Page 149 of How to Lose at Love

Drake leans against the counter, crossing his arms. “I have a few buddies who are bouncers in town. Girls are always asking to suck their dicks to get into the clubs.”

That much I knew, but I’ve never had anyone approach me personally about it. Thought it was an urban legend.

“Guess I’m not approachable enough,” I grumble.

“Welp.” Drake slaps me on the back. “You are now that you have a girlfriend.”

Drew laughs.

I do not laugh.

I’m also not laughing three hours later when Drake sticks his head through my doorway, grim expression on his face.

“What’s that look for?”

“Have you seen the campus tattler?”

“What the fuck is the campus tattler?”

Seriously, the dumb names people come up with.

“It’s the gossip app where students post shit they’ve seen and heard around campus.”

Sounds idiotic. Where do they come up with this crap?

“I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never seen it.” I pause, setting down the TV remote. “Why?”

Drake steps over the threshold, holding his phone in my direction. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

I squint at it, eyes adjusting to the light shining in my eyes.

It takes my brain several seconds to process the image being thrust in my face, and I see it in fragments: the white cropped hoodie. The black leggings. The familiar long blond hair.

A girl’s ass.

My house.

My porch.

You can’t see my face because Tiffany’s head is blocking whatever expression is hidden there, the image incriminating despite its innocence.

“What. The. Fuck,” I mutter, sitting up, grabbing my brother’s cell. “What the fuck is this? What the fuck is this, Drake?”

“Dude,” is all he says.

“That bitch,” I whisper. “She set me up.”

My brother nods. “Looks like it.”

“That bitch,” I repeat. Look up at Drake. “Ryann is going to murder me.”

thirty-nine

ryann

“Roses are red, violets are blue, I have to use my hand—but I’m thinking of you…”–

Dallas Colter

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