Page 100 of How to Lose at Love

Warming me from head to toe.

My lips part to let his tongue slip inside, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing, what we’re doing. This isn’t what I came out here for, but is this why he invited me? We’re just friends—we’re not supposed to be making out in the parking lot after a game. It feels so very…

So very nostalgic.

I feel like I’m in high school again, kissing my boyfriend Rory after his football game in the dark parking lot by the locker rooms, his buddies trickling out a few at a time after their win. Rory’s inexperienced fumbling and overeager tongue had me squirming, not melting in a puddle at his feet.

But that’s nothing like kissing Dallas.

He knows what he’s doing, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s kissed hundreds of girls or if it’s because we…fit?

A drop of rain falls on my forehead, and I look up, searching for more.

One hits my eyelash.

My cheek.

Dallas’s mouth kisses my jawline while I’m gazing at the sky, the forecast a surprise to me.Who knew we were expecting rain?

twenty-two

dallas

“Love at first sight is possible, but maybe you should take a second look.”

– Eli Cohen

Know what I want?

I want to keep kissing her in the rain until we’re both soaking wet, but Ryann is having none of it, blinking up at the sky, clearly not interested in being soaked to the bone. She’s already complained about being cold a few times; standing here to make out would only get her sick.

She grabs my arm. Yanks it, actually, pointing across the parking lot.

“Do you see that?”

“See what?” I don’t need to crane my head around because I’m a head taller than she is and I can see just fine.

“That guy.” She’s staring off into the distance, squinting as rain begins to pelt us harder. “I thought I saw him taking pictures.”

Yeah, I saw him too, but I won’t admit it. “In this rain?”

She nods, beads of water dripping from her hair. “Before that…”

I grab her hand and pull her over to my truck. “Why are we still standing here? Let’s go.”

She’s not easy to convince despite the wet weather, determined to drag me toward the man in the parking lot—a photographer, no doubt, if my suspicions serve me correctly.

Sopping wet, we’re finally in the truck, my rain-drenched T-shirt clinging to my body like a second skin ’cause I skipped wearing a coat and didn’t bother with long sleeves either.

Ryann’s puffy coat must be thirty pounds heavier having taken on all that water.

She pulls the hat off her head.

Ruffles her hair with her fingers, though that doesn’t do anything to smooth it down or straighten it out. Strands stick up every which way, hat head making it messy.

The ends of it are wet, obviously.

Shrugging out of her coat, she stuffs it at her feet, fussing with her sweatshirt and the rest of her outfit once she’s buckled in.

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