Page 4 of How to Lose at Love

Diego opens his mouth.

Snaps it shut.

Opens it again. “Please?”

I can’t freaking believe this guy! I just called him a chickenshit and he wants to keep yammering away?

“You think sending a henchman is somehow better?”

“What’s a henchman?”

I stare at him blankly. “Me. I’m a henchman.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “It seems like the sensitive thing to do.”

“Sensitive my ass.” I shake my head, disgusted. I walk away from him again, pushing through the door to the long hall leading to the parking lot.

“I meant not breaking up with her in a message. I didn’t mean it was sensitive breaking up with her by hiring you to do it.”

Not willing to drop the subject, Diego continues to tail me—as if I don’t have enough shit on my plate as it is.

“Let me give you a little advice. If you don’t have the balls to tell a girl you’re not interested, you don’t have any business being on a team with us.”

“One has nothing to do with the other.”

I stop again, spinning on my heels. “The hell it don’t. We have totrustthat you’re being honest with us, that you have the guts to stand up for what’s right, what’s wrong, and contribute with new ideas. You don’t get to be the team captain by silently sitting by and watching shit happen to you—you go out and make it happen. You take the good and the bad, and you make it work in your favor. You swallow the crap, take the heat, make hard choices.” I point at my own chest. “That’s what it takes to be a leader.”

“See! Exactly!” Diego has a giant grin on his dumb face. “That’s why I came to you with this. I don’t trust anyone else.”

I want to slap myself in the forehead. “Jesus Christ, you’re missing the point.”

This guy is exasperating.

“No, I’m not.” He hurries to catch up with me, the stark corridor beneath the stadium where we’ve been working out today a long and deserted one. Not too many people around since it was just special teams, thank God. I don’t need anyone overhearing this jackass asking me to break up with his girlfriend for him.

Diego puts his hand on my forearm as I’m about to open the door to the outside. “Bro. I’ll pay you.”

He’ll pay me?

Well, shit.

I’m not broke by any means, but I have a few expensive hobbies that my brother doesn’t exactly want to bankroll with my allowance, plus aStar Warshabit I can’t quit—among other things.

It’s not as if I can have a regular job while I’m playing college football.

They don’t allow it.

There is no time.

Now that I have an agent, I can do gigs and endorse products—and get paid for it—but it’s not like I can walk into the movie theater in town and tell them I want to pick up a night shift.

I let the door to the parking lot close.

Lean on the doorjamb and give Diego my full attention.

He says he’ll pay me?

“I’m listening.”

---