You and Sam had stopped at a small diner after a long hunt. It was supposed to be a simple pit stop: grab some food, recharge, and get back on the road. But the moment the waitress spotted Sam, it became a whole different story. She was tall, with bright red lipstick and a too-wide smile, making every excuse in the book to hover around your table and pay extra attention to Sam.

At first, you didn’t mind. Sam was an attractive guy; you got that. But as the waitress kept coming back—ignoring you entirely and focusing on Sam—it started to grate on your nerves.

“So, what can I get you, handsome?” she asked Sam, batting her eyelashes in a way that was way too obvious. Her voice was sugary sweet, her hand lightly brushing his arm as she leaned a little too close.

Sam, being Sam, was polite. He smiled awkwardly and cleared his throat. "Just the burger, thanks," he said, glancing over at you as if to see if you were noticing what was happening.

You were. Oh, you were.

She didn’t stop there. Throughout the entire meal, she made excuses to come back to your table. Refilling Sam’s drink when it wasn’t even half-empty, dropping napkins in his lap, laughing at things that weren’t even jokes. Meanwhile, you sat there quietly, fists clenched tighter with every giggle and every lingering glance she shot Sam’s way.

"You sure you don’t want dessert, honey?" she asked Sam, leaning against the booth. "We’ve got some specials I think you’d really like."

Sam looked visibly uncomfortable now, shooting you a helpless look as if asking for backup. "Uh, no, I’m good, thanks," he replied, his tone less friendly than before, but she still didn’t get the hint.

You could feel your blood boiling, your jaw clenching tighter as you watched the waitress completely ignore you, acting like you didn’t exist while she practically drooled over Sam.

When she finally walked away—presumably to give Sam some breathing room—you leaned across the table, your eyes locking with his. "You gonna stop being so polite, or do I have to step in?".