- Just give me my clothes!
- Just— I can’t. Give me the phone number.
- Have you completely lost your nerve, Tarkhanov?
- I never had it, Alëna Maksimovna.
- I’ll twist your ears off, got it, boy? — he says angrily, narrowing his eyes.
- Come on… start… — I lean forward toward her lips.
He stops, pressing his palms against my chest.
- I’ll complain to the Devil! — her voice trembles plaintively.
- Telltale… — I smile provocatively at her, taking a step back and opening my shirt. — Please.
Evil snatches it out of my hands. And quickly putting it on, with trembling fingers, fastens the bottom button.
- If I were you, I’d start with the top one, — I look at her quivering chest.
- And what’s happening here? — comes a voice from behind.
How untimely!