Hunter just quirked an eyebrow,but he accepted the fresh cup of coffee. "Good for him," was his dry, sarcastic and cynical response. He wasn't exactly sure how having his nose rubbed into the fact her room mate had an awesome sex life when he wasn't even sure his dick still functioned to make it through a quickie was supposed to make him feel, but cynical was probably the best description at that point. He poured just a splash of the Baileys into the mug, not spilling any this time, and finally took a sip. Though, he really just wanted to sort of grab the booze bottle and down it now. Was he jealous of this manslut who paraded it around and probably had sex at least three times a day like a staple diet? He didn't want to admit it, but yeah. Of course he was. The last time he shared a bed with another warm body was probably his granny back in Colorado Springs the Christmas before he graduated military school when his nephew pissed on the bed he was supposed to be sleeping in for the holidays. It was depressing. He hated when the depression kicked in just when he was feeling sort of alright.
"Luckily for me, it's not my obligation to get used to him. He lives with you, not me." Then the joke that he wouldn't be her type. She didn't mean it as an extra blow, but that was sort of how he took it. Talk about a coffee date really not doing his ego any good. Now he could feel himself getting on the defence, like he had to somehow defend the fact he wasn't getting laid every day or didn't have tits. "Did you really need to add that little disclaimer? Pretty sure you being a lesbian and me knowing that was enough to establish I'm not your type. I'm pretty sure being mid-twenties and using a fucking walking stick puts me well out of the realms of a lot of people's 'type' but yay for you and cock-at-the-ready for having it on tap whenever you want it. He may have hit on me, but he hardly knows the full story, does he? Guys like him drop dudes like me like a fucking hot potato because they hate fucking baggage... and you know it."
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"Luckily for me, it's not my obligation to get used to him. He lives with you, not me." Then the joke that he wouldn't be her type. She didn't mean it as an extra blow, but that was sort of how he took it. Talk about a coffee date really not doing his ego any good. Now he could feel himself getting on the defence, like he had to somehow defend the fact he wasn't getting laid every day or didn't have tits. "Did you really need to add that little disclaimer? Pretty sure you being a lesbian and me knowing that was enough to establish I'm not your type. I'm pretty sure being mid-twenties and using a fucking walking stick puts me well out of the realms of a lot of people's 'type' but yay for you and cock-at-the-ready for having it on tap whenever you want it. He may have hit on me, but he hardly knows the full story, does he? Guys like him drop dudes like me like a fucking hot potato because they hate fucking baggage... and you know it."