Page 150 of How to Lose at Love

The news comes from Winnie,who gets her news from Rookie, the fraternity/sorority rumor mill strong.

“Ryann, you know I love you…” she begins, surprising me first by knocking on my apartment door and showing up unannounced—something she never does.

The look on her face says it all: something is wrong.

“What’s going on?” I hold the door open and usher her inside. “Is everything okay with your parents?”

“It’s nothing like that.”But she’s wringing her hands and looks crazy uncomfortable.

“Winnie, what’s wrong?” I take her hands and lead her to the kitchen, pulling two wine glasses out of the cabinet and setting them on the counter. We’re going to need alcohol for this. “I thought you had to work tonight.”

As her best friend, it’s my job to know when she works and when she doesn’t so we know when we can hang out together.

“I did have to work.”

I watch her for a few moments before I pull the wine out of the fridge and uncork it, pouring a glass for her and a glass for me, then I lean forward to give her my undivided attention.

“Winnie, you’re scaring me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Winnie taps on her cell phone, sliding her finger over the screen this way and that before pushing it across the counter at me. Takes a glass of wine and chugs it, downing the entire thing in one swallow.

My eyes go wide before grasping her phone and holding it up so I can read what’s on the screen.

I see a house and two people on a porch, a blonde and some guy. It looks like they’re making out, but it’s impossible to actually tell because of the angle.

I set Winnie’s phone down.

“I don’t get it.”

She points at the phone. “Look closer.” Pours herself another glass of wine.

And if I wasn’t so confused, I’d laugh at her, how nervous she is and how fidgety, still having no idea why.

House. People. Porch.

House.

People.

Porch.

Blond hair. That porch…

I zoom in on the photograph, moving two fingers apart on Winnie’s screen, trying to make out the figures.

“Winnie, who is this?”

“Click on the link and read the caption.”

I don’t want to.

A pit forms in my stomach, a massive lump settling there, rolling and churning because at that exact moment, the puzzle pieces all click into place in my brain.

“Is that Dallas?” And that neighbor girl? The one who’s always hanging around, making snide comments—the one who’s the third wheel to her friends. But she’s not the third wheel, is she? She’s been waiting, biding her time, wanting a chance with Dallas.

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