The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(11)

Despite the blaring music filtering through the house, I still manage to catch the sound of her foot tapping on the kitchen floor.

“You owe me more than one measly foamy beer, Oswald,” she teases.

Did she just call me—

“Oswald?” I search the throng around us. “Who the hell are you talking to?”

Jameson scrunches up her nose, causing the freckles across the bridge of her nose to wink at me. It’s kind of really f*cking cute, actually—or is that just the three beers I’ve already chugged down talking?

“Uh, you? Oz. Oswald.”

I laugh then, a loud, booming laugh that echoes in the small, shitty kitchen.

“You seriously don’t know who I am?”

Lips purse, and she takes a dainty sip of the red plastic cup, tapping on the rim with her index finger as she drinks. A thin line of white foam coats her top lip. “I don’t know—should I?”

I guess that answers that question.

“Sweetheart, Oz is a nickname. Haven’t you googled me yet?”

Amused blue eyes roll. “I’m sure you google yourself enough for the both of us.”

Shit, she’s right. I do google myself a lot.

Nevertheless, I persist. “There is no f*cking way you don’t know who I am.”

She gives me a sidelong glance, thinking. Taps her cheek with the tip of her index finger. “Are you an actor? Have I seen you on TV?” Snaps her fingers together. “I know—your father is an important politician. The president of something or other? No? Hmmm…”

My grin widens. “You’re a sarcastic little *, did you know that?”

“I take that as a compliment coming from you. Luckily, my sarcasm is usually a sign of affection when I’m warming up to someone.”

“Wow, this is you being nice?” Over her shoulder, I watch Fuck Buddy and the other girl nudging their way through the crowd toward us. They stop when they reach Jameson’s side, both of them primping their long blonde hair with flirty, well-practiced flips.

Even with both of them at her side, Jameson resumes her teasing.

“Of course I’m being nice; you owe me two hundred and fifty dollars. Or have you already forgotten?”

“How could I possibly forget when you’re hell bent on reminding me? Instead of cash, why don’t we get creative?”

She lifts a well-manicured brow. “Creative?”

“Yeah. There are other ways I can pay you, starting on my knees with my tongue. Or if you’re not a fan of orgasms, I’ll let you—”

“Stop!” Jameson shouts in a rush, hands going up in the universal sign for time out. “Stop talking! Jesus. Okay, fine. How about you just pay me when they pay you?”

“You didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

“Trust me, I know where that was headed.”

Fuck Buddy’s mouth drops open.

“Uh, James—not to interrupt, but…why is Oz Osborne trying to pay you in sexual favors?” Her chest sticks out, tits on full display in a bright pink top with a scoop neck, her bleached blonde hair artfully curled and spilling down her back. She flips it over her shoulder again and smiles wide.

Nice. Very nice.

Very friendly, I’ll bet.

She’s so smoking hot it’s no wonder Parker f*cks her on the regular.

If Jameson notices me noticing her friend, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she takes a healthy swig of beer, leaving another coating of foam on her top lip. I avert my eyes, removing them from her friend’s breasts, then watch as Jameson’s pale pink tongue slips out. Licks the foam. Laps more foam from the top of her red cup like it’s whipped cream.

Jameson collects herself, fanning her face before introducing her friends. “Uh, Oz, these are my friends, Allison and Hayley. Allison and Hay—well, you obviously already know who this is, and I’m assuming you didn’t have to google him.”

The girls glance between us, rusty wheels turning inside their beautiful blonde heads.

“Um…” the blonde in pink drags out. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing,” Jameson deadpans, recovering her quick wit. “If you don’t count the fact that he owes me money for services rendered.”

Her duh inflection has me sputtering in surprise, the beer in my mouth dripping down my chin in the un-sexiest dribble when a delighted chuckle leaves my throat. I can’t remember the last time I choked because something was funny, let alone on alcohol.

Or maybe I’m just getting drunk.

Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I lift it to wipe the drool, noting with arrogance that both Allison and Hayley are hungrily gawking at the solid, tight, six-pack abs on display. I take my sweet time lowering my shirt.

Let the ladies look their fill.

Hell, I’d even let them touch.

“I simply need to pay you for them.” I remind Jameson.

“Sure, okay. But only because you were begging for it.” She blinks innocently, sipping from her beer cup.

“Sweetheart, begging is something I never do.”

Beside her, her blonde friends’ perfectly groomed eyebrows simultaneously shoot into their hairlines, and for a brief moment, I wonder what else on them is perfectly groomed.