Page 47 of How to Lose at Love

“Not to give you a big head over this whole thing, but why can’t you just pretend to date someone who might actually want to date you?”

Duh. This answer is easy. “Because they might actually want to date me, and I don’t have time for that shit.” The same way Diego Lorenz didn’t actually have time for that shit. Because our time is dedicated to working out and football practice and doing things thatreallymatter, like trying to get drafted into the fucking NFL.

We’re not regular students.

“And you think I won’t want to actually date you?”

Is she being serious? “Uh, no. You’re the last person who wants to date me.”

“How doyouknow?” Her lips are pursed, color still high.

“You just broke up with your boyfriend, one you didn’t give a shit about. The last thing you want is to date someone new.”

I can see her considering my observation, which is just a guess, but she doesn’t know that.

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Ryann Winters wasn’t bent out of shape when I dumped her for Diego. She was more pissed at me for doing it out in the cold.

“Why were you datin’ him in the first place?”

Her chin rises slightly. “That’s none of your business.”

It’s really not, but that doesn’t make me any less curious.

“Why do you take up so much space?” Ryann blurts out, the question coming out of left field.

“Why do I take up so much space?” I repeat.

“You’re…” She motions around with her hands. “Huge.”

I mean, yeah. That’s one of the reasons I do what I do and have the opportunities I have.

“Sorry?” Ain’t nothin’ else to say.

“That was a rude thing for me to say.” Ryann goes about taking off her hat and puffer coat, busying herself hanging them in the closet located right off the kitchen.

It’s a tiny apartment, suited for only one person, and I try to look around rather than look at Ryann as she putzes, try to notice the beige sofa in the living room, the television on the wall, the knickknacks she has placed on the hutch beneath it.

Try to look around at her stuff instead of at her.

The long hair.

The long legs.

The tight black leggings.

The opposite of what the neighbor girls were wearing the other day; then again, they were going out on the town to party and not coming home from class. But it’s not uncommon for any number of the student body to show up to class in midriff-exposing tops, tanks, shoulder-baring shirts—even in the winter.

Ryann is wearing an oversized plaid flannel that would easily fitme.

She could be wearing a plastic garbage bag for all I care.

“Why is it a bad thing that you haven’t been seen dating anyone?”

“Because teams want men who are loyal and faithful and shit like that—so fans buy tickets.” According to Eli, anyway. I don’t see why it matters, but I suppose I’m paying him to give a shit about things I don’t give a shit about even when it becomes a huge pain in my ass. “A good girl would help with that.”

The words ‘good girl’ are out of my mouth before I consider how she’ll react to them.

“So your agent thinks being seen with a good girl will be good for you.”

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