Filfthy Read Online Free Page A

list a mile long this week. Is it too much to ask that you refrain from calling me a schoolmarm and make fun of what I’m reading when I’m trying to relax by the pool?”
    “Stay.” I point to her chair. “I’m on my way out anyway.”
    She freezes, watching me, unsure of her next move.
    “But just so you know, gorgeous, you probably shouldn’t dish it out if you can’t take it,” I add one last dig because I can’t help myself, and I’m dying to squeeze a hint of a smile out of her before I take off.
    “Oh, I can take it.”
    “Clearly you can’t. Look at you. Sulking. Stomping off with an armful of shit because I teased you about your fucking 1850s swimsuit.”
    She drops her belongings on the empty lounger. “And here we go again.”
    “I’m kidding.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s not funny. It’s rude.”
    “You’re being too sensitive, gorgeous. Just chill the fuck out.”
    “Stop calling me gorgeous every time you back yourself into a corner,” she spouts. “It’s not going to work on me, and it’s rude to assume all women want to be addressed in accordance with their perceived looks.”
    “Rude is pounding on someone’s door at two AM and treating them like a fucking teenager, demanding they close up shop so you can get your precious beauty rest.”
    “Are we seriously going back to that?” She releases something that sounds like a groan and a growl and a moan, collecting her things all over again. “I’m sorry I didn’t say please or thank you or kiss your ass. I’m sure you’re not used to women having a conversation with you that doesn’t involve lip biting and hair twirling and winking and giggling. I’m probably the only woman on the face of the earth who can stand in front of you and not throw herself your way, and maybe you don’t know how to handle me because of that. I don’t know. . .”
    Her rant continues, but I cut her off.
    “You’re implying that all the women I talk to are vapid, horny bimbos.” I scratch the side of my head, watching her flit about. “See, now that’s an insult. You’re not even teasing. Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?”
    “Enough.” She ends the conversation with a single palm in the air and a tone in her voice sharp enough to slice through the thick Florida humidity on this balmy afternoon.
    Letting her hand fall, our eyes lock and her lips part, as if she’s seconds from saying something. But instead, she slides her feet into conservative black flip-flops and turns to leave.
    I kind of feel bad.
    Kind of.
    She needs to loosen up a bit and not act like a ninety-year-old twenty-something. A little verbal sparring might be good for her. Might get her out of her wound-up little shell a bit.
    Glancing around, I notice many of the lounge chairs have begun to fill in, and to my left, the Gossipping Gabbies of Laguna Palms are all tuned to me, lips flat and sunglasses masking disapproving glares.
    I give them a nod as I walk past to retrieve my things.
    “That’s not the way to a young lady’s heart, Zane,” Ethel French says with a tsk-tsk in her tone.
    I stop, addressing Ethel and her crew of gossip aficionados. “Not trying to get to her heart.”
    “Sure you’re not.” Her lips dance into a coy grin. “We see the way you look at her.”
    I laugh. “You’re making something out of nothing.”
    “She’s a beautiful woman. You’re a handsome man.” Ethel shrugs. “We’ve been around long enough to know when a boy is sweet on a girl. It’s elementary really. When a young man is callous to a young lady, it’s really because he likes her. And often times the reverse is true.”
    “That’s a cute little theory, but believe me, not the case here.” I give them a tiny salute and continue on my way.
    Not the case. At all.
    Plus, Rue would have my balls if I so much as thought about going near her niece. She said so herself while brandishing a pair of garden shears as we were chit-chatting over the fence a couple weeks ago. And if