The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(40)

He’s called me that a few times before, but this time it’s almost like he means it, if that makes sense.

It’s then that I feel his large mammoth palms begin their ascent, wandering up my back. Up and down, straying from my waist in what little room they have to roam. They feel so warm and good I arch my spine to give him more access, arch it just a little, because…oh god that feels good…

“You can’t hear me thinking,” I argue weakly with zero conviction.

“Yes I can. I read body language as a sport, remember? Relax, James—I can’t sleep with all this nervous energy.”

Body language as a sport.

Pining down an opponent in nothing but that singlet wrestlers wear, hot and sweaty and hard. The catalogued image of him in that tight spandex unitard—the pictures I’d googled when curiosity finally won out—have me uneasily squirming in his hold.

I wonder if this is what it’s like to be pinned down by him.

Wonder if this is what it’s like to be beneath him in bed.

Not in it, on top of it.

No covers. No clothes.

Oh god.

“James. Relax.” He tips his face up then, our lips a fraction of an inch apart. Full, pink lips that I’ve tasted. Sucked on. Stuck my tongue between.

“I’m trying,” I breathe. “But it’s hard.”

“It’s going to be hard if you don’t stop moving around.”

I can’t even summon up the energy to lecture him on propriety, so focused on his lips. Before I can flop my head back against the window, before I can shut my eyes and pretend to sleep, warm lips press firmly against my mouth. One. Two kisses. A wet tongue quickly darts out and flicks the corner of my mouth.

His large palm supports the back of my neck, pulling me down, pulling me in and resting his lips on mine. My heartbeat keeps time with the seconds our lips bond. One, two, three, four…

Lids briefly close and Oz pulls away, settling his cheek onto my chest.

Peppermint lingers on my gaping pucker.

“What… Why’d you do that?” Even to my own ears my voice is barely audible, throaty. I want to press a finger to my lips, but my hands are otherwise occupied, pressing into the solid, corded muscles in his back.

“Because I wanted to. Now chill out and take a nap with me. Be my calm.”

Be his calm? Be his calm.

“I’ll try,” I say breathily.

Oz’s head angles up and our drowsy eyes meet. “You’re cute.”

He’s always saying that.

Cute.

I hate it.

Feminist or not, I still hate that I’ll never be hot, or sexy, or coy.

Inept at flirting, I say nothing, let the moment pass until his gentle snores fill the small space we’re occupying for our ride home.





The first to wake, I’m able to sit up when Oz shifts, his legs spread wide and arms crossed as he rests.

I study his profile, eyes faltering on his handsome face, letting them travel the fine line of his nose, up his strong jawline, my perusal tracing his earlobe with every sweeping pass.

His lip twitches. “Are you watching me sleep?”

Ah, so the beast is awake.

Yes. “No.”

“Liar.” A smile tips his lips but his lids remain closed. “You’ve been watching me sleep all weekend, haven’t you, you little creeper?”

“Did you watch me sleep all weekend?” I tease, not expecting him to agree with me.

He pauses, cracking an eyelid open and studying me. For a second I don’t think he’ll answer honestly. “I might have once or twice.”

Seriously? “Seriously?”

His head lolls to the side, toward me. “Seriously. You’re gorgeous when you’re asleep.”

Okay then.





“So wait. You didn’t watch me sleep?” His demand jars me from my slumber and he gives me a nudge with his elbow. “Hey, wake up.”

“Leave me alone.” I don’t even crack an eyelid, just swat blindly in his direction. “I already told you this at least five times.”

“Right, but I just assumed you were full of shit.”

A groggy smile. “You’re ridiculous.”





Sebastian



Is it weird that I miss her?

She’s not a f*ck buddy. Not a girlfriend. And if I’m being perfectly blunt, she’s not even a friend.

And yet…

I want to see her. Talk to her. Give her shit just to see her face turn red with embarrassment.

I sent her the first text at dawn this morning after a conditioning jog around campus, knowing she was probably still in bed but wanting to message her anyway. Not having a legit reason to message her, I went with:

Did you make it home okay?



I stop running when the phone in the pocket of my athletic shorts buzzes, pacing around the cement jogging trial to keep my muscles warm but wanting to see if it’s her.



Jameson: We got home two days ago, weirdo… But more importantly

My phone buzzes again.



Jameson: DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!?

Oz: Yes. 5:47 and I wasn’t expecting you to actually answer, so you can’t get mad. Don’t you have your phone on silent when you sleep like a normal human being?