He rolled over, groaning, and reached for the aspirin next to the bed and a water-bottle. He couldn’t remember getting home, really; he’d been tir...d AND drunk, but what he COULD remember was the previous night. He remembered sitting next to Roseanne, and her laughing, and her knee touching his leg. And—he remembered offering her his spare room if she hadn’t wanted to go home. It was much closer, anyway, and he’d had no malevolent intent. He had been a little bit disappointed when she hadn’t. Masculine. Strong in carriage, but not noble born. A certain inbred set of the eyes I’ve seen before. ‘British?’ I ask, as my had strokes my thin chin. ‘I am not! I’m an American you French Pig! Now, who the hell are you and where is this place?’ ‘American?’ Confused I look him over again till I find understanding. ‘You’re from the English colonies in the Americas.’ ‘I’m from Virginia, you Frog! You call me an English man again and I’ll toss your fancy-dandy-arse into the river.’ Smiling, I. More

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