The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(42)

“No, it’s me. Mel’s with Derek.”

I’m not three feet inside the house when my roommate Winnie pounces, releasing the hold she has on the gauzy living room curtains, stepping away from the window.

The sneaky spy follows me down the dark, narrow hallway to my bedroom.

“Who on earth was that?” She doesn’t hesitate to make herself at home, propping herself on the foot of my bed, fluffing a pillow to get comfortable. “Seriously, who was that guy?”

“His name is Zeke Daniels. We were at a fundraiser benefitting—”

“Bzzz! Time out.” She makes a buzzer sound, holding her hands in the universal sign for ‘time out’ and tapping obnoxiously.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Vi, not so damn fast,” she interrupts, her wide eyes enormous. “Zeke Daniels?” Her throat gives a little hum as she taps her chin. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

I raise a shoulder, not committed to answering. “He’s an athlete. Wrestler. I’ve tutored him a few times, and he needed a favor, so I went with him to the—”

“Bzzz. Back up,” she interrupts again. “You tutored him? When was this?” Suddenly, her phone is out and she’s furiously tapping on the screen. “Z-E-K-E…ah, here it is.” Long pause. “HOLY SHIT BALLS!”

She flips the phone and thrusts it in my direction. “This is the guy you were just kissing in that truck? This guy? Holy crap.” Winnie shoves the phone directly in my face, displays a picture of Zeke in an Iowa wrestling one-piece, hands on his hips and scowl on his face. His name in the top left-hand corner, stats below. Weight, height. Record. Hometown.

Before she can yank the phone away, I catch a glimpse of wide shoulders, bulging biceps, and five o’clock shadow; he hadn’t bothered to shave for the team picture.

I put myself in Winnie’s shoes, see Zeke through her lenses. The handsome, frowning face, the black slashes above his dispassionate eyes.

“Wow. He’s hot. Like, super hot. Just…wow. I’m speechless. Wow.” She’s looking at me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “That is so unlike you, Vi.”

My face is flaming hot because she’s right; I don’t go around kissing anyone, let alone guys that look like Zeke Daniels.

Winnie continues tap tapping on her phone, googling and Instagramming him, I’m sure. She’s always doing that—scavenging for information.

“Oh wow,” she says hesitantly. “Don’t freak, but I found him on Campus Girl.”

Campus Girl is a website run by college-aged women for women on college campuses around the world. You can search for your school, read articles—some of them helpful, some of them gossip—and submit information. Chat. Rate things like the cafeteria food, activities, student clubs.

And guys.

Winnie face is so buried in her phone it’s actually glowing, the reflection from the small screen casting a blue pallor on her skin. “Yeesh. I don’t know if I should read this out loud.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I don’t want her to, but curiosity wins out. I move near her on the bed, present her with my back so she can slide the zipper down the back of my dress.

The same dress I’ve worn to every special occasion in the past year, and thank god it still fits.

I remain quiet so Winnie will start reading the posts out loud.

“Someone wrote: Zeke Daniels is a sexist pig.”

Yeah, I could see that.

Winnie goes on. “Zeke Daniels’ number one talent, besides wrestling, is to hit it and quit it.” She glances up. “Yikes.”

“Zeke Daniels had sex with me at a party in the bathroom and didn’t bother to wait for me to pull my pants up before walking out the door…Zeke Daniels is a fucking prick.” She looks up after that one. “Is that true?”

I shrug. No sense in denying it. “He’s a little rough around the edges.”

Her brow goes up, face back in her phone. “Zeke Daniels deserves a medal for biggest asshole on campus…there is nothing nice about this guy…Zeke Daniels is everything your mother warned you about, and then some…don’t bother ladies, he’s not interested in commitment…can someone say issues…”

I cut her off before she can finish that last one. “Winnie, s-stop. Th-Th-that’s e-enough.”

She lowers the phone to her lap, looking abashed. “Shit. Sorry, Vi.” Loud sigh. “What do you know about this guy? Is he safe?” Her bottom teeth nibble her top lip. “I mean, is this the kind of guy you’ve been hanging out with?”

“I-I wouldn’t say we’ve been hanging out.”

Not really.

“What would you call it then?” she wants to know.

“Studying mostly. Volunteering together.” I begin ticking off all the things we’ve been doing the past few weeks. “Play dates. Homework. Tonight’s fundraiser.”

“Holy crap, Violet! Are you dating him? This guy is ridiculously good-looking.”

My dress falls to the floor and I bend to scoop it up, not caring that she’s seeing me in my strapless bra and underwear. She’s seen me without clothes on a million times before; we’ve been roommates since her parents let her move out of the dorms sophomore year.