-How much do you want?—a man’s voice is heard.
-How much what?
-How much you want for the damaged car—name your price; there’s irritation in his voice.
-Not a cent—I shake my head, and out of the corner of my eye I notice the "boy".
-Honey, why are you fighting it? We’ll give you whatever you say—and in the evening, if you want, we’ll take you to a restaurant.
-Anger spreads inside me.
-I’m not interested in "multiple partners." I prefer one and steady.
-With which of us—me or him?—the "boy1" nods.
-None of you. I can’t stand men who sleep with one girl.
A laugh slipped out.
The "boy" narrows his eyes, leans forward, bringing me a scent of cardamom and citrus.
-I see you have a sharp tongue—it would work well somewhere else.
-Maybe it will work, but clearly not for you and your buddy—the man’s eyes, steel-colored, darken.