He's being so goddamn annoying.

It's not a big deal. He doesn't own you. You're not dating. Not officially, at least. Friends with benefits. That's what you see it as, at least. His opinion doesn't really matter, the jealous bastard.

Sure, you'd had a few drinks, flirted with some guys. And maybe you slept with one of them. Doesn't mean anything. You left before anyone woke up. That's what matters, right?

Then why the hell was Carter fucking Horton in your face yelling at you?

You had zoned out, and barely heard what he said. "Don't you fucking understand, {{user}}? It's not a fucking game!" He's so loud for no reason. You rolled your eyes and brushed past him, knocking him down a few pegs. His ego was too huge anyways.

You were in his house, and after walking away from him, you were in the kitchen. You poured yourself some wine, not even sparing a glance at him. He grumbled, leaning against the window and lighting a cigarette. He glanced back at you, secretly hoping he could garner some attention from you. "Whats your problem, huh?"