The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #2)(91)

Oh Jeez, she’s going to make this weird. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get all…” I wave my hand in circles in front of me. “Girly. Stop planning dates and shit in your head.”

Another laugh. “Too late for that, my friend. The damage is done.”

“You realize you’re beginning to sound and act just like Oz? Always trying to give advice and meddling in my life.”

“I do? I am?” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased. “Aww! You are too sweet, because I think he’s the best.”

Such a smartass, even at one in the morning.

“Did I-I miss the party invitation?”

James and I both jump, startled, turning at the sound of shuffling in the doorway. Violet enters the kitchen in one of my wrestling t-shirts, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a yawn.

Her pale blonde hair falls in a long braid over her shoulder.

I slide my arm around her waist and squeeze, dropping a kiss on the top of her sleepy head. “Hey babe, what are you doing up?”

Violet nests into my side, fits perfectly against my ribcage, like the missing piece of a puzzle.

“The sound of laughing from the kitchen woke me up.” Yawns.

“Sorry. I was thirsty, and apparently, this one night binges on mint chocolate chip.”

Jameson taps the spoon on the container in her hands, looking way too awake. “Guilty.”

“Well on that note, Pix and I are going back to bed.”

James rolls her eyes. “Night guys.”

I lead Violet down the hall, climb into bed behind her, wrap my arms around her waist.

“Goodnight,” she whispers in the dark, cuddling her backside into my junk—which never bodes well for my ability to sleep.

“Night,” I mumble, burying my face in her hair. “Love you, baby.”

So fucking much.

“I love you, too.”





Violet



“Pix, I wrote you a poem, wanna hear it?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Roses are red, Violet is blue—”

“Hey! I am not.”

“Okay, okay, let me try again.”

Zeke clears his throat dramatically, leaning into me from across the table.

“Roses are red, Violet is pretty, I wanna lay her.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Is that the entire poem?”

“Uh…something…something city?”

Giggle. “Just stop.”

He leans closer.

“Just kidding, that poem’s not your real gift.” Zeke clears his throat. “I have something for you.”

My real gift? What in the world…

I blink, confused. “For what?”

He shrugs. “I mean, it’s been like, six months. Don’t people give gifts and shit?”

Six months?

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Give gifts for what?”

Zeke picks the menu up from the center of the table—the one that’s been obstructing our view—and sets it off to the side.

“Are you being serious right now? You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

My head shakes slowly. “Sorry.”

“Oh my fucking god—I am going to kill him when I get home.”

“Who?”

“Oz.” He lets out a breath. “I am such…I am an idiot. God damn him, this is his fault. No, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have listened.”

“Now what did he tell you to do?”

“He said to get you a gift for our anniversary, a really nice one, but obviously people don’t do that.”

Our anniversary?

“It’s our anniversary?”

Is that what this fancy dinner is all about? The dressy clothes and expensive restaurant? I thought we were just having dinner.

Zeke’s Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, face turning red with embarrassment. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry. I knew by looking at the calendar we’ve been together that long, I just didn’t realize you’d want to celebrate it.”

“What do you mean you didn’t realize I’d want to celebrate? You’re my girlfriend.”

He’s looking at me like I’m the weirdo here.

Oh my god, it’s so sweet.

“So…can I have my gift?”

“Yes,” he grumbles. “But I feel like such an asshole.”

“You feel like an asshole for buying me a gift?”

“Nooo, I feel like an asshole because—well…don’t feel bad, okay? I know you didn’t get me anything.” If sullen eyes can pout, his are doing it right now.

“Don’t mope. I would have gotten you something if I’d known this was a celebratory dinner.”

Zeke lifts his hips off the seat, digging in his back pocket. Produces a narrow envelope and sets it in the middle of the table.

I stare at it.

He prods me. “Go ahead. Take it.”

My fingers deftly pluck it up. Examine it.

His beautiful lips curl into a smile. “Any guesses?”

It could only be… “Concert tickets?”