Near her right hand was a hardbound book and a small ice chest of
drinks. He licked his lips as he looked at the top of several
glass bottles. He was dying of thirst and out of Avion.
"What the hell are you looking at?" a snarling
voice came from the back door of the house. It was the little
brat from the window. She couldn't have been more than 18, but
she was a small little snot who needed a lesson or two.
"The fucking ice chest, why?" he challenged.
"Yeah, right," she laughed.
"Have you got a fucking problem?" he asked,
advancing toward her.
"Stephanie!" The blonde screamed in outrage.
"He was checking you out while you were asleep,
mother," she snarled the word.
"Mother?" Phil asked in confusion. The blonde
couldn't be more that 28 herself.
"Not really," the blonde said, "she's my husbands
daughter from a previous marriage. She just likes to call me
mother to embarrass me."
"I'd slap the little bitch up," Phil snarled,
looking at the bitchy pose and heaving chest of the brat.
"Be my guest. I'll pay you if you like."
"Don't you fucking dare!" the girl screamed.