatize their male customers.”

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