Page 134 of How to Lose at Love

I can’t getthe words out of my mouth.

“Tell him, Ryann. Worst-case scenario, he says he doesn’t feel the same, and you can know and move on, end of story.”

Winnie’s sage advice runs on a loop through my brain as I make eyes at Dallas, seated only a foot away from me on the couch.

“I…” I clear my throat. “Yes, I want to tell you how I feel.”

Oh God.

No, I don’t.

I don’t—I’m scared.

I can’t do it.

“Feel about…?”

Dallas looks genuinely confused. He also looks concerned, an expression that only elevates my anxiety.

Abort, abort!

“About…” I hedge.

You.

Us.

This.

“Ryann? Are you okay?” He’s reaching across the span of space, putting his hand on my thigh, his large palm warming my skin through the fabric of my leggings.

I nod, still unable to spit it out.

“Should I try to guess?”

Dear God, no, please do not try to guess!

This is a disaster.

I uncurl myself from the couch and stand. “Can you give me a second? I have to use the bathroom.”

Translation: I have to go text Winnie to help me out of this mess.

Dallas cocks his brow. “Should I find something to watch on TV?”

“Um, sure.”

He watches me all the way to the bathroom, and I glance at him one last time through the crack in the door before slamming it shut.

Me:

HELP. OMG. I thought I could do this but obviously I can’t and now he thinks I’m a weirdo.

It takes her an eternity to message me back.

Okay slow down, what is going on? Who thinks you’re a weirdo and what can’t you do?

Dallas. He showed up at my place a little while ago and I started to tell him how I feel—like, was going to dive right in, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out, and now I’m in the bathroom straight-up panicking.

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