The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(90)

I glower in her direction.

Turn to find Violet staring at me.

Even in the dim theater, I feel my face get red, embarrassed at having been caught shooting unfriendly faces at my roommate’s girlfriend by my…by kindhearted Violet.

I reluctantly raise my hand toward Jameson in a friendlier gesture. Mouth No thanks, and want to fucking disappear into the plush movie recliner beneath my ass.

I pull the black ball cap lower over my eyes.

Lift the center console between Violet and me, satisfied when she inches closer. I slide my open palm over her thighs, my palm so big it covers most of her lap, resting it on her dark denim jeans. Squeeze.

Leaning into me, Violet slides her hand over mine, her thumb stroking back and forth across my rough skin, and I stare at it. Stare at how right our hands look together.

“Oh my god,” I hear Oz say in a staged whisper. “Look how cute the kids are; they’re holding hands.”

From Jameson, “Stop teasing Sebastian, you’re going to make him mad.”

Oz snorts. “He’s always mad.”

Rex, peering down the row, “He can hear you, you know.”

Oz, stuffing a handful of popcorn down his gullet, “Yeah, I figured, but he deserves it. Just like he deserves a swift kick to the ball sack.”

Rex’s date, WhatsHerFace, “Shhh.”

Oz, to Rex’s date, “Who even are you?”

Rex’s date, “My name is Monica.”

Oz, using air quotes, “Okay, Monica, whom I have never met before tonight, I’ll shhh.”

Monica, “You know, I heard you were a jerk.”

Oz, “Douchebag.”

Jameson, laughing, “Okay guys, knock it off.”

Rex, “Yeah, knock it off, the movie’s starting.”

And on and on and on.

Violet chuckles beside me. I squeeze her thigh. Manage to steal a few covert kisses in the dark. The entire movie flies by in less than two painless hours.

All in all, not the best night out I’ve ever had with my friends.

But it’s a start.





“Dammit! I knew she was here to stay the minute I met her.”

My body jerks when the voice arises out of semidarkness, shrouded and scaring the living shit right out of me.

“Jesus Christ James—do you have to keep doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Scaring the shit out of me in the dark.”

“Sorry?”

She’s in my kitchen, with only the microwave light on, scooping ice cream out of the container like it’s the middle of a heat wave in July. Leaning against the counter, not a care in the world, Jameson’s pajamas are an asexual two-piece flannel set that look like they’re for men, but come in patterns for women.

Hers are pink with yellow rubber ducks—not even remotely sexy—and I briefly contemplate how Oz manages to maintain a stiffy while his girlfriend wears fuck-a-duck pajamas.

Then I picture Violet in them, maybe lying on my bed in just the button-down shirt…something cute printed on them, like hearts or flowers or some shit. I could easily unbutton and slide my hands into them…

Maybe I should buy her a pair.

“Hello?” James says to get my attention.

I quit gawking at her ducking pajamas long enough to shake the vision of Violet from my head, pad barefoot to a cabinet for a glass, and fill it with water.

Chug the entire ten ounces.

Set it on the counter near the sink.

“As I was saying,” James starts, spoon suspended near her lips. “I knew Violet would be back. I’m glad I was right…but I really wish I had taken that bet with Oz. I would have won.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, but I know if I don’t say something, she’s going to keep rambling. I attempt conversation, going with a cool, “Uh, yeah.”

“I really like her.”

Me too. “What are you doing up? It’s one o’clock.”

She shrugs with a sigh. “Your roommate woke me up with his roaming hands. Couldn’t get back to sleep after that. What about you?”

“Your boyfriend woke me up with his roaming hands. We share a wall.”

Jameson giggles. “Good one.”

I kind of smile. “Thanks. I try.”

“Do you?” Her question is full of skepticism.

“No. But I’m going to.”

She laughs at that too. “Ahh, I see how it is.”

I roll my eyes, playing along. “What is it you think you see?”

James is silent for all of ten seconds. “You love her, don’t you?”

We have a reckoning then, she and I, and judging by the firm set of her mouth, this question is a test. Jameson Clark is testing me, daring me to answer with the truth.

Patient, I know she’ll wait me out until I’m the first to speak.

My choices are simple. I can lie and be the guy Violet warned me not to be, or I can suck up my pride and choke out the truth, despite myself. Despite wanting my private life to be private and wanting to keep the details to myself.

Shit.

I nod. “Yes.”

Jameson’s mouth falls open. Hangs there.

“Have I stunned you into silence?”

“You might have.” Her spoon digs deep into the ice cream. “I mean, wow. This is great. I’m happy for you. I’m happy for me—another girl around the house? This is going to be great.”