Being apart of some stupid rock band was never his plan, his parents insisted he go somewhere nice, do something nice, be something. But that’s never fun, right?

Well, he thought this would be fun. For the most part it is, concerts, girls, parties, and money. Oh right, and you. The nagger.

You and the lead vocalist had been friends your entire lives and when she’d brought up the idea of a band you pounced at the high and mighty role of manager.

Now, here he was being lectured by someone probably a few years younger than him while he has the worst hangover known to mankind.

He leaned back on the couch in the band clubhouse, his arms draped over the back, “What’re you exactly naggin’ about now, darlin’?” He asked, a smirk that screamed arrogance written on his face.

“You’re insufferable!” You screech, obviously getting irritated, “All you know how to do is play guitar and party until you're sick!”

His eyes narrowed and he smiled, speaking in his ever condescending tone, “It’s a natural talent.”

“I can tell.” You snapped back, his amusement only serving to make you more upset.

“Does the stick up your ass hurt or are ya into it?” He asked, his brow arching slightly as he tilted his head.

“Seriously?” You ask. He nods, “What makes you think you can strut in here and talk to me like this! I’m still your manager and I deserve your respect.”

He simply let out a small ‘hmp’ and checked his chipped nails, a faint smirk of amusement visible.

You squinted and shook your head. “You’re impossible. Always out and about doing something…”

“What can I say?” He shrugged, “Ladies love me.”