Of Clarity and Competitivity

I feel it necessary to state here, before I start, that I'm perfectly aware this is childish, and neither big nor clever.
*stamps foot*


"But I had my purse stolen last time we came here!" I said mournfully, trying my hardest to look hard done by. "You should all be holding my hand and comforting me! What kind of heartless people are you, to put me through such a thing after such a traumatic experience?"
As it turned out, people I owe drinks to.
But I did try my absolute hardest to get out of buying in the first round.

Hopping up onto a stool at the bar, I ordered various drinks and exchanged words of commiseration with the bartender. I leant across to pay and slipped sideways off the stool- metal stools and cotton dresses just don't mix well; but the lack of friction there was more than made up for by the ongoing tension between me and the guy I crashed into.
He caught me, and I stood clasped in the circle of his arms for a good, oh, thirty seconds before I realised it was J. He recognised me at roughly the same time and we sprang apart, varying shades of smiles on our faces and began working at strained conversation.
But we've always argued, even back when we were doing the whole sleeping together thing, but then our disagreements had the confines of a relationship. Lacking that structure, we tend to bring out the worst in one another; me in him because I'm flighty and self-involved, him in me because he's slightly too smug and self-satisfied and it gets on my nerves.

And, of course he was rude and dumped me, which doesn't help matters in the slightest.

Whilst exchanging pleasantries and trying to avoid getting myself typecast as a Sullen Ex, I caught the eye of a girl over at the other end of the bar. J caught me looking, and smiled condescendingly down at me- even in three inch heels he pretty much towers over me.
"She's been looking at me for a while now," he said, smirking. "I think I'm in there."
"No. No no, she's clearly looking at me."

I gave him a look and stomped off, forgetting the drinks. And stomped back over after a second to retrieve them.
"Imogen," he said. I turned back towards him and he waved a £5 pound note in my general direction; I span round on my heel and made to leave, when he said,
"Don't be so silly! It's just.. I bet you I'll have her by the end of the night."

Oh, he gets on my nerves.

"You want to bet on this!?"
"What, is this because you know I'm right?"
"Hang on just one second," I said. "You're betting your one time shag partner that you'll pull this girl?"
"No, even I'm not quite that crude."
Then...?

"I'm betting that I'll shag her before you do."