Page 139 of How to Lose at Love

“A dick a day keeps the vibrator away…”

– Sav

This was a mistake.

A huge, huge mistake.

I never should have said it.

If I could snatch the words back, I would, because Dallas isn’t moving—and he isn’t speaking.

We regard each other, our knees now touching, mine covered by a plaid blanket for warmth and security.

Dallas says nothing, only watching me with those dark eyes. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, the hair on his face as dark as the hair on his head, making him look dangerous and severe.

I know he’s not.

His thick brows furrow. “I thought you just wanted to be friends.”

I did. I do. “We are.”

Friends, I mean.

It’s just…

Why is it so hard to get the words out? I couldn’t have cared less when Diego broke up with me. Couldn’t have cared less about those times he canceled on me. Didn’t hesitate to tell Simon Stevens I wasn’t interested in anything serious when he told me he was in love with me back in freshman year.

That pep talk in the bathroom with Winnie is doing me little good.

What’s the worst thing Dallas could say, you wonder?

Well, for starters, he could tell me he doesn’t have time to date me, which I would know is a lie because:

We have class together and see one another twice a week during the day.

We’ve spent numerous hours together before and after practices and games.

He wasn’t too tired to come hoofing it to my apartment tonight—withoutan invitation, might I add.

He could tell me he isn’t invested like I am and let me down easy.

He could tell me, as far as girlfriends go, I’m not his type.

I have no idea what his actual type is, only that I met a need, which was fooling the team owners interested in offering him a position on their team.

But what if he doesn’t?

I take a deep breath. Shift on the couch so I’m cross-legged and facing him, moving the blanket so it’s no longer on my lap.

“So what I’m hearin’—just to make sure I’m not misunderstandin’ you—is that you…like me.”

Like him. “Sure. That’s one way of putting it.”

That makes him laugh.

He grins at me. “Is it so hard to say you have the hots for me?”

“The hots for you?” I repeat, slight indignation lacing my tone. “I never said I have the hots for you.”

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