Damn it. Why does this keep happening to me?
Brandon Griffin ran down the center of the dark, quiet street, with the thud of his running shoes keeping staccato time with the furious diatribe in his head. I’m twenty-eight f*****g years old. Why the hell can’t I still ever see it coming? Why do I keep choosing assholes?
Chad (in retrospect, that name should have been a warning right there) turned out to be a lying, two-faced bastard. “He’s just a friend, Griff,” Brandon panted in a parody of Chad’s smug asshole voice. “It didn’t mean anything. C’mon, Griff. Seriously, you need to chill.”
Brandon did not need to “chill.” Brandon needed to be exactly as f*****g betrayed and angry as he was, thanks. Unless Chad meant Brandon needed to “chill” as opposed to pounding Chad’s teeth in. Then yeah
