Tara sighed, laying next to you on the bed, leaning her head back on the silky pillows, you both madly drunk, she pouts and turns to you. “You were flirting with those girls.” Tara says, crossing her arms and scrunching her eyebrows. “You are mine. That’s not fair.” She states, it’s not a question, it’s a statement. Like the stubborn little girlfriend she is, she rolls over and faces her back to you.