The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(15)

“I have a scholarship. I can’t afford to piss it away.”

“Is that why you agreed to that stupid bet with your friends the other day? For the money?”

“Yup, that’s why I agreed to that stupid bet. Every little bit helps, yeah?”

Jameson cocks her head to the side and studies me for a second.

“That’s it?” I ask.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to grill me?”

She shakes her head. “No. If you had something more to say, you’d say it.” Her head dips and she resumes her homework.

“Why do you keep doing that?” I blurt out.

She sighs. “Doing what?”

“Ignoring me.” Shit, I sound like I’m whining.

“Look,” she says, patiently resting her hands on the table to look me in the eye. “I’m sure you’re a real ladies’ man and everyone finds you very charming.” Her lips purse.

A smile cracks my lips. “But you don’t?”

“Sorry.” Her head shakes back and forth. “I don’t.”

I lean against the wooden chair, tipping it to balance on the back legs. Rocking it back and forth, I ask, “And you don’t think a guy like me is going to consider that a challenge?”

“A ‘guy like you’?”

“Yeah, you know: stubborn, competitive…handsome.”

With a laugh, she gives her head another shake. “I can’t help not finding you charming—you’re way too arrogant—so forgive me for not ripping my clothes off and letting you ravish me.”

“Ravish you.” I say it with wonder. “See, that right there fills my head with so many fantastic erotic visuals.”

A swipe of the highlighter followed by an undignified hmph is her only reply.

“Ravish. Ravish. You shouldn’t have said that because now I consider you a challenge.”

“Be my guest.” Jameson laughs again, a soft, low chuckle that sends a damn shiver up my spine. “What you do with that information is not my problem.”

My eyes skim the top half of her body. Collarbone, graceful neck. Breasts.

“Want to bet?”

“God no.” She laughs. “Is this your way of trying to get your two hundred and fifty dollars back?” She grabs her pencil and wields it like a tiny sword in my direction. “Which you still haven’t paid me, by the way.”

“We agreed I’d pay you when they pay me, and I will, Scout’s honor.”

“Don’t you have to have been a Boy Scout to make those sorts of promises?”

“Probably.”

“You’re terrible.”

“But you like it.”

An eye roll and a sigh. “You said you weren’t going to make noise.”

“I know, but I have to know what your deal is.”

“My deal?”

“Yeah, you know—what’s your story? Do you come here to study often? Do you ignore everyone, or just me? Why are you wearing that necklace?”

Her laugh is low and entertained. “Can we save that line of questioning for another day? I have a feeling if I start answering, I’m never getting anything done.”

Dammit, she’s right.

Now I’m the one sighing. “Fine.”

“Do your homework, Oswald.”





Sebastian




“We have to stop meeting like this.”

I look up from editing the text on the screen of my laptop, surprised to see Jameson Clark standing at the foot of my study table with a sly grin. Winter hat pulled down over her hair that hangs in one long chestnut braid over her breast. Jacket in one hand, laptop in the other, her pink cheeks are flushed.

I smile at the sight of those little amber freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. They’re sweet.

I want to lick them.

“You sure do come to the library a lot,” I tease. “Here, sit.”

My foot pushes out the chair opposite me and she pulls it the rest of the way out before hesitating, laptop poised on the corner of the table.

She drapes her jacket on the chair before taking a seat. “I could say the same about you. You seem to be here as often as I am.”

“True, but you know—got that scholarship.” I wink at her and she goes through the ritual of laying out her school supplies: pens, notebooks, textbooks, laptop.

Neon highlighter.

Her blue eyes soften. “I still can’t get over the fact that you actually study.”

“I still can’t get over the fact that you find me resistible.”

“Do your homework, Oswald.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“Because that’s your name?” She gives me a duh look.

“No. It’s not.”

Genuinely perplexed, her brows furrow. “It’s not?”

“Wait. You actually thought my name was Oswald?”

“Um, yes?”

I stare at her. “Wait. You actually thought my name was Oswald?”

“Do you hear an echo?”

I ignore her teasing. “You’re telling me you haven’t googled me yet?”