Page 104 of How to Lose at Love

On my end at least. I’m not sure how Dallas feels about it.

twenty-four

dallas

“I don’t have a girlfriend, but I do have a girl who’d be pissed at me for saying that.”

– Dallas

I feel great.

This robe is the bomb diggity.

Never actually worn a robe before, and this one happens to be pink and furry as fuck, and it fits.

Mostly.

I mean, most of my legs are showing and it doesn’t cover up my lower half, but I’m dry and toasty and hunkered down on the couch when Ryann emerges from her bedroom looking very much the same as I do: snuggly and warm.

In addition to her robe, I’ve commandeered a few blankets, wrapping those around my legs, which I’ve stretched out in front of me and have propped up on the little coffee table she’s got arranged in front of the couch.

I give my toes a wiggle.

Lace my hands behind my head.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.” Ryann saunters farther into the room, padding toward the kitchen with pink socks on her feet. Opens the fridge and peers inside. “What are you hungry for? Must have been a while since you’ve eaten.”

It has been hours since I’ve eaten solid food. “What have you got?”

I watch as she tilts her head. “Not much. Random stuff—salad? Leftover burger from work. Um, I have a frozen pizza.”

None of that sounds tempting.

I grab my phone off the couch and thumb through to the food delivery app. “Let’s order somethin’ then so neither of us has to worry about it.”

Ryann comes around the counter and sinks down onto the couch beside me, arm on the back cushion. I can see thermal pants sticking out of the bottom of her cozy-looking robe and a thermal button-down peeking out of the neckline.

Cute.

Conservative.

Casual.

Exactly the kind of girl Eli wanted me to align myself with, and I gone and done it.

Pleased with myself, I order a shit ton of food, needing pasta and carbs and protein and some other random shit, my stomach beginning to give that telltale sign that in no time it’s gonna start growling at me the same way I growl on the playing field.

Ryann fluffs her area, nesting, getting more comfortable and grabbing the remote. Props her feet on the coffee table next to mine.

I nudge her fuzzy socks with my big toe.

“Are you flirting with me?”

Am I?

Maybe.

Instead of replying, I do it again because I’m a guy, I’m immature, and despite the fact that I just played four quarters in a football game, I’m slightly bored.

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