Page 131 of How to Lose at Love

Lucky for me—and too bad for those assholes outside—I have a back door and I’m not afraid to use it.

Wearing all black and a baseball cap, I shove through the doorway and step down into the backyard, making my way across the grass to the detached garage where I’ve instructed the Uber to pick me up.

I toss my backpack into the back seat before climbing in, giving the dude a nod as I buckle in. “Sup.”

He adjusts the rearview mirror and looks back at me. “Dallas?”

“Yup.”

He hesitates before putting the car into drive, and I almost roll my eyes.

“Sorry for havin’ you pick me up back here. It’s a clusterfuck out front.”

The guy nods, taking a right onto the road at the end of the alley. “No problem. It’s kind of dark back here, but so is everything else.”

It’s true that the neighborhood doesn’t have a lot of streetlights since it’s primarily residential and who wants lights blinding them at night when they’re trying to sleep.

On the other hand, it’s kind of inconvenient if you’re trying to walk safely from one place to another in the dark, a problem I don’t think about ’cause I’m not a female, but dudes have been known to get jumped.

Squished into the back of this guy’s Nissan, my legs are bent up uncomfortably all the way to Ryann’s apartment. I stretch on the curb when the dude dumps me off, bending this way and that, not noticing the small group of people clustered in the yard.

“Fuck.”

More photographers.

What the hell are they even doing here?

Trying to get a glimpse of my girlfriend, that’s what.

I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head, over the brim of my ballcap, and sling my backpack over my shoulder before walking with my head bent to the front.

They barely notice me until I’m reaching for the door, their shouts muffled when I slam it behind me and stomp the weather off my sneakers on my way down the hall.

Ryann doesn’t know I’m coming, and I hope she’s home. Would sure suck if she wasn’t ’cause I’d be forced to go back outside and hop a ride, fight off the bloodthirsty paps.

I knock twice on her door.

Nothing.

Knock again. “Ryann? It’s me.”

On the off chance she’s home but just not answering because she doesn’t want to open the door to a reporter…

“It’s Dallas.”

Several doors in the hallway crack open, and I sigh toward the ceiling.

“So fucked up,” I mumble as Ryann’s door opens, too.

“Hey.” It opens all the way as she invites me in, stepping to the side to give me room.

When I’m inside, we stand and look at each other as if we haven’t seen one another for days, because the truth is we haven’t.

“You didn’t come to class today,” I accuse, setting my bag down in the kitchen and putting my hands on my hips.

“I didn’t think you would go, either.”

“Well, I went.” I live with this shit all the time, and I’m used to it. Didn’t cross my mind that she would bail on a class, and I feel guilty knowing all this is my fault. “Everyone was lookin’ at me. I mean, they’re always lookin’ at me, but still.”

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