Page 9 of How to Lose at Love

“Two months?” She makes anehsound. “Maybe, maybe not. Only one way to tell, and that’s to go with what your gut is telling you.”

“My gut is telling me Diego only asked me on a date because he was bored.” I pause. “Maybe it was a dare?”

“A dare? Stop.” She squints at me like the sun is shining in her eyes, face contorted. “You don’t think he asked you out, gee, I don’t know—because you’recuteandprettyandtall?”

Cute and pretty andtall?

She enunciates every word.

I laugh. “I’m a real dude magnet with these daddy long legs.” If you consider five-foot-sixtall.

“Would you stop being so self-deprecating and appreciate the fact that you have a guy who likes you? Diego Lorenz, who, by the way, is an actual catch.”

“That’s already been established.”

A customer comes in and sits in a corner booth, and the server, Monica—who was already on shift—goes over to greet her.

As veterans of the establishment, Win and I sit in the corner booth, filling salt shakers and wrapping silverware for the late shift.

In companionable silence, we each take a paper napkin, set a fork, spoon, and butter knife inside, and then roll it up. Wrap a paper ring around it to hold it together, then start all over again, stacking them in a basket for later.

Winnie cocks her head to the side as she focuses out the window. Sits up straighter, at attention, like a pointer dog that sees a bird in the distance.

“You know, that’s the second time I’ve seen that boy going into that theater.”

“Boy? What are we doing, spying on people now?”

“Not just any people.” Winnie stops rolling to stare. “DallasColter.” She stares through the window, across the street, where the little local movie theater rests, old and archaic and playing only vintage shows.

“Oooo, Dallas Colter.” I repeat his name the same way she crooned it, breathy and excited-like. “Who?”

She directs her shocked expression my way. “Dallas Colter?” She waits for recognition to fill my face and, when it doesn’t, looks disgusted. “The Dallas Colter?”

“He has a the in front of his name now? Oo la la.”

Winnie is not amused. “Are you being serious right now?”

“What?” I roll my eyes as I place more napkins on the table. “Is it a crime not to know who someone is?”

“No, but come on. EvenIknow who he is, and I don’t watch sports.”

Yeah, Winnie is less of the scholastic type than I am. She always has her finger on the pulse of the campus.

“I don’t watch sports either.” Professional or otherwise, which is why Idon’t know who he is. “So I guess he’s an athlete.”

Winnie snorts. Glances over her shoulder and shouts to Kyle, the line cook we can see flipping burgers in the kitchen. “Yo, Kyle, who is Dallas Colter?”

Kyle only glances up for a few seconds. “Best quarterback in the Big Ten, junior, was nominated for the Heisman, predicted to go early in the NFL draft.”

Winnie looks pleased with herself. “See?”

“I mean, is that even fair? Kyle is a nerd when it comes to that stuff.”

“Kyle is a nerd when it comes to everything,” Winnie teases.

“I heard that,” comes the voice from the kitchen.

My bestie leans across the table and lowers her voice. “Dallas Colter is so hot. Like—so hot.”

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