Page 86 of Johnny

Wow. I was maybe exaggerating about my sheltered life, but only a little. I am not a worldly

woman. I have not been a lot of places but I have met a lot of men. The mansion was a whorehouse,

after all. I’ve seen all types of men. And Johnny Boston just officially broke the fucking mold.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” I say.

“So they say.”

“Fucking certifiable.”

“You have a dirty mouth.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

“Absolutely filthy. You throw the F-word around like it’s candy.”

“Candy, huh? Original.”

“Rice.”

“What?” I don’t want to laugh, but I can’t stop it.

“You know… they… people… weddings? They throw rice.”

“Right. Got it. I throw the F-word around like people throw rice. God, you’re stupid.” I slide my

eyes to the side and catch him chuckling. “And you say fuck a lot too.”

“I’m a man. I’m allowed.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Did you just—”

“I did.”

“Jesus Christ. Why no one has snatched you up and put a ring on that finger is beyond me.”

“Funny. And for the record, I don’t date. That’s why.”

“But surely you fuck?”

It’s his turn to side-eye me. Only he’s not sly about it like I am. “Stop.”

“Stop swearing?”

“Please.”

“Why?”

“Because it bothers me.”

“Why does it bother you?”

“Are you still nine? Are we on that yacht forty miles offshore of Havana?”

“I’m sorry. I’m too sheltered and stupid to understand what you’re not saying.”

“I just like to be around women who act like women. Not…”