Page 167 of How to Lose at Love

“I’m not freaking out.” I shake my head. “I’m just…”

Freaking out.

Scared.

Embarrassed.

Here we go again, I think. Letting other people make me feel a certain way when it’s within my own power to change the narrative—by making my own choices and decisions.

“I’m just… What if he doesn’t want to see me? I’ve been ignoring him for days, which—isn’t that like, ghosting?”

Shit.

I barely let Dallas say his piece, and then I flat-out ignore him, short of blocking him on my phone. Does that make me the asshole?

I keep telling myself I was justified in not trusting him because we haven’t known each other long enough; I also keep telling myself women “like Tiffany” come with the territory and is that the kind of life I want for myself? Besides worrying about him feasibly being injured in a game, but are quarterbacks typically injured all that often?

Lord, time to read up on football…

“Winnie, what should I do?”

She walks over and gently removes the dishrag from my hand, tucking it into her apron, then reaching for mine. Unties the bow in the back and takes it from me.

“I think you owe it to yourself to go over there and see what he has to say. You like him, don’t you?”

I nod.

“And haven’t you been kind of miserable since you stopped talking to him?”

I shake my head, in denial. “No.”

“Liar.” She smiles. “It’s all you can think about. And you didn’t go to class because you’re trying to avoid him, but you’re only avoiding him because you’re hurt.”

All right, fine.

She’s right; any warm-blooded female would be hurt by the original photograph of Dallas and Tiffany that was leaked, but not all women are willing to put themselves through this kind of drama to date a guy they’ve only known a few weeks.

Kyle comes out of the kitchen, beelining for me. “Girl, if you don’t go get that hunk of a man, I will.”

Only it’s not that simple.

I still have to wrap my brain around dating a minor celebrity. And then during the draft, he’ll become a major one, if you consider professional athletes celebrities.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Kyle is grabbing my hand and giving it a squeeze.

“No.” I laugh. “I don’t need you there hitting on my boyfri—”

He gasps and covers his mouth. “Oh my God, see! You called him your boyfriend!”

Almost.

Caught myself just in time.

“Yeah, yeah.” I walk toward the back door where my coat, hat, and mittens are hanging, taking them all off their hooks.

“Yay!” Winnie claps. “You’re going!”

“We’ll let Ben know—he’s on his way in.”

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