Page 43 of How to Lose at Love

I slash my hand through the air. “How about we don’t talk about it? Like, at all.”

He huffs. “You brought it up.”

Oh my God.“What do you want? Get to the point.”

He stares down his nose at me, brows rising.

Dallas has a knit winter hat pulled down over his hair now; it covers his ears and the mop of glorious black hair I now know exists.

“Are you always this moody?”

Moody?

“Sorry I’m not falling at your feet like everyone else does.”

“Everyone does not fall at my feet. That’s absurd.” He crosses his arms and leans against the traffic pole, legs crossed at the ankle, looking way too casual.

“You were saying?” Let’s move this along before my boobs freeze off.

“I know you just got out of a relationship.” He punctuates this statement with an eye roll. “And I’m not saying I’m looking for one, but I have this agent—”

“You have an agent?”

“Yes.”

“For what?” Seriously. He’s what, twenty-one? I work at ROSCOE + MIMI serving pancakes during the lunch shift and he has an actual agent?

“Um…to negotiate contracts and to get me through the NFL draft?”

“Oh.”

Dallas uncrosses his legs. “Anyway. He’s worried I’m not approachable enough.”

“Approachable enough for what?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Team owners or whatever.”

I smirk. “You are kind of a grouch.”

He frowns. “No, I’m not.”

“Uh, yeah you are, but okay.”

He stares me down. “As I was saying, Eli was telling me that a lot of teams want someone family-oriented. So they can relate to their fans.”

“Uh-huh.” Losing interest and still waiting for this crosswalk to turn green, I begin digging through my backpack for a piece of gum. Wish I had a pair of mittens or something to keep my hands warm—suddenly they’re freezing cold.

I pop gum in my mouth and rub my palms together, willing the lights to change color.

“…help me out for a few weeks.”

“Huh?”

“Are you listenin’ to a word I say?”

Listenin’.

So Southern.