Page 127 of How to Lose at Love

“Okay? Want me to shut mine off too?” Seriously, what does she want me to do right now?

The situation is beyond my control.

Her eyes narrow. “No, I don’t want you to shut yours off too! That’s not what I meant. I just meant…” Her arms flop up, then down at her sides. “I don’t know what I mean. I’m just…freaked out.”

She’ll be even more skeeved out when she reads the news online, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.

By now all her friends—and mine—will have seen the news coverage, and why this is important to people is beyond me. For real, who gives a shit who I’m dating or not dating or sleeping with? What does it affect anyone to know whom I choose to kiss in a parking lot after a game or take home to meet my brothers?

Who.

Gives. A. Shit.

I cross the room and sit on the couch behind her, hoping she’ll pop a squat and sit down, too, so we can discuss this rationally.

I don’t want to be in this mess any more than she does; if anything, having this blasted puts more of a spotlight on me when all I’m trying to do here is play football.

“Look,” I begin. “I was surprised to see that pap in the parkin’ lot last night too. I honestly thought you’d be on the big screen with a caption that said ‘friend of’ like they’ve done with a few other players’ girlfriends ’cause the crowd loves it. That’s the truth.”

“But you did see the guy in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, I saw him. That’s why I wanted to get you out of there, but by that point it was kinda too late.”

“Too late,” she repeats.

“Yeah. I guess the damage is done, as they say.”

“So now what?”

“I suppose we have to let it blow over.”

“Are we still going to do stuff together? Like—be seen in public?”

I rub my chin, unsure. “Let me ask Eli what he wants me to do.”

“Who is Eli?”

“My agent.”

Her mouth flattens into a line. “Oh. Him.”

“He’s not a bad guy. He only wants what’s best for me.”

Ryann huffs. “What’s best for you isn’t what’s best forme.”

I…

Hadn’t thought of it that way.

She’s right. What’s best for me isn’t what’s best for her—not now that she’s going to have people breathing down her neck. She has classes to take, and she has to work.

“I just want to know what to tell my parents. If I tell them I’m pretending to date you, they’re going to think I’m an asshole. I already told my mom we weren’t dating, and she was appalled—evidently, she’s living in the 1950s where a girl can’t kiss a man she’s not betrothed to.”

Her mom sounds like a peach.

“My mom is used to this stuff.”

Ryann’s brows are raised. “How is that possible?”