Too late

While twiddling your thumbs toward the strange ring, Roger slovenly snatches it back into the palm of his hand. ****, but not scatterbrained, he stares wide-eyed for a moment at you, before sliding the ring back onto his finger, wiping away the unsightly string of saliva from his lower chin. What were you thinking about, again?

The two of you emerge from the restrooms, you feeling more dumbstruck than the stumbling drunk man following suit. You glance across the aisle, towards Amy, your heart going aflutter at the sight of her, which then brings your attention back to Roger, sauntering his way over to her, no doubt with the intention of ruining your birthday once again. You have to say something, just in hopes to skew his train of thought; to leave Amy alone. No girl could resist a cock as hung as his, single or otherwise.

"Hu-ehy, uh-" your voice cracks loudly, drawing the gaze of the still-disheveled Asian waitress a few tables over and a few passerby looking for nachos, "Roger."

Loud enough to draw his attention as well, the cool-guy routine spins around, spitting fire with his eyes in your general direction. Despite the supposed hostility, you approach, sticking to your guns. Roger was well on his way to making Amy his, that possessive attitude always seemed to come up with results, further infuriating your (mostly) pure intentions. This has to stop, at least for tonight; if Amy shoots you down, by morning Roger can have her. You can live with that.

"Yea, John?" Roger crinkles his forehead, placing a thumb to his temple as he weaves through each and every one of your obstacles with annoyance, "What's up?"

You feel the need to just say it outright, leaning in towards the big-man's ear, out of earshot from Amy. "Look man. I know what you're trying to do," your feelings bubble through, heaving a sigh between your words. "Amy... I like her, a lot. And I see the way she looks at... you too."

Roger's cross-eyed gaze lurches forward at the accusation, "Wha, no... She and I're friends, just friends." A rigidity in the tone he labels her a friend set off alarm bells, but he continues, "Annnd besides, she single... It doesn't work like that." You interject his drunken slurs, pulling him further away from the lanes by his arm, "Just... lemme lay my case tonight, with her, please? We've been friends too... for a while, and... I wanna see if I have a shot with her."

Roger dismisses your confession by stifling a laugh, placing a lazy hand on your shoulder, "Look, *hic* John. You want the girl... you get the girl."
Without a second thought, Roger turns on his heel, stumbling into a bench as if an intentional action, before making his way back over to your party. You follow behind, a latent suspicion to Roger's words and, though you have no proof, the strange expression on Roger's face denoting the gears of his mind turning in the background, behind all that booze. What was he thinking?

You take a seat by Amy, with Roger stealing a glance of her before taking his bowling ball, and leveling his shot down the lane. Amy's eyes light up at your presence, giving her traditional smile. You solemnly grin back, distracted by your previous conversation, before Amy raises an arm between you both, offering a small container of bowling-alley chips, "Want one?" You relent, stuffing your face with the most savory slice, and while between bites Amy interjects. "So what were you and Roger talking about?" she takes a dip of nacho cheese, "I don't often see you talk that much."

You shake your head, taking another bite, "I just honestly don't know where that guy gets his confidence."
"Pffft, maybe the booze?"
"Yea... maybe."