The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(87)

Gently.

Fingertips trail her forehead and down the bridge of her pert nose. Trace the cupid’s bow of her top lip.

She looks up at me, speaking softly. “We’re a lot alike, you and I.”

Stated so simply, as fact.

I swallow the lump in my throat that has me choking down a hoarse reply. “Yeah.”

“Tell me why you were so upset in the library.”

Her eyes flutter closed when I stroke her widow’s peak, down her temple to touch her cheek.

“I understand if you’re angry with your parents, Zeke, but that doesn’t give you the right to be angry with everyone else, least of all me. It hurts.”

“I know.” I lean down to kiss her forehead, sweeping her long hair away. “I’m… I can’t explain why I acted like an ass, and I feel like a bigger asshole apologizing; it makes me feel like one of those pricks who treat woman like shit. I’m not that guy.”

Her hazel eyes regard me thoughtfully. “If you’re not careful, you could be.”

It’s a sobering thought that gives me pause.

She’s right; I could end up as one of those guys. The dickhead who’s always making his girlfriend feel like a useless piece of shit. Demeaning her. Belittling. Apologizing until it becomes a cycle neither of them can climb out of.

I’ve seen athletes—who I spend most of my time with—do it all the time. Athletes with way too much testosterone and adrenaline pumping through their bodies, taking their restlessness out on the woman they’re dating—or screwing.

Witnessed plenty of public fights. Girls crying in corners, consoled by their friends. Football players hurling beer, picking fights. Posturing to their girlfriends.

It’s fucked up.

A sense of embarrassment and shame washes over me, knowing I’ve done it. Picked arguments with Jameson. Her roommate Allison at a party.

Because of my damn pride.

“I never thought I’d ever have a girlfriend—never. So I guess I wouldn’t know how to treat one.”

“How would you want to treat one?”

“I don’t fucking know. Like…”

This.

I run a hand through her hair, letting the long, silky strands thread through my fingers. “Like this.”

“And how does this feel?”

Awesome. It feels fucking amazing.

“Zeke?”

I still don’t respond.

“If you ever do anything like what you did to me in the library the other day, I will not see you again. This is your chance to redeem yourself. You get one.”

“But what if I do something stupid?”

Her eyes smile. “Well that’s a given; you won’t be able to stop yourself from some things, will you? It’s just who you are. I’m talking about embarrassing me in public, treating me like crap because of your pride.” Violet raises her palm, running it along my unshaven jaw. “And I-I want you to be faithful.”

“All right.”

“Not just physically, Zeke. Anyone can keep it in their pants if they try hard enough. I’m talking about being respectful of me even when we’re not together.”

“Are you talking about not letting chicks grab my junk?”

“Girls do that?”

Is she for real? How did she not know this? “Uh, yeah.”

She scowls up at me.

“Violet, you do realize I’m a conquest to most girls who flirt with me, not an actual candidate for a relationship, right?”

“G-Girls seriously grab your…you know?”

“Dick? Yeah. At parties and shit—it’s the wrestling singlets. Obviously you can see the whole full frontal, and some girls consider that an invitation to get handsy. I don’t know why anyone considers grabbing a dude’s nuts through his jeans sexy.” I blink down at her. “Unless it was you. You can grab them any time you want.”

She snickers. “I will not be grabbing your nuts.”

“Hey, hey, hey now, don’t be so hasty,” I tease, grinning.

Violet stops smiling, suddenly serious. The tips of her fingers lovingly cross my lips. “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?”

No.

I get told I’m hot by random girls. I get told I’m pretty by my teammates when they’re fucking with me, handsome by my mother on those rare occasions she hosts a holiday and demands I come home.

Beautiful? That’s a first.

Beautiful sounds like more.

More of everything.

She’s not just calling me beautiful, she’s…

Shit, I don’t know what the hell I’m saying; Violet is turning me into a fucking pansy. I used to be a hard ass, and now I’m talking about feelings and all that other bullshit. Soon she’s going to have me holding babies and volunteering with old people, I just fucking know it.

Whatever.

I’d do it.

I’d do it just to see those eyes of hers light up. I’d do it because when her small, slender body is pressed against mine, mine lights on fire. I could get used to these feelings, could get high now that I know how fast my heart beats when she’s near.

“Violet,” I say, almost breathlessly.

“Yes?”

I let the open flat of my hand graze her shoulder, down her arm, over the sleeve of her sweatshirt. Take her hand, dragging it to my chest. Flatten her palm against my violently pounding heart.