The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(19)

“You just invited my roommate to go with you instead!”

“Who cares?” I scowl down at Jameson, who cringes.

“She can hear us arguing, you know.”

I barely spare Sydney a glance. “So?”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“You seriously won’t meet me for dinner?” I’ll admit it, I’m this close to stomping my foot on the ground like a child who’s not getting their way.

“I can’t meet you for dinner. I’m helping Allison.”

“I’m not going to beg, Jim.”

She laughs. “I don’t want you to.”

“How about a threesome?” Kidding, not kidding.

“Oz.” Her tone carries a warning that I’ve pushed far enough. We stare each other down until Sydney uncomfortably clears her throat between us.

“A burger sounds great.”

“Excellent. I’m starving.” I lick my lips for show, both girls following the movement of my tongue with their widened eyes. “In fact, I could eat just about…anything right now.”

Sydney bites her bottom lip, fighting back an excited squeal, and rattles off some house numbers.

An uneasy feeling settles over me when I look to James for any sign of disapproval, some hint that she’s bullshitting. Any second now she’s going to throw her hands up and announce she’s kidding—of course she’ll meet me at Malone’s!

Instead, the large smile pasted on her face appears sincere. Apologetic. Exaggerated, but sincere.

I should be relieved. I should feel ecstatic to have James off my back. No nagging. No bitchy comebacks. No sass.

I shouldn’t feel anything.

But goddammit if I do.




Jameson




I should be relieved.

I should feel excited for Sydney; Sebastian Osborne is her type one hundred times over. From his broad, firm shoulders to his black tattoos, his dirty mouth to his popularity on campus.

I shouldn’t feel anything for him.

But…damn if I do.

Crap.





Sebastian




“So what’s the deal with you and Jimmy?”

“Who?”

I tap my index finger on the table impatiently. “Jameson. You know—you two aren’t…” I jiggle a limp French fry over the appetizer platter in the center of the table. “You aren’t exactly who I’d place together in a lineup.”

I take a bite of my fry, watching Sydney intently, chewing slowly while appraising everything about her with male appreciation. In the hour I gave her to get ready for…whatever this is…she used every spare minute to get freshened up. Smoky eye makeup, sleek wavy blonde hair, tight pale blue sweater.

Tighter skinny jeans.

At the moment, we’re sitting in a corner booth at Malone’s, one of the closest bars to campus that serves the best burgers in town. You might reek like deep fryer when you walk out, but the food more than makes up for it. If I’m going to be railroaded on a date—which is costing me what little extra money I have—I’m going to eat a delicious goddamn hamburger, even if it I have to do an extra two miles of running and fifty extra squats to burn off the calories.

“Placed together in a lineup?” Sydney’s dark blonde brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?” Her long hot pink nail pokes at a mozzarella stick on the appetizer platter, but she makes no move to eat it.

I nab another fry and pop it in my mouth. “Seriously.” I swallow. “Conservative Mary and Malibu Barbie? How’d the two of you end up living together?”

Another poke at the mozzie sticks. “Conservative? Who on earth are you talking about?”

In a move I’m going to later blame on Jameson, I roll my eyes. “James.”

How can she not know who I’m talking about?

“You’re talking about James?” she asks, baffled.

I gotta give the girl props: Sydney has the good sense to look affronted. I give her another few points for loyalty, and one for the irritated expression she’s trying to mask behind her faltering smile. “Jameson Clark? Conservative?”

She says it so incredulously I begin to wonder if I’m starting to piss her off.

Nonetheless…

“Do you know more than one Jameson?” I recline back in my chair and cross my arms. Sydney’s eyes, lined in heavy black liner, rake my tattoo-covered biceps, flaring with obvious interest.

Palming my beer bottle, I take a quick pull. “Yeah. Prim and proper. Smart mouth. What’s up with that?”

I’m kind of being an *, but she doesn’t seem to care. Well, she cares, but I don’t.

Sydney blushes out a stiff, “James is not boring.”

I scoff. “I didn’t say she was boring—I know why she’s always studying, but what other stuff is she into? She does do other stuff, yeah?”

“I think she’s just serious about school. She doesn’t like to be bothered when she’s studying.”

I suppress an eye roll. “I know. Has it occurred to her that she doesn’t need to wear cardigans and shit to be serious about school or to be left alone?” I ask more to myself than to Sydney. “Does she ever go out and have fun? Let loose? Dress slutty?”