Page 171 of How to Lose at Love

“Mass communication.”

He nods. “Yeah, I figured it was something like business.”

We sit side by side, the pair of us texting Winnie back and forth, her correspondence becoming more sporadic as we near the last few minutes of the game when customers typically come streaming into the diner, the customers who watch the game from home or the parents in town for the game who want to beat the crowd coming from the stadium.

Saturdays can get packed, but it’s not a big diner, and most of us have been working there a few years—we’re a well-oiled machine most days.

Today is not one of those days.

Kyle sets his phone on the dashboard in his car, playing the game on his app so he can keep track of the score and know when it’s about to end, four minutes and counting.

“Thank God they’re winning,” he grumbles. “’Cause your boy there is playing like utter shit.”

“He hasn’t gotten any better after that halftime report?”

Kyle looks at me like I’m bananas. “You don’t think he’s in the locker room during halftime watching the news on his phone, do you?”

Er.

No?

“I don’t know what they do in the locker room during halftime,” I admit sheepishly.

“Girl, they’re in there getting their asses chewed out. Everyone knows that.”

Oh.

I chew on my lower lip nervously.

Then, when people begin streaming out of the stadium doors, I worry about that, too.

How long is it going to take Dallas to shower and come outside? Racking my brain, I do my best to recall the last time I met him in the parking lot—he beat me to it, but I’d been seated on the other side of the stadium and had to fight a sea of people to exit after walking around the entire building on the ground level.

How long did that walk take me?

Cars drive past slowly, the bottleneck making it impossible for traffic to move normally. But Kyle isn’t in an actual parking spot—there were none—and has to move or face the wrath of fans. They cut alcohol off after halftime, but that doesn’t mean many of them aren’t drunk, and Kyle is blocking traffic.

Somewhere behind us, someone honks their horn.

I pull my mittens on. “Well. This is where I leave you.”

I pull my hat on, too, aware that it’s cold outside but not as bad as it could be.

I brace myself before stepping out of Kyle’s car.

Lean in once I’m standing. “Thank you for bringing me, seriously.”

“O-M-G, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He points at me. “You better keep us posted.”

“I will.”

I slam his door and wave at the car behind him, a group of parents who watch patiently when I cross the narrow road so I can lean against Dallas’s truck.

I check the time.

3:47

Hug myself to ward off the cold as cars move past, one by one. The stadium parking lot steadily empties, taillights glowing in the gloomy afternoon weather.

---