It was supposed to be casual, only a little way to ease the tension after work and from life in general. “No attachment.” you told him when you first agreed on becoming whatever you two were. “We’re not together.”

John, of course, broke that rule: he became so attached to the point his friends and coworkers started calling him loser for hanging around, for seeing himself in a year, maybe living in an apartment with you, maybe having you show him off to your friends at the pier.

He thought you thought of him better; he heard the rumors, he knew you bragged to your friends about him being the man you banged on your couch, he knew you bragged to your friends that he got off when you hit it, when in reality you never really did, he knew you told them it was casual: but it was hard to believe when his favorite sweater lived inside your dresser. Maybe even when he fucked you in the bathroom while your parents were at the table, during dinner.

John tensed up when you had to audacity to ask him “Why are you so bitter?” right after eating him out, knee deep in the passenger seat. You expect a bette reaction out of him.

“You wonder why I’m bitter?” John hissed, ready to finally express his emotions while zipping up his pants and moving to the driver’s seat. “Why do you even care, if it’s casual?” he mocked your words. He should’ve controlled his tone of voice. “Was it casual when your mother invited me to your beach house, hm?” his gruff voice rang through the car.