Thankfully no, but he won't just leave empty-handed

"Oh! Uh, no, I'm just resting," Bria told him, squinting upwards. With the sun in her eyes she couldn't see his face, but he seemed pretty trim at least. She mentally classified him as a hottie, judging by the fit of his clothes hinting at muscles beneath.

Bria's guy-ratings tended to be: loser, hottie, powerful, or useful. Losers were to be avoided at all costs and completely ignored. Anyone who couldn't at least work out or control their eating or learn to dress themselves were completely disposable in her world. Hottie's stood a good chance of scoring something, or least getting away with a feel if she was in a good mood or they bought her things. Powerful could do anything they wanted if they might later transition into the useful category. Of course the useful always got their even if they looked like losers, which most of them did.

This guy, being a hottie, would have stood a good chance, given the near-throbbing in her lower regions. Unfortunately he'd irritated her by interrupting her game, and so she simply ignored him, turning back to the street like he wasn't there, one hand playing with her cell phone.

"I'll give you my number," he said, stoically maintaining the cool facade in the face of her chilly response. Taking the initiative he snatched her phone out of her hands.

"Hey!" she cried out. Her first impulse was to stand, and she put both hands to the curb to do this, even raising herself up a little. She immediately remembered her thong was out in the open and sank back down to cover it up, hands now a little past her knees, hoping desperately that the jerk hadn't seen them. Or anyone else, for that matter.