'kare', that/the; 'onna', she/woman; 'kanojo', girlfriend/sweetheart
Contrary to popular belief, Roy thought, surreptitiously glancing over a few tables, Jean could be quite dashing when he felt like it. The trick was to get him to feel like it.
But there the tumble-headed blonde was, flirting shamelessly with a rather cute, snub-nosed brunette from the library. And Jean was completely ignoring the fact that Mustang was in the same restaurant, let alone the same planet as him. With last week's date.
"It's unnatural how quickly Jean's gotten a new girlfriend," the ice-queen across from him commented chillingly, sampling her wine. Expensive little bitch. She didn't deserve Jean in the slightest. "He jumps from one to the other so often..."
Roy graciously inclined his head, lifting an eyebrow in an elegant manner. "Oh?"
She smiled ingratiatingly, obviously planning Something. "He doesn't know how to take care of a girl. Unlike you, Colonel."
/That/. Ticked. Him. Off.
But his urbane mask didn't waver. "And how do I take care of a girl?" he purred, leaning closer and resting his chin on folded hands.
"You're more sensitive than that clod is." She smiled at him, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He just took me out to an outdoor production of /Der FreischÃ¼tz/. No dinner, no nothing."
Roy's jaw tightened imperceptibly. An opera. A good opera. And the woman had the nerve to call Jean a clod? Good god, he could see why the poor man had dumped her as soon as humanly possible. He was seriously considering doing the same.
She was now blathering on about Jean in the most uncomplimentary terms. His fingers twitched, calluses rubbing together.
A finger tapped his shoulder. "Sir?" Jean's voice breathed into his ear. "Hawkeye just called for the both of us. Problem back at the base."
He twisted around. The brunette kissed Jean on the cheek as the man pulled on his overcoat, apologizing for the mess-up.
Jealousy licked up hot in his stomach. Calm blue-green eyes glanced over at him, glittering knowingly. "Come on, then."