” “Well,” she said, “that day when the elevator was broken, I saw you at your door. I thought, ‘There’s that nice guy. Wonder if he’d do...me.’” “You really thought that?” “I did. I was a slut.” I laughed aloud. “You were never a slut.” “You just didn’t know. Anyway, you gave me the bourbon the day of the funeral.” “Before and after, if I recall.” “After. And, I thought, ‘Maybe he’s trying to get me drunk so I’ll fuck him.’ But, you weren’t. And then, when you said my name, it really became. "Haven't you calmed down yet?" Fuck no. He can fuck the fuck off if he fuckin' thinks..." Problem?" I asked and Rhea, still scowling threw herself down on the sofa."Can you fuckin' believe it?" She ranted. "Mr Russell, the fucking prick, fucking reckons that I need to expand my fucking vocabulary. What the fuck is his fucking problem?"I laughed and even Simon smiled but Rhea huffed. "Can't think why." Said that my language needed expanding. I'll fucking give him narrow use of the English. More

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