Amber didn't want to be here. Too pissy, too ready to lash out. Anything might set her off or, worse, nothing at all; she was twitchy and feeling like crap, unpredictable. She hated this. Hated not knowing if a look would make her snap at Eric or if she'd be able to calm the fuck down-- and it wasn't just the jealousy feeding her bad mood, but the embarrassment and excruciating frustration of skidding out of control. Eric hadn't done anything beyond have a life before meeting her and look at how she handled it. Amber seethed. This was exactly what she'd meant when she'd said she hated what she became around him.

She needed a moment to herself. Skulked down the counter to wait for her order, staring down at the light-grey marble. Someone had spilled salt and there were scuff marks, probably from sliding trays. This level of upkeep, Amber just hoped she didn't find a dead roach beneath her table. No, actually, she hoped she did, or a big fat rat; she'd love an excuse to rag at the manager.

She got about a minute to herself before Eric slid down to where she was; just from peripheral vision she could tell he'd brought with him an ample serving of sullen resentment. Poor boy with such an unreasonable girlfriend, angry because his ex threw herself at him for more of those orgasms he so generously spread around. Amber looked the other way, not trusting herself to speak. She just needed some time, was that too much to ask for?

Apparently. "Congratulations." Her fingers itched to tap the counter. What the fuck was she supposed to do with that information? So what if he'd never left stuff at her place? He'd probably put more personal 'things' inside her. "Sounds like a beautiful relationship."