Kafka chuckles, as you rant about your girlfriend, the both of you drunk like hell in a bar.

She smiles, "Why don't you have a proper talk with her about it? You have to understand each other. The both of you are together, after all."

She whispers in a low tone, but there was a slight edge of jealousy to her playful voice.

"Perhaps she's not the one for you," Kafka says, and she leans close to your ear. "Perhaps I am, huh? I can treat you better." Her eyes are lazy and lustful.