Page 52 of How to Lose at Love

“Me? Since when amIthe asshole? You’re the one who holds that title.”

My brother isn’t wrong; he isn’t actually an asshole. In fact, Drew is one of the coolest, most decent dudes I know—and I’m not just saying that because he’s my brother.

“All I’m saying is, don’t say anything stupid.”

I invited Ryann over to discuss the terms and details and to get her to commit to helping me, once and for all.

“Me? Say something stupid? That’s Drake’s department, and he isn’t home yet.”

“Where’d he go?”

“To Tiffany and Shannon’s.”

“Who are Tiffany and Shannon?”

Drew gives me a blank stare. “Um, the neighbors? You’ve only met them a few dozen times.”

If that’s the case, it’s because they’re like three flies on shit, buzzing around, taking every opportunity they can to weasel their way inside this house. Some girls seem to think if they fuck one of us, their magical golden vagina will be the meal ticket to a life of shopping, expensive bags, and VIP suites.

“Are they blond?”

“Two of them are.”

“They all look the same to me.” And they all want the same thing, too. “Maybe they should try a new approach.”

Drew shrugs. “Seems to be working on Drake.”

“Thought he was smarter than that.” He shouldn’t be letting them lead him around by his dick.

“Well, he’s not.”

I thought I taught him better; I thought Duke taught him better. We took all our cues from him, the three younger Colters, watched him wade through the bullshit as a high school student, as a college football player, then as a rookie in the pros. Our older brother struggled to find a relationship—a genuine one with a genuine girl—so…he was never really in one.

And neither was I.

Drew and Drake? Yeah, they’ve had girlfriends, but nothing serious.

Oftentimes when they begin dating someone and the girl realizes how little free time we actually have to spend with them, well—that’s when the fights and arguments begin.

“I was going to order pizza later. You want some?” Drew asks with a mouth full of cereal.

“No, dude, we just had pizza. Get something different.”

“Want me to order something from Gleeson’s before that girl gets here so you can pretend you made it from scratch? Steaks or something?”

Gleeson’s is the only nice steakhouse near campus and has cost an arm and a leg the few times we’ve been there, usually when Duke comes to town and we want to go somewhere nice.

“No, jackass. I’m not having her here so I can impress her.”

“Then why are you having her here?”

So I can convince her to do the impossible: pretend to be my girlfriend so I look like a better human being.

“I told you, we’re just hanging out.”

“Like—hanging out in the living room?”

“No. Probably in my room.” Obviously, we’ll want privacy so we can talk about shit. I don’t need my two brothers sniffing around while I’m trying to formulate a plan, certainly don’t need them repeating the plan to someone who’s going to sell the story to the press.

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