The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(23)

I cast a glance down at her. “Duh.”





It only takes Jameson seven minutes to break the silence once we settle into the study room, sitting across from each other in the private, conference-like room. Completely enclosed with only a narrow window in the door, it’s isolated at the end of the hall, and quiet.

You could hear a pin drop. Until—

“So. How was your date with Sid?”

I bite back a grin. I wondered how long it would take her to bring that up, and she doesn’t disappoint.

“Great,” I say jovially. “She’s a delight.”

More silence. And then—

“So…what did you talk about?” James is the embodiment of composure and indifference, her features passively schooled.

“You know. Stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

You kind of stuff. “What’s with the twenty questions?”

Her shoulders rise into a shrug. “Just curious. Sid was over the moon when she got home. You must have really laid on the charm.”

Nope, not even the slightest bit. Instead, I go with, “Or maybe Sydney is just an easy lay.”

Jameson stiffens, mouth dipping into a frown. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” My meaning is clear.

Silence.

She ignores me then, bending her head and writing in her notebook, the sound of her pen reverberating against the walls with every punishing stroke.

“No. I don’t know.” Her voice is quiet, just above a whisper.

I feel like such a dick. “Oh relax, nothing happened. I’m f*cking with you.”

She’s not amused by my antics, or my swearing. “You use that word a lot.”

“I do. It’s a great f*cking word.”

She raises her head and her cheeks are red. Blushing. Flaming.

All from the use of a single word. I decide to see how far I can push her.

“You don’t like it?” I press on. “Fucking?”

Nostrils flaring, her face gets redder—if that’s possible—and her eyes shine bright blue. Clear. Glassing over.

Unfocused. Heavy lidded. Turned on—another language I speak.

“Fucking is my favorite,” I soothe gently. “The word, I mean.”

Clearing her throat, James tilts her head to study me, intense blue gaze falling on my lips. They linger there, watching my mouth as I speak.

“Personally, Jameson, I think it’s one of the most versatile words in the English language. Don’t you?”

One small, jerky nod and I can see her throat contract when she swallows.

“Just listen once: fuuuuck.” I draw out the sound in a whimper, pained, the word strained in a slow, tortured moan, like I’d sound if I were about to orgasm.

“Fucking,” I coax. “Fuck it. Fuck off.”

She shifts in her seat, restless now. “I get the picture, Oswald. You can stop now.”

But I don’t stop.

“Fuck you. Better yet, f*ck me.” The curse rolls off my tongue like a command.

My cock stiffens as I lower my eyes to the chest of Jameson’s soft lavender sweater, the buttons now straining against her breasts. The visible skin in the V above her neckline is splotchy and red.

“Oh yeah, f*ck me.” I quirk my eyebrow. “Have you Jim? Fantasized about f*cking me?”

“Is it necessary to be so vulgar?” Her question comes out breathless and labored, and it doesn’t escape my notice that she’s avoided answering my question.

“Necessary? No,” I allow. “But it is more fun.”

“Well it’s starting to make me uncomfortable.”

“Really? It’s making you uncomfortable.” I rub my chin in thought.

She blows out a puff of what I assume is sexually frustrated air. “It makes me uncomfortable having you sit here and say things like that when we both know you’re only saying it because you think I look virginal and you’re trying to shock me. Too bad it isn’t working.”

She raises some valid points. Still—

“Don’t bullshit me, Jim. Every time I use the word f*ck you start blushing like crazy. I bet you’re blushing everywhere, aren’t you?” Her face turns toward the bookshelves to avoid my rebuttal. “Look me in the eye and tell the truth; you’re getting turned on.”

Her reply sounds small and vulnerable—so unlike her.

“Maybe I wouldn’t feel so uneasy if I thought you weren’t playing some immature game. And don’t lie to me; this is a game. All you’re trying to do by saying f*ck over and over is get a reaction. You don’t actually care how uncomfortable it’s making me feel.”

I ignore all her feelings talk and skip to the good stuff.

“Holy shit I can’t believe you just said it.”

“What? The F-bomb? Pfft, please—I swear when the mood strikes me.”

I laugh. “Okay badass, give me your best curse. Have at it.”

Jameson removes her hands from her keyboard, leaning forward in her chair until she’s facing me. Clasping her hands on edge of the table primly, her small but sexy body adjusts in the black leather seat, her back ramrod straight.

She unclasps her hands and drums her fingers on the smooth lacquered tabletop.