Page 93 of How to Lose at Love
“You’re calling me a liar?”
“Ryann, you’re still half asleep—bullshit you don’t need something to wake you up.”
“Something to wake me up,” she muses. “Would have been nice.”
Is that a smirk on her face? It’s hard to tell. She has the mug tilted up to her mouth, but the look in her eyes tells another story, one my brothers are hanging onto every word of.
Is she making an innuendo? So early in the morning?
“What’d y’all do last night?” Drake wants to know.
He’s balls deep in a cinnamon bun, a glutton for carbs in any form.
“We played truth or dare.”
“The fun kind of truth or dare or the regular kind?”
“Definefunkind.”
He’s chomping the roll like cud, holding it between his fingers, licking at the frosting like a slob. “You know, naked and dirty dare.”
Ryann answers the question before I can. “It was a mixed bag of fun and regular. Things only got risqué once.”
Try three times, or has she forgotten about the KISS ME written in marker above her pussy and the fact that we made out before falling asleep?
Drew begins a coughing fit, a guilty coughing fit if I’ve ever seen one, the fucker who walked in on Ryann and me when I was hell-bent on licking her dry, barging through the door like a puppy with no manners.
“Y’all wanna ride to the stadium together or what?” Drake changes the subject, down to the business of our workout this afternoon with the special teams coaches.
Just because we don’t have a game doesn’t mean we don’t practice or at least work out.
I cut the pancake on my plate, stack a few pieces on my fork, and take a bite. “Considerin’ I’m the only one with a vehicle, guess we’re all ridin’ to the stadium together, dipshit.”
“Valid point.” He turns his attention to my guest. “You comin’ to our next game, Ryann?”
Ryann hesitates, glancing over at me. “Er, no.”
“Why not?”
“Um…I don’t have tickets.”
They’re nearly impossible to get, but not for students, although getting tickets the day of can be challenging. Can’t walk up to the box office and buy them; this shit has to be planned in advance, even when the team is having a losing year—which is never.
“Dallas can get you some,” my brother tells her. “How many d’you want?”
Ryann looks like a deer caught in headlights. “Uh. I don’t know.”
A normal answer would beFour!orAs many as you can get me!Which is probably why my brother is setting down his cinnamon roll, talking with his mouth full.
“You’re gonna date my brother but not come to our games? You kiddin’ me right now?”
She shakes her head. “No, no—it’s just, I hadn’t thought of it?”
This is not to be believed by any of the Colter men.
“Hadn’t thought of it?”
Ryann sets down her fork. “What did I say that’s wrong?”
