Page 57 of How to Lose at Love

“I figured you would be a hard sell and I’d have to do a song and dance to get you to agree.”

Ryann yawns. “The fact that I’m even here should be telling. As if I don’t have other things I could be doing, like picking up an extra shift at work.”

“You said you have to study.”

“Right. Only because I’m here. Otherwise I could have picked up an extra shift at work and then gone home to study.”

I don’t believe her butwhatever.

“One thing I did want to circle back around on was…” Ryann crosses her long legs. “You said I wasn’t getting anything out of this, and we both know that’s bullshit.”

“I’m not allowed to pay you.”

“Who said anything about being paid? Don’t insult me.”

I didn’t think she was the type to toss her hair, but here she is, throwing it over her shoulder, affronted by my mention of money changing hands.

“You have to do better than that.”

What is she talking about? “I’m not sleeping with you.”

I mean, I could.

She’s not horrible to look at and I haven’t fucked in a really long time (three months at least), so sleeping with her in exchange for—

“Are you trying to make me barf?” She laughs, uncrossing her legs. “Be serious for a second.”

I thought I was.

“The thought of sex with me makes you want to barf?”

What the actual fuck. Never in my damn life have I ever had—

“Kind of. You’re not exactly my type.”

Ryann Winters is so full of shit right now. I can’t believe she can sit there and say that with a straight face. Not her type myass. I’m everyone’s fucking type!

Even guys want to have sex with me!

Who is she kidding?

“I’m not your type,” I deadpan, disbelieving. “What is your type then?” Diego Lorenz, the dude with the limp dick and weak spine?

“Why do you care?”

Because I care, goddammit! Not because she’s my type, either, but still.

“I don’t.”

“So then we can move on.” Her arms wave in the air nonchalant-like.

We could move on, butI don’t want to. I want to know what her type is because clearly Diego was an experiment—one that failed.

“Give me something on your list.”

She seems to consider this. I can see her mulling it over in that brain of hers. Taps her fingers on my desktop, lets out a long, taxing sigh.

As if I’m inconveniencing her. “I guess he must be family-oriented.”

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