Page 60 of How to Lose at Love

No beer.

No alcohol.

Interesting…

Why did I think he was a rip-roaring drunk?

Probably because he’s huge and can likely hold his liquor?

“I dunno,” Dallas says from behind the refrigerator door, his ass sticking out as he bends at the waist, riffling through the fruit drawer. “We hang out.”

He makes it sound so easy when I know it won’t be. “What about girls on campus who are going to want to pull my hair out?”

Dallas goes still. Stands and turns to look at me. “Girls are gonna wanna pull your hair out? Why?” He’s holding a green apple and a container of tortellini.

Shrugging, I tap my fingernails on the counter behind me. “Because they’ll think I’m actually dating you and they’ll see me as competition.”

He laughs. “Girls aren’t going to try to pull your hair. That’s ridiculous.”

I shake my head. “You think so, eh? Winnie is dating a guy named Rookie, and he’s the president of his fraternity. Once when they were at a bar, some girl grabbed her by the ponytail and yanked—her extensions almost fell out.”

Dallas pops the lid off the pasta. “I’ve never heard of a girl physically assaulting another girl because of who she’s dating.”

“Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen.”

He seems to consider this as he opens the door to the microwave, puts the container inside, and sets it to heat for one minute. Dallas leans against the counter, mirroring my pose, watching me.

“How ’bout this: if someone makes you a target, we’ll handle it. Or you can quit.”

I appreciate that he says WE and not HE will handle it, as if I wouldn’t be able to deal with a situation like that on my own.

I stand straighter. “Also, I’d like to talk to you about something.”

“What?”

“The reason I’m going to agree to this stupid idea of yours. Which is dumb, by the way.”

“You think this is dumb—noted. I’ll let my agent know.”

“Please do.” I nod. “Anyway. The reason I’m agreeing to all this is because I think you need me.”

Dallas pulls a face, turning to retrieve his pasta from the microwave now that the timer has gone off. “I think it’s already been established that I need you.”

“Yes, but not in the way you think you need me.” My chin tilts up, and I feel a wave of self-righteousness coming on. “I’m going to teach you how to be a decent human.”

The myth, the man—the legend—stops forking his pasta so he can sharply glance up at me, frown lines marring his handsome face.

There, I said it. He’s handsome—are you happy now?

Ugh.

“You think I’m not a decent human?” He grunts, stuffing his face and talking around the tortellini. “Of course you don’t.”

“Maybe that was a bit harsh. All I meant was you’re the kind of guy who would go up to a complete stranger and break up with her.”

“I’m not the kind of guy whowoulddo that. I’m the kind of guy whodidthat,” he clarifies, as if the matter needed clarifying.

I sigh. “That’s the point. You can’t be doing shit like that.”

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