“You,” she continued poking my bare chest, “are sluttier than a pair of gray sweatpants, so you do not get to judge me.” I held my hands up. “I wasn’t judging. I promise. I only got a little possessive.” Grasping at straws, desperate to placate her, I kissed her neck. “Forgive me, Trouble. I’m drunk on you. The smell of you, the taste of your skin. Don’t blame me for things I say while under the influence.”
