The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(43)

“Take your time,” I coax, leaning back in the study room’s big leather office chair. I spin around a few times, watching her scrumptiously from the corner of my eye as she bites her lip, thinking hard. “I have all night.”

She’s quiet for an entire two minutes then snaps her fingers. “All right, I’ve got it! If you can’t come up with a reason I approve of, you have to cook for me.”

Is she f*cking serious?

I try not to yawn at her mind-numbing idea, but it’s so lame I let one slip out.

“Cook for you? That’s it?” To say I’m disappointed is a gross understatement, and it must be palpable because she nods with a smirk. “Cooking as in Let’s eat! or cooking as is You bring the chocolate body drizzle, I’ll bring the tongue?”

“Cooking as in home-cooked meal.”

I lean forward in the chair, the smooth leather seat and wheels creaking and straining under my weight when I give it one more spin. “All right. My turn.”

I let the silence drag before slapping my hands together with a satisfying clap, rubbing them together gleefully. “If I win—when I win—I get to pin you down again. Get you down on the mat. Get you sweaty.”

On the mat, in the gym, in the dark, when no one else is around.

Jameson rolls her eyes, but I can see the doubt materializing behind her flippant gaze. It becomes tangible when she swallows apprehensively. “Uh, okay. You can pin me down again, I guess.”

I begin ticking off reasons she should stay with me; they spill from my tongue like the sweat dripping off my forehead during a match. Fluid, molten, and drenched.

“One reason for you to stay? I want you to. Second reason: you’re driving me to distraction and I can’t concentrate unless you’re with me. Three: I want to pop the buttons on your damn sweater. Fourth: glasses. Five: I might need your help with an answer; you seem really smart.”

Her mouth forms a straight, unimpressed line at that last one.

“But the real reason I want you to stay?” I draw out the sentence, emphasizing the last few words. “You’re the only girl on this campus I have any respect for.”

I push back on the table and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms and letting those factoids sink in.

“Well.” James gulps. “That’s—”

“That’s the truth. I respect the hell out of you, and if you leave, I’m leaving too, and then I won’t get anything done. I’ll fail my homework, fall behind, and flunk out, thus making me ineligible for my scholarship. Do you want that hanging over your head?”

That cheeky smile I love returns. “No, certainly not.”

“Good. Then sit down and get out your calendar.”

“For what?”

“I win, which means I’m going to pin you to the mat and you’re going to like it, so we need to pick a date.” Her mouth falls open, incredulous. “Now sit back down and do your homework, Jimmy.”





Sebastian



I don’t know how I find myself outside Jameson’s house, on her street. On her lawn. On her front porch, knocking. But by the grace of God, the universe decided to grant me a favor, and for the first time in my collegiate years, my classes were done by late morning.

Practice ended early. I don’t have to work.

The team bus doesn’t leave until late.

So here I stand on Jameson’s porch, fist raised to knock.

I give it a few brisk raps and wait. Footpads approach the door and I straighten to my full height, paste a smile on my mouth, and wait for the deadbolts to slide free. The knob turns. Door gets cracked open a sliver and a giddy twitter emerges.

It’s not Jameson.

My smile falters, but I quickly recover. “Hey Sydney. What’s up?”

I stuff my hands inside the pockets of my lightweight winter jacket and bounce on the balls of my feet.

“Oz! Hi!” Sydney exclaims, all blonde hair, tits, and excitement. “Did you get my text? I texted you!”

Yeah, no shit. Ten texts, all of them annoying and unanswered. I try to act startled by this revelation. “You texted me! Weird. None of them came through.”

Lies, lies, lies, and they roll off my tongue like honey.

She screws up her heavily made-up face into a pout. “Really? Shoot. There must be something wrong with my phone. I’ll have to take it in to have it looked at.”

“Yeah, good idea. So…” I cut to the chase. “Is Jameson home?”

“Jameson?”

“We didn’t have plans but I thought we’d hit the library or something.”

Mostly or something.

Anything.

“She’s not here and I don’t know when she’ll be back, but I happen to be free.” Sydney coyly twirls a blonde tendril then flicks the entire curl over her shoulder. “Come on, let’s get ice cream. Lucky you! It’ll be fun.”

Yay, lucky me.

I stand idle, debating about whether I should go for ice cream or not while Sydney slips back inside, emerging a few seconds later with a jacket and purse as if the whole thing was settled.

Shit.

She spins on her heels, calling back into the house before shutting the door behind her and stepping out onto the porch. “Allison, Oz and I are going for ice cream! If James comes back, tell her we’ll be back whenever!”