The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(48)

I answer, slowly parting my pout, tongue hesitantly exploring his. They mingle. Suck. Twirl until we’re both moaning into each other.

“God, James, I want…”

His large hand rubs my inner thigh tenderly, runs the length of my hip and over the cheap polyester of my ill-fitted black leotard while his lips work my mouth. Up toward my sensitive breasts. Dragging an index finger along their undersides, he drags it languidly back and forth against my sensitive flesh until I’m arching my back, wanting him to touch me.

Do anything—anything—to me. Wanting more. Wanting more than a few quick strokes on a sterile gymnasium floor.

I whimper when his mouth breaks contact. “Yes Sebastian? What do you want?”

Me. Say you want me. Say you want to date me and spend time with me and get to know me. Not just have sex with me on a cold gym floor.

Say the words and I’m yours.

“James baby, I want you to ride me all the way to sex town.”

Wait.

What?

He did not just say that. “What did you just say to me?”

A deep chuckle rumbles his chest. “I’ve always wanted to get laid on these mats. Call it a crazy kid fantasy. You up for it?”

It’s official: he’s a douche and the moment is ruined.

“Honestly Oz? I have no idea what to say but no. No, I don’t want to have sex on these wrestling mats. I—that is not what I was expecting you to say.”

His fingers brush a few errant hairs out of my eyes. “What were you expecting?”

I give a short, sardonic laugh. “I thought you liked me.”

“I do like you.”

“No Oz. I thought you liked me. Enough to, you know…” Oh god, how do I say this. “Enough to want something more. Last week when you went out with Sydney, it kind of hurt my feelings.”

Now he’s pulling away slightly, his long, firm body still hovering. “Shit, I knew you were jealous.”

I count to three. “I didn’t say I was jealous; I said it hurt my feelings.”

“Are you asking me to commit to you James? Because I don’t think I’m ready to be tied down by one person.”

We lie still. Unmoving, breathing heavy, consumed by the ice-cold bucket of reality he just dumped on us both. Moments go by—I’m not sure how many—before I try shoving him off.

It’s such a pitiful effort his solid mass doesn’t budge.

“Tied down? No. All I said was, I thought you liked me more than some screw on a dirty gym floor. You’ve never even taken me out, and you’ve gone out with my roommate twice.”

“That second one was an accident.”

I cringe, not realizing until this very moment how much I actually care for him, how much I like him. And not just like him—I’m talking like like. An old-school, playground-style crush on a boy. Butterflies, sexual fantasies, daydreams, caring, emoticons.

All the feels.

All of them.

I am developing the world’s biggest crush on him, developing aches for him in ways I didn’t imagine were possible.

“We shouldn’t even be here right now,” he groans into my hair, caressing it with his mammoth palm, breathing life into my temple. My eyes flutter shut, tears threatening to spill from the corners as I listen to him carelessly natter on. “This was a mistake. If anyone from the team finds out, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

He shrugs, still on top of me. “You lost the bet.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“What other reason would there be?”

What other reason indeed.

Jerk.





Sebastian



“Heard you were in the practice gym the other day with that librarian chick.”

One of my teammates approaches, dripping wet from the shower, one towel dragged over his shoulders and another wrapped around his waist.

“Yeah.” I turn my back to rifle through my borrowed storage space in the visiting team locker room. “How’d you hear that?”

“Gunderson.”

Gunderson? He’s a freshman and team PITA (AKA Pain In The Ass), and apparently a kiss-ass snitch with his nose jammed high up Cannon’s *.

“What else did f*cking Gunderson tell you?” The little f*ck.

“Nothing.” My teammate laughs, tossing his towel on the bench. “Just that you had the janitor unlock the practice gym and pull out a few mats. What were you doing with her in there anyway, breaking in the new floors?”

With the funding from a generous alumna donor, the wrestling gym recently had a complete overhaul of flooring, murals, and some of the bigger equipment.

“No. I wasn’t breaking in the new floor.”

“So what were you doing—playing f*cking Twister?”

“You know what Cannon? It’s none of your business.”

The short sophomore stabs a finger into his chest. “You’re right—it’s not my business, it’s all of our f*cking business. That’s our gym, too, bro; you don’t see me bringing chicks in there. Get your damn head in the game.”

“He’s right, Ozzy. You know girlfriends aren’t allowed in the practice gym. Fucks with everyone’s heads.”