Page 40 of How to Lose at Love

“No.”

“Got any candy?

What? “No.”

“Protein bar?”

“Would you be quiet?” I hiss, glancing around to see if anyone is listening to the exchange. “Some of us want to hear what she has to say.”

Up in the front of the room, Professor Rebecca Robinson is discussing the customer service aspects of business communication and how they’ve been impacted by the creation of social media, how it’s evolved.

At least, that’s what the header of her PowerPoint presentation says.

Beside me, Dallas roots around in his laptop sleeve and fishes out a pair of black-framed glasses. Slides them up the bridge of his nose as ovaries in every corner of the world explode.

Fine.

Okay, so he’s good-looking, big deal.

The fact is, he’s a dickhead, and I have firsthand experience.

“Have you heard from Diego lately?” he whispers next to me, all the while tapping notes on his laptop as if he were paying attention to the lecture. Meanwhile, I’ve barely heard a word Professor Robinson has said.

“No.”

He snorts. “Doesn’t surprise me. No backbone.”

Tap, tap, tap.

He types awfully fast for a guy with such large hands.

“You ain’t messaged him, have you?”

“Also no,” I mutter out the side of my mouth. “But thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

“Hey, the guy didn’t give you any closure. It wouldn’t surprise me if you’d texted him.” He taps away. “I’d be pissed.”

“Well, I wasn’t.”

Mostly wasn’t. Mostly it was ego and pride.

“Which means you didn’t actually like him.”

“Don’t analyze my relationship like you know anything about it.”

He chuckles. It’s low and deep and quiet enough that only I can hear it because his arm is touching mine and I can feel his body vibrating with the motion.

“I know nothin’ about nothin’, don’t you worry.”

“Clearly.”

He shifts in his seat, causing my laptop—the one I’ve barely touched—to jerk to the right.

Dallas barely notices.

Throughout class, I have to smell him.

Hear himbreathe.

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