Free Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) by Marita A. Hansen Page A

Scotland topping
England.”
    “Topping?”
    She leaned her head forward. “Fucking,”
she whispered.
    I spluttered out a cough, not having
expected her to say that. “I can just imagine what Paul would say to that.”
    She grinned wickedly, her chocolate eyes
sparkling. “You don’t have to imagine, his face went redder than his hair.”
    “You seriously said that to him?” I asked
in disbelief.
    She nodded. “And the next time we have a school
camp, I’m going to suggest they go Brokeback Mountain and share a tent.”
    I snorted out a laugh this time, sounding
like a pig getting its tail pulled. “I like you, Bev, I really do.”
    She nudged me. “I like you too; just not
in a girl on girl way, you know what I mean.”
    I continued to laugh, drawing people’s attention.
    Beverly grinned wide. “Laugh at Paul like
that; he won’t hit on you ever again.”
    I covered my mouth, trying to stifle my
snorts, fully aware my laugh was godawful.
    “So, what’s your poison? First drink’s on
me.”
    I dropped my hand. “A lemon, lime, and
bitters, thanks.”
    “Sure thing.” She indicated to the
bartender, who came straight over, giving her a friendly hello, the tall man
appearing to know her. She ordered our drinks, passing over mine once he’d made
it.
    “So, how’d your first week go?” she asked,
taking a sip of her virgin cocktail.
    “Really good,” I replied, stirring my
drink with the straw. “The first day was a bit rough, but once I got past it,
I’ve had hardly any trouble.”
    “Well, that’s good to hear. I’m glad Dante
Rata didn’t drive you away like the last English teacher. She lasted only a few
days before she quit.”
    My eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
    She nodded. “You must be an angel or have
an ironclad will to put up with that ratbag. Paul’s always losing his temper
with him. Last year, Dante spent more time standing outside his class than in
it. Anyway, enough talk about school. What do you do in your spare time?”
    “I mostly read, go to the gym, or hang out
with my husband when he’s not halfway around the world. What do you do?”
    “Watch infomercials and order exercise
equipment I never use. Got Ab Master last week. Did one sit-up and decided to
give it to my younger brother for his birthday.”
    I laughed, finding her fun to talk with.
We spent the next half hour chatting about infomercials and everything she’d
ever bought off TV before Paul interrupted the conversation. He pushed in
between us rudely, ignoring Beverly’s loud complaint. He flagged the bartender
and ordered an ale, then leaned his back against the bar, openly looking me up and
down. Sleazy was definitely the right word for him, his gaze making me feel
dirty.
    “So, Clara...” he paused, “how long have
ye been married for?”
    “A year.”
    “Och, I was married once. The bitch took
me for all I had.” He scratched his chest, a puff of reddish hair peeking out
from underneath his blue button-down shirt. “Marriage is a waste of time; it’s
more fun being single.” He glanced at Beverly. “Ain’t that right, Bev?”
    “I’d rather be married,” she replied.
    “That’s because ye have no clue what it’s
like.”
    “Don’t be mean, Paul.”
    He frowned, appearing perplexed. “What was
so mean aboot that? It’s a fact.”
    “You know damn well.”
    “No, I don’t, and right now I’m not
interested in ye starting another argument, so stop assuming I know what ye’re
talking aboot.” He shook his head at her and took his ale from the bartender.
He sculled it and slammed the glass down on the bar, ordering another one.
    “Take it easy, Paul,” Beverly said. “We
have all night.”
    “I don’t plan on being here all night,” he
looked at me again. “I plan on getting laid.” He yelped as Beverly hit his arm.
“What was that for?”
    “Stop being rude to Clara. For goodness’
sake, we have to work with each other.”
    “I’m just being upfront aboot what