Page 7 of How to Lose at Love

Cool.

I stare at my phone before pushing through the door of my apartment complex. Stare some more. Finally step outside, eyes still glued to my phone.

I’m so tempted to ask what he’d rather be doing than taking me on a date, but I resist the temptation, not wanting to sound thirsty or desperate or too eager.

Okay well, gotta bounce, guys are here.

Have fun! Eat a slice for me.

*thumbs up*

I stare at that emoji, recounting every argument I’ve ever had with my friends and parents regarding its use, the general consensus that it meansfuck youor is used by someone too lazy to type out an actual sentence.

Stuffing my phone back in my pocket, I burrow deeper into my jacket, the wind whipping as soon as I step outside, the frigid cold a shock but not a surprise. Certainly has me hustling down the street toward the diner downtown, has me wondering what I’m going to do when there’s snow on the ground and it’s too cold to walk.

I don’t have a car.

Don’t have a bike.

Those little electric scooter things aren’t really my style, not even when I’m drunk.

Especiallywhen I’m drunk—which isn’t that often, but still. Nobody wants me on one of those things, driving on the sidewalk after I’ve had alcohol, except perhaps my girlfriends so they can have a laugh.

Speaking of friends, mine is already at work when I walk through the back door of ROSCOE + MIMI, a divey diner that hasn’t changed since the late sixties, though it’s changed owners at least a dozen times—once since I’ve been working here.

Open late, we serve your typical dinner crowd, a cute brunch, and drunk college students on their way home from the clubs and the bars after closing time. Fortunately, I don’t have many of those shifts because I’ve been working here for three years, earning me the right to work primarily day shifts.

Lucky me.

And lucky me, I get to work with one of my best friends, Winnie.

She’s already in her apron when I take mine off the hook, snacking on a plate of French fries, our pre-shift ritual.

I steal one before tying the white smock around my waist. Wrap the cord around once, tie it in a bow. Order tablet in one pocket, straws in the other, French fry on my tongue.

“Damn, that’s hot.”

“Pfft,” Winnie scoffs. “That’s because I’m in the room.”

She tells that joke all the time, but I laugh anyway. Its predictability feels good most days.

“Diego canceled our date tomorrow.”

Her brows go up as she dips a fry in mayo, then ketchup. “No shit? Why?”

I shrug. “He didn’t say.”

“He didn’t say?” Her mouth is twisted into a displeased frown. “That’s annoying.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. He just can’t go out.”

Winnie chews. “Yeah, but you were looking forward to it.”

I was. “Seriously, though, Win…am I wasting my time with this guy, or am I wastinghis?”

“Why are we having this conversation again?” Winnie pops another fry in her mouth, unbothered by my disappointment.

“Because…I keep waiting for something to happen and it doesn’t. And now he’s canceling on me.”

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