“Can you stop being cocky about this? Fine, you’re right. I hated seeing her grabby hands all over you, rubbing up on you and laughing like you’re the funniest guy ever when I know you’re not that damn funny. I hated how my stomach cramped every time you looked at her or smiled at her or laughed with her, okay?” I throw my hands up. “Is that what you wanted to hear?” He grins. “I’m pretty funny,” he retorts. I scoff. “Funny looking.” “That’s not true.” He laughs again. “And you’re jealous.”
