The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(65)

“You are,” he maintains. “You’re gyrating like a stripper.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing. “Sorry?”

“Say sorry without moaning.” Oz chortles in my ear with a sigh. “We should probably leave before I come in my pants like a thirteen-year-old and we embarrass ourselves.”

A family of seven is picking out helmets and bats in the gated batting cage to our immediate left.

“Good idea.”

Neither of us make a move.

“Jim, let go of the bat.”

“You let go of the bat.”

His hips swivel, giving my rear a little bump, a little grind. “One of us should let go of the bat.”

“All right.” Biting down on my lower lip, I nod. Oz’s warm body heat is making my knees weak, turning my otherwise levelheaded brain to mush. “Okay. We should definitely go.”

So we do.

We return the bats and helmets then climb back into his black pickup truck. Drive the few short miles back to my house. Sit in his vehicle in the street, under the bright overhead security lamp.

It’s gotten dark outside and the streetlights flicker on one by one along the empty avenue, casting shadows and slashes of light inside the cab of Oz’s truck. Across his dark eyes, lips, and chest.

He looks foreboding. Mysterious.

Sexy.

I swallow, glancing out the window before unbuckling the seatbelt that’s been holding me secure.

“Wait there,” Oz instructs, swiftly undoing his own seatbelt and hastening to open the door. He jumps out, jogs to my side, and wrenches open the passenger side door.

I bite back a grin at his good manners; he’s a lot rusty, but the potential is there.

“Thank you.”

Nonchalantly, his hand slides into mine as we stroll, unhurried, up the sidewalk to the door.

I turn to face him, hand still in his, leaning casually against the front porch. I suck in one unsteady breath after the other in an attempt to stabilize my rapidly beating heart.

“Is this weird?” I whisper under the dim light.

“Is what weird?” Oz whispers back. “Why are we whispering?”

“This. Us. I feel like we should be doing something else. Studying or something.” I try to laugh, but the laugh gets caught in my throat. “Get back into our element.”

“You want to go to the library, we’ll go to the library,” Oz says pragmatically, the need to please me evident in his harried persistence. “I can wait here while you grab your backpack, then we’ll swing by my place and I’ll get—”

“That’s not what I meant.” I chuckle. “This dating thing—does it feel weird to you?” Oh god, what am I saying? Stop talking Jameson, you’re going to sabotage everything! “I’m sorry, don’t listen to my babble. I’m just super nervous.”

Oz pauses a few seconds, watching me under the hazy porch light with one burnt-out bulb. Steps closer then reaches between us to grasp my other hand. Drags it to his powerful chest. Flattens my palm and places it over his heart.

His wildly racing heart.

So wild I can feel it beneath my fingers, its rhythm like a thin string drawing me toward him with every beat. Connecting us, heart to heart.

“Do you feel that, Jameson?” he implores breathlessly. “Can you feel it beating?”

I can.

“That’s for you. No one else makes me feel this way; no one has ever made me feel this way. No woman. No coach. No opponent makes my heart race the way—”

“Stop talking.”

Suddenly I’m up on my tiptoes, silencing him with the crush of my mouth. Crush—what a cliché, and yet I’m shoving him against the house, kissing the dickens out of him with my hand twisted unexpectedly in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, kissing the words off his lips, downing them like a thirst-quenching drink to my soul. Kissing him like he’s a deployed soldier I won’t see for months. Years.

Hints of delectable tongue.

Bodies flush.

Sounds I didn’t know people made while kissing.

We kiss and kiss until a light goes on inside the living room, the soft glow from the flimsy curtains catching my eye and giving me pause. Allison pulls back the curtain to glance outside, visibly startled to see us making out on the porch.

Quickly closes the curtains, but rips them back open seconds later to get another look. Begins fist pumping in the air, leaping and jumping around the room in a silent victory dance until my making out with Oz turns to giggle fits and he pulls away, confused.

Allison’s eyes get guiltily wide and she lunges toward the curtains, whipping them closed, but we can hear her hysterical laughter.

“She’s a goddam delight.” Oz laughs, planting another firm kiss on my lips.

I perk up. “You think so?”

“No. She’s a boner killer.”

Oh god.

One date down.

Four to go.





Jameson




If you would have told me a few weeks ago I’d be watching a wrestling match on a Wednesday night in a packed campus stadium, I would never have believed you.

Not in a million years.

But I’m here, Allison beside me for support, because no way was I coming alone. Not when the two tickets handed to me last night were front row floor seats.