We're sitting in the same kitchen where I showed you I could take whiskey shots without chasers, and three years later we're standing on the exact same tile floor and you're calling me beautiful, and you're introducing me to your friends with care. Your lips are pressed into the side of my face. That night three years ago was two days after I realized I liked you. I spent two and a half years trying to chase you. I gave up six months ago, I was just too fucking tired of playing this game. And here we are again, and you're kissing me while she watches and I don't like it. I'd rather flirt with your best friend.