The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(46)

Violet: I hate being alone.



Well. Shit. Not what I was expecting.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I climb into the driver’s side of my truck but make no move to buckle my seat belt. No move to turn over the engine. No move to do anything but send her a reply.



Zeke: I know what you mean. Is there

My roommate’s bitchy whine causes me to hit send too soon.

“Uh, hello, why are we still here?” Oz intones dully, rapping his knuckles against the window. “Are we just going to sit here all night, because if we are, I’ll have James come get me.”

“Dude.” I take a calming breath so I don’t explode. “Just—give me a minute, okay? I’m thinking.”

“Dude, what the hell is going on? Did you get some chick pregnant?” His bark of laughter dies when I look over, expression stony. “Shit. Did you?”

“No, Jesus Christ. It’s Violet, she—”

It’s not my place to spill her personal shit, so my lips clamp shut.

“Give me one more second to text her, all right numb-nuts? Just…climb down out of my asshole so I can shoot her a note. She sounds like she needs some—”

Shit. I was about to say She sounds like she needs some cheering up. Good thing I caught myself, because seriously, the last thing I need is Oz asking me a shit ton of personal questions.

He raises his eyebrows when I tell him, “First we’re running home—I call dibs on the shower. Then I’m running to Violet’s place.”

If Oz is shocked by this news, he—well shit, he’s showing it.

The dumb fucker has his mouth hanging open, eyes wide as saucers. “It’s Friday night, dude—aren’t you coming out with us? Nothing crazy, just a few beers?”

“No.”

My phone pings, and we both look into my lap, down to where my cell sits nestled between my legs.

“I’m going to her house to see if she’s okay.”





Violet



“Zeke! What are you doing here?”

He’s standing on my front porch, hands stuffed in the pockets of a black quilted jacket. Jeans. Brown leather boots. Hair wet from a recent shower.

His wide shoulders slouch uncomfortably then shrug.

“I thought you could use some company.” His mouth is set in a straight line, and if he hadn’t just shown up voluntarily and unannounced, I wouldn’t have believed he came willingly.

“You did?”

He shifts on the balls of his feet. “I thought we could go do something, uh…Fun.”

Is he wincing?

Yes. He definitely is.

I pull back the storm door so he can step through, up into my tiny living room and into the house. Zeke Daniels is in my house, platinum eyes scanning the room. They take inventory of the twenty-year-old couch Winnie’s parents bought us at Goodwill; it’s gold and scratchy, but it’s something to sit on. The dinged up coffee table we found on the curb last semester. There’s a lamp in the corner, our only source of light in the room.

Winnie, Melinda, and I, we’re like the Three Musketeers—or the Three Blind Mice, but poorer.

Zeke’s large frame fills the doorway as he stands rooted to the spot, having not removed his boots. Unless he takes them off, he has nowhere to go, and from the looks of him, he has no desire to go stalking across our brown carpet.

“So,” he begins. “Want to get the hell out of here?”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice.

“Go do what you have to do to get ready; I’ll keep the truck warm.”

When he steps off the front steps, retreating to his giant black truck, I scurry to my bedroom. Yank open my closet, pull out a fresh pair of jeans. A solid black t-shirt; it’s tight, hugs what little curves I actually have.

A silver necklace gets clasped around my throat, its delicate V dangling from a thin metal chain. Slide a few bangles on my wrist. Then I dash to the bathroom to check my reflection. Comb through my long, silky hair and decide to leave it the way it is. Add a few coats of black mascara. Pink lip gloss.

Eight minutes from start to finish, and I’m locking the door behind me, trudging down the front sidewalk toward Zeke’s waiting figure.

Four seconds later I’m sliding in beside him. Toasty warm.

“Where are we going?”

He taps the steering wheel. “Where do you want to go? It’s totally up to you.”

I bite down on my lower lip, undecided. I remember giving him a list once before, remember him shooting down everything when trying to figure out which play dates would be fun for Summer and Kyle.

Nonetheless, there’s one thing I’ve always wanted to do…and maybe he’d be willing to do it with me tonight, since this was his idea in the first place.

And he did tell me I could choose.

So I go for it.

“You know what would be really fun?”

His engine revs, obviously waiting for me to buckle up. “What?”

“I want to paint pottery.”

Zeke’s head hits the back of his seat, big palm combing through his wet onyx hair. “Please don’t do this to me.”

Giggle. “It’s not going to be horrible. Besides, you said it was totally up to me, and this is what I chose—to paint pottery.”