Page 31 of How to Lose at Love

“Are you kidding me right now? Ryann Simone Winters, this isn’t a funny joke. That’s horrible.”

No shit, Sherlock, I want to reply, but she hates swearing of any kind, especially from me.

“I wish I were kidding because it was hella awkward.”

She kicks into therapist mode. “How did it make you feel?”

Pissed. It made me feel pissed. “First I was shocked because the guy who broke up with me was a complete stranger, but mostly I feel relieved. Because it was inevitable and, as Dallas said, Diego did me a favor.”

“Who is Dallas?”

“The guy who broke up with me.”

“Ah. And do you know how it madehimfeel?”

“I imagine it made him feel fifty dollars richer.”

“Ryann, who is this person?”

“He’s not anyone you would know.”

“But you said he’s Diego’s teammate. Does he also play football?”

I roll my eyes, grateful she can’t see me. “Yes, Mom.”

“I’m sorry this happened to you.”

She knows what the short-lived relationship was like; she asks about it every time she calls, so it was no secret that it lacked affection and communication.

“Everything happens for a reason, sweetie.”

“I know.”

Still, it sucks because I tried to give the dating thing a go, and if this is what guys my age are like—theysuck, too.

“Relationships only work if two people are willing to put in the effort, and I don’t think either of you really wanted to make it work.”

True.

“And you’ve mentioned the lack of intimacy…”

I have mentioned it. I didn’t go into detail, because there wasn’t much detail to share, but I have given her a few nuggets of information, and she knew we barely kissed.

“Focus on your classes,” she goes on. “Some young gentlemen at this age don’t know what they want yet or who they are.”

“Mostly I just think we lacked chemistry.”

“There is that, too,” she says diplomatically.

“And sexual attraction.”

“Ryann…”

She may be a therapist, but she’s still my mom and hates when I bring up sex or the thought of mehavingit. But let’s be real, I’m not a virgin. I might not be having tons of sex, but I’ve had it a few times. Uncoordinated, fumbling sex.

Ugh.

“I knew it wasn’t going to last,” I continue. “The ironic part of the whole thing was I’d been talking to Winnie about it and telling her I thought we were wasting time—and that night he dumped me.”

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