Page 16 of How to Lose at Love

The nerve!

“So…he broke up with me because he’s a pussy? Nice.” I cross my arms, unable to stop myself from pouting. I’m pissed off, embarrassed, and indignant.

“He did you a favor.”

Actually, he humiliated me.

Humiliated, Ryann? That’s a bit dramatic, even for you—especially for you.

If there’s one thing my mother taught me, it’s that no one can make me feel shitty without my consent.

Not in those exact words, but you get the point.

“Do we both agree that I shouldn’t contact him?”

Dallas glances over at me, a flash of light from an oncoming car creating a slash across his face.

“I wouldn’t. I’d let it go.”

I laugh. “You know how hard that is for me to do, right?” I pick at the sleeve of my puffy coat, needing something to occupy my hands. “Not that I want to beg him to keep dating me, because I don’t. I just like closure. This was so random.”

“Was it?”

I give him a hard side glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?” In that tone?

“All I’m saying is, it doesn’t sound like y’all were hot and heavy. It sounds like y’all were lukewarm at best.”

Y’all…

He’s not wrong.

Not in the least.

Still, it’s aggravating.

I open and close my mouth like a guppy, not sure how to refute the claim that Diego and I were no better than tepid water.

Which sounds so…boring.

Because it was.

The fact that I’m arguing has me baffled when, in reality, I was thinking of breaking up with Diego myself.

So annoying!

“Turn here. I’m the apartment right there. Just pull up to the curb. Don’t bother pulling into the driveway.” I’m the unit on the bottom floor—which I hate—patio doors facing the road. Luckily, I’ve never had any scares being at ground level; no one has ever tried to break in, but that doesn’t mean it’s the safest spot to be in.

I’ve been on the waiting list for a second-story apartment since I signed my lease.

“Which one are you?” Dallas is eyeballing the yard, the street ahead, and the neighborhood in general.

“None of your business.” As if I’d give some random guy a road map to where I live. He’s taken me far enough; he needn’t go any farther.

Unbuckling my seat belt, I give him a forced smile. “Thanks for the lift.”

Dick.

“No problem.” If he had a cowboy hat, I imagine he’d tip it toward me in some forced gesture of Southern humility.

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