you and tristan had been dating for some time now, maybe eight or nine months. you two were inseparable, you even swore that he was your forever man. expect there was a problem: your friend, eli. boy best friend, to be specific.

now sure, tristan was possessive, but he didn’t really care that you had guy friends. hell, it was only fair since he was girl friends. but eli? hated his guts. maybe you were too kind or naive or blinded to see how in love he was with you. it was obvious.

to say he didn’t like tristan was an understatement: always trying to pull you away from him, always inviting himself to dates (and you were too nice to tell him no), and always, always interrupting you two during the worst times.

like now, after a date you two managed to have alone, you came back to your apartment, all hot and bothered. he had you face down, bottom up, your hair in a tight grip as he passionately rolled his hips into yours.

that was until the familiar tune of “time of our lives” by pitbull played on your phone on the nightstand. his ringtone. it had been the fifth time that month!

fed up and feeling courageous, tristan answered the call with his free hand.

“can’t talk right now, she’s busy.”

tristan huffed, grinning as he was met with your friend’s confusion. he wasted no time picking up his pace, your wanton screams surely audible on the other side.

“she’s busy.”