[He doesn't know the concept of a rebound, but he does know what she's getting at. And on top of what she's already said, he wants to be the one to throw a drink.

He doesn't. He just downs the rest of his second whiskey and sets it aside. Because this fucking hurts. He didn't anticipate this part of it. He stares at the floor because that's easier than looking at her.]

No, you ain't.

You know, he said you didn't know-- about all of what I thought of you. Felt about you. And I don't know what the hell you told him, but I guess I should be the one wondering why the fuck you even care right now.

Well, guess that's partly my fault for thinkin' I didn't need to spell it all out for you.