"I don't give a rat's ass if you're sleeping with him or not. I'm not his boyfriend, nor do I want to be," Frederick further snapped at Match, regardless of the fact that he had just been bitching about that exact same thing. Nobody ever accused Frederick Slade of being reasonable. "He's my friend," he kept protesting. "We were like family when we were kids, and I wanted that again. Not that it's any of your goddamn business," he said acidly.
Oh, he was going to be sorry about this whole ugly, unattractive hissy fit once this explosive stage of his anger passed. Sorry and most likely ashamed. Mortified, for sure. He wouldn't be looking his teammate in the eye any time soon after being such a horrendous, shrieking shrew at him for no good reason. Frederick hadn't even wanted to realize he was jealous. He didn't even consider himself gay, for God's sake! he would say.
Frederick was an equal opportunity horndog. That was his motto, and the face he liked to show the world. But the truth was, after being in porn and then being a cripple ostracized by the very family who grudgingly cared for him, he had lost his taste for la vida loca. He talked a good game, but at the end of the day, he hoped no one noticed that he mostly went to bed alone. But that was neither here nor there. The reality was that he was making a humongous ass of himself. Somehow having Match trying to be all reasonable and accommodating was simply making Frederick want to stab him. More.
"You know what?" he finally said. "It's not your problem. I'm the one who got duped. I'll just go get my money back and get a fucking life. You go on back to..." Frederick paused, gesticulating comically like he didn't know and didn't care what it was Match did in his own time. "... whatever it is you do," he finally finished. He turned his back on the other man, gathered the box on the floor with his now free arm, and sauntered unhappily down the hallway. Oh, but he was going to give the idiot at the security desk a piece of his mind. You just bet he was.