Page 71 of How to Lose at Love
A long, tense, silent stretch fills the truck before Ryann blows out a puff of breath.
“Well. Guess I’ll take this off before we go inside so it doesn’t get lost.”
She twists her body in the passenger seat, zipper whirring down to the hem and coming undone. Wordlessly, she shimmies out of it.
I stare.
An expanse of collarbone and cleavage is on display, and I have no idea where to fucking look. Granted, it’s not as if she’snaked—she’s wearing a black, off-the-shoulder top—bodysuit?—tucked into high-waisted jeans.
I mean. I’ve seen bare shoulders and tits before, but…
Whatever.
I glance away.
Indifferent, obviously.
Her tits are of no interest to me.
“I should take my jacket off, too,” I rumble, shrugging mine off in the same way and tossing it to the back seat where it will probably be forgotten until the next time I’m looking for it.
When Ryann opens the door, I notice her shiver, the cold air hitting me at the same time.
Several steps ahead of me, she slows.
Falters.
“I don’t want to walk in first.” Her hand goes to her belly, flattening. “I’m kind of nervous. Don’t judge me.”
Nodding, I take the lead, conscious that she’s behind me so I don’t lose her. I’d most likely take her hand if we were dating in real life ’cause that seems like something a boyfriend would do, but we’re not dating, so I don’t.
Friends? Eh.
Debatable.
It’s fair to say it takes us a considerable amount of time to actually get inside the house; the number of people saying hello or wanting to say hello and wanting to chat drags it outfor-fucking-ever.
Another few minutes to make it past the doorway. High fives and cheers all around. No one has seen me out at a party since school officially began, meaning I haven’t been accessible to those classmates who only have the chance to get close to me in class or when I’m not hiding in my room.
“Colter, can I get you a beer?”
I have no idea how to introduce Ryann—everyone is acting as if she isn’t there, though she’s standing next to me.
Which defeats the entire purpose of her joining me tonight, doesn’t it?
Reaching my arm around, I have no choice but to put it around her waist.
“Thanks. Can you grab two? One for me, one for her?”
That’s when they notice.
The arm.
The arm wrapped around the girl.
The girl.
Turns out she is wearing high heels and they add a few inches to her already tallish frame; when I glance down, it’s down at her boobs, though that isn’t where I intended to glance.
