Page 133 of How to Lose at Love

“No. I was headin’ here.”

“Where were you before you got here?”

“Home.”

She considers this. “Did you just swing by with a backpack and clean clothes because we have shit to discuss? No party games?”

Is that sarcasm? I can’t tell. “I thought we’d…you know, talk it out then hang?”

“Talk it out and then hang,” she deadpans with a blank expression that’s hard to read.

Does she not want me here? I thought we enjoyed each other’s company, and I certainly didn’t come here expecting anything other than to run away from the noise inside my head and the paps camped outside my house.

“Can we stop speakin’ in code and get to the point?”

“I’m not speaking in code.”

“No, but you sound pissed and I have no idea why. I know this situation ain’t ideal, but we can make the best of it until it blows over—and it will blow over.” Trust me.

I’ve seen the media stalk and hound my older brother. In fact, he had to hide out in the middle of nowhere when he was switching football teams—which is how he met his girlfriend, Posey.

Hiding out like a big ol’ chicken, scared the paparazzi were gonna get him.

Ha!

Slowly, Ryann nods, acquiescing to my request that we talk.

“First, I wanna apologize for all this. This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked if you’d, you know…”

“Be your fake girlfriend?”

“Sure. If that’s what we’re callin’ it now.” I tilt my head and study her. “Are you sure nothin’s wrong?”

Ryann moves her arms up and down in her lap. “Of course something’s wrong. I’m holed up in my apartment because there are weirdos out there with cameras waiting to take my dumb picture. I couldn’t go to class because I was freaked out, and I didn’t want to work tonight—also because I was freaked out.” She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Look, I know I’m overreacting, and I know this is going to blow over. That’s not the real issue here.”

“It’s not?” ’Cause from where I sit, that’s plenty of good reasons right there that she just listed.

“No.” She’s wringing her hands in her lap. She tilts her head back, looking up at the ceiling. “Ugh, God, I hate this.”

“Hate what?”

“Hate how this is so hard.”

“What’s hard?” And no, I’m not trying to make a dick joke.

“This…telling you how I feel.”

“You’re telling me how you feel?” I amsoconfused right now.

She stares at me, frustration etched across her brow.

thirty-three

ryann

“I’m as cold as ice, but in the right hands, I melt.”

– Ryann Winters

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