Page 147 of How to Lose at Love

But we’re not good.

Not by a long shot.

When I arrive home, Tiffany is on my front porch, swinging on the porch swing, feet dangling, rising when I climb the steps one by one, eyeing her skeptically.

I switch my backpack from one shoulder to the other. “Did you need something?”

Why the hell is she sitting out in the cold, wearing nothing but black leggings and a cropped hoodie? Her stomach is showing, for fuck’s sake, and she’s only wearing sneakers—the chunky white kind it seems chicks are all wearing these days.

Tiffany weirds me out for a few reasons.

She’s always popping up when I don’t want her around.

She hangs out with my brother Drake, but for whatever reason, she always finds the opportunity to make conversation with me—unwanted conversation—as if she’s only hanging out with him so she can get close to me.

She has motives I can’t figure out, and that makes me unable to trust her.

I wish Drake would stop letting her and her friends inside the house. Now that I have a girlfriend, the last thing I need is cleat chasers weaseling their way in and making shit weird for Ryann.

Ryann hasn’t said as much, but what woman wants a Tiffany trying to get on my dick all the time?

“No.” Tiffany is acting coy, despite the cold wind whipping around.

I have no idea how she’s tolerating it in that half-cut-off sweatshirt.

“Then why are you sitting out here?”

She shrugs, eyes glancing around the yard.

I glance down in the yard too—for once this week there are no paparazzi across the street, no media trying to catch me on my way out the door.

Then.

Tiffany does something she hasn’t done yet, stepping closer, putting her hand in the middle of my chest. Goes up on her tiptoes and leans in.

“Sorry, it’s so cold out here.”

“Then why are you here?”

I know for a fact both my brothers are home; Drew told me in the locker room that he planned to get dinner started.

“I have a confession to make,” she coos, steam rising from her lips.

“What’s your confession?”Spit it out. I’m starting to freeze my nut sac off.I just took a shower, so my hair is wet.

“My confession is…” She gets closer still. “I daydream about sucking you off.”

Sucking me off, i.e. blowing me.

Is she fucking kidding me right now?

Now both of Tiffany’s hands are on my chest, her body pressing into mine as intimately as two people could possibly be while standing on a porch at the tail end of fall.

I step back, shrugging her off me. “You need to go,” I say firmly. “And you’re not welcome back.”

Her mouth opens. “Are you mad?”

“Who the fuck tells a guy she wants to blow him? Are you out of your mind? I have a girlfriend, or are you the only person who hasn’t seen it on the news?”

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