The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(52)

She looks devastated, shoulders falling. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

I walk away, toward my bedroom at the end of the hallway, pausing when I reach my door. “Hey James?”

She’s still standing where I left her, rooted to the spot. Her chin quivers. “Yes?”

“I want you gone by morning.”

I don’t have to wait that long.

Fifteen minutes after our confrontation in the hall, I hear Elliot’s bedroom door open, the sound of muffled voices, and footfalls outside my door. They hesitate before moving down the corridor toward the entryway.

The front door opens and clicks closed. I numbly listen to every sound, still trying to figure out what the hell just happened here.

What in the actual shit happened?

Hands behind my head, bedside lamp still glowing, I stare up at the ceiling fan and—call me a sadist—do my absolute best to recount every detail of what I walked in on: Jameson moaning. Elliot’s white farmer’s-tanned ass pumping into her. Jameson’s half-hooded eyes as she comes. Her mouth forming the shape of my name as she gets banged by another dude.

I try a dozen times to piece it all together—then a dozen more, failing miserably time and again.

Jameson having sex because she wants to feel good. Having sex with someone else, because it feels good, with someone who isn’t me. Cause she wanted an orgasm and pleasure. Naked in the room next to mine, in a bed that’s not mine, in my house.

Did I mention naked?

Jameson getting railed by my roommate. In my house.

Jameson.

Elliot.

Jameson and Elliot.

Elliot finally getting laid, by Jameson, whose pants I’ve been trying to get into for weeks. Elliot, my friend, who deserves a girl like Jameson, who banged him because she wanted to feel good.

I wonder if life is going outside to have a smoke right now, because it just got done f*cking me.

Fucking me hard.

Logically, none of this makes sense.

Yes, I might have come on a little strong with Jameson, but she doesn’t even know Elliot. How do you jump into bed with someone you’ve met at a party once and flirt with in a few freaking texts? Who does that!

Fine. I do.

I toss and turn, pounding my pillow into a useless lump, aware of my own hypocrisy. And yes, I might be a hypocrite, but at least I’m not exhibiting uncharacteristic behavior. Not like she is. Sleeping with strangers is what I do, what I’ve always done. It’s easy, fast, and doesn’t involve any effort.

No follow-through or emotions required.

Jameson might not be a virgin, but I can goddamn guarantee she’s doesn’t sleep around. She can’t.

Not the way I do.

Did.

Do.

Shit, shit, shit, my mind is a mess.

I can’t even form my thoughts straight, thoughts that have me sitting up and climbing out of bed and storming down the hallway to Elliot’s room. I bust through his door, not bothering to knock.

“Why did you do it?”

He’s seated on the bed in nothing but his boxers, flipping through Netflix, and the sight of his hairless bare chest pisses me off.

“Do what?”

“Don’t be obtuse,” I spit out. “You had sex with Jameson.”

“So?” Elliot’s sandy brown hair sticks up around his ears and he swipes the unkempt locks from his brow. “Since when is it a crime to have sex with a hot, willing female?”

The words ‘hot’ and ‘willing’ have the hairs on the back of my neck prickling. My fists clench at my sides, wanting to strike.

“Watch it,” I threaten as Elliot looks toward me like I’ve lost my damn mind—and maybe I have. “You watch the way you’re talking about her.”

His brows rise. “I can’t call her hot?”

“No.”

He gets up off the bed and makes his way to the closet, pulling out a sweatshirt. “Look, I don’t know what your f*cking problem is, but spit it out already. It’s late and I’m spent.”

Spent?

Spent?

“I want to beat the shit out of you so f*cking bad,” I growl, still rooted to my spot by the door, watching him pull the sweatshirt over his head. “Please give me a reason to beat you senseless.”

He pulls the hem down and his hands go up in surrender. “Whoa dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about—are… Shit, man. Are you dating Jameson? Is that what this is about? Did—holy shit—is she cheating on you? With me?”

His eyes widen in horror as the idea takes root in his brain. “Holy shit, she is, isn’t she? She’s cheating on you. Holy shit. Oh my god. Don’t hurt me.”

Elliot looks like he’s about to hyperventilate or piss himself—or both—so I take pity on him.

“No, she didn’t cheat on me with you! Jesus Christ, we’re not even dating.”

His shoulders sag and he breathes out a long sigh of relief. “Thank f*cking god!” Confused brown eyes meet mine. “Wait, then why are you so mad?”

“I…”

I don’t know.

“I…have no idea.”

Elliot’s head tilts as he studies me, takes measure of my stance and expression. “Hold up. Oz, do you… Are you in love with her?”