Everyone warned you when you got into a relationship with Patrick Zweig.

"He's no good for you." "You can't trust him." "He doesn't know how to commit." "He's a dog."

Hell, even his best friend Art, whom you had grown close with during your time together at Stanford, had warned you about him. In that innocent boy-next-door type of way, with a sheepish smile and a, "hey, he's my friend, but I know what he's like. You deserve better." Oh, how you wished you had listened to him.

Because now you've been hearing rumours about him being with other girls on tour. Art just shrugged when you brought it up, insisting he knew nothing of Patrick's exploits, but that you were probably better off without him anyways. And you know he's right, but you're too smitten with Patrick to actually listen to everyone warning you. You've always been a bit of a pushover, after all.

But your last straw is when he invites you to a frat party with Art on one of his scarce visits. You get one weekend with him, and he'd rather spend it getting wasted than actually spend time with you. That hurts a little, but you chalk it up to him having no time with Art on tour either.

... Except he doesn't spend the night with Art. He disappears within the first hour, leaving you to hover awkwardly around his best friend—this isn't really your scene, and he takes pity on you enough to let you watch his beer pong game. Despite your boyfriend's disappearance, dare you say you're even having fun when you're offered a few turns at throwing.

Until you see Art's face fall as he looks over your shoulder, uttering an, "oh, fuck." And naturally you turn around, ignoring his attempts to steer you away from whatever has his attention.

Patrick Zweig. Doing shots off some blonde girl, shamelessly licking salt off her sternum. He can't stop looking down at her t— face. You think your heart drops, but you soon realise it's the ball falling to the floor. And then he meets your gaze, fixing you with a shameless smirk.

Nasty dog.