“Snake.” He smirked. “Completely harmless.”

“What are you now? A snake expert! Please just put it down.”

“You sure?” Reid asked.

“Positive.”

“All right, but only because you asked.”

He slid the snake into my pant leg. I felt that bastard slide all the way to my knee, then get caught. Thank God for small favors.

Then Reid, the brother I was officially going to cross off my will, gave my jeans a little tug.

It was all the invitation that tiny bastard needed to slide all the way down the middle of my legs and tap one of my man parts.

“Son of a—” I tried to spin, I tried to wiggle, but my actions were in vain. The snake wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ha-ha!” Rex said. “Glad our Bachelor’s so excited.”

“Oh, he’s something!” I sang.

“Look at him go!” Reid echoed. “When he comes down you’ll all see his moves—his nickname was Chris Brown in high school, according to the producer fact sheet.”

The girls gushed.

The snake even seemed to pause. Were those his trigger words? Chris Brown? Would uttering those words make the little guy cower in fear?

“All right! Will the first team step forward?” Rex commanded, and Becca and Amazon stepped in front of me. “Your question has to do with pop culture.” He cleared his throat. “How many books are in the Twilight series?”

“Two!” Amazon shouted.

“WHAT?” I roared. “EVERYONE KNOWS IT’S FOUR!” Damn it. “EDWARD, BITE ME! I JUST WANT TO DIE.” Remember what I said about trigger words? I was wrong about Chris Brown and the snake.

His trigger word was Edward.

I felt fangs.

And heat.

And then I screamed.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BECCA

Never in my life have I ever, ever heard a man scream so loud. It was like watching a horror film with the surround sound completely turned up. I winced as Max jerked to the left, then to the right, and then, with a horrified gasp, I covered my mouth as something . . . moved . . . in the front of his pants.

Holy crap!

No way.

No way.

I couldn’t stop looking. I mean, I wanted to, in the way that I wanted to be totally disgusted that he had the ability to use his parts like a small remote control race car, but wow, I had to wonder if he actually bruised the women he slept with.

“Get it out!” Max shouted.

“Um.” I licked my lips.

“Reid, please!”

WHAT? He wanted his producer to . . . unclothe him so his beast could roam free on what would be aired on national television?

“Edward, I’m sorry!” Max wailed.

“He named his penis Edward.” Reid chuckled. “Like the vampire. Tell me that’s not creepy.”

“Question number two!”

“Wait!” Max yelled. “I thought you said the game was called catch?”

At that point a ball was thrown at Max and one of the producers yelled, “Catch.”

It hit him square in the face.

“Forget I asked,” Max grumbled. “And how is this fun?”

“Each ball you catch gives you a free pass to skip the question for the team if you think they don’t know it,” Rex explained. “So you can help the team you’d like to win.”

“Hit me again!” Max pleaded.

“Next team!” Rex moved us out of the way while Grumpy and Sneezy stepped forward. “Your question is geography.”

“If they can’t spell it they sure as hell can’t answer it, Rex,” Max said under his breath. I’m pretty sure Reid and I were the only ones who heard. Funny, watching Max try to cross his arms while his face turned red because of the blood pooling.

Even funnier?

The snake in his pants, not a literal one, but you get my meaning, truly did have a mind of its own. So is that what did it for Max? Was he one of those guys who liked being tied up? Huh, it suddenly made sense. That’s why the producers trapped him, to get him so sexually frustrated he’d end up mauling one of the ladies, which would make for good TV.

I made my way over to his hanging body and nudged him, then whispered under my breath, “Just think about your grandma or something.”

“What?” His expression turned from pained to horrified. “How the hell is that supposed to help me right now?”

“Well.” I shrugged, feeling my own face heat. “I mean, I know that some guys can’t control these things, but it has to be kind of embarrassing. I mean, you’re, like, really aggressive.”

“I’m tied up,” he said through clenched teeth. “Any more aggressive and I’d be a paralyzed snail.”

I pointed at his pants. “Right, well, tell your parts to paralyze so people don’t think ropes and balls turn you on.”

“What?” He looked up and let out a defeated sigh. “I can’t help that Edward wants to be free. I would too. It’s okay, little buddy.”

“Um . . .” I swallowed. “Do all guys name . . . things?”

“Oh, he’s not my thing. He’s a snake.”

“In your pants,” I clarified.

“Well, it’s not like I put it there!” he argued.

“Right, pretty sure God had something to do with that, and you know nature.”

“God had nothing to do with what’s currently twisting around in my pants. Believe me, if He did, I would so not give money to the church.”