The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(74)

“I can’t do it any more, Sebastian. Leave me alone and get me food.”

“Come on, Jameson. One more time before we go out. Please?”

“You’re insatiable—stop begging. I’ve created a monster.”

“Once more and I’ll leave you alone. Promise.”

“What a load of crap. You’ve said that twice already.”

“But I didn’t mean it those other two times.”

“Sebastian, I need a shower. And I need food—I’m hungry!”

“I can think of a few things to satisfy your appetite.”

“Ew.”

“You weren’t saying ‘ew’ when you were blowing me during Game of Thrones.”

“First of all, could we not call it ‘blowing you’? It makes me feel cheap. Secondly, you promised me a hamburger from Malone’s.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Hey pal, you’re just lucky I’m still here. We’ve been in bed for what feels like a hundred godforsaken hours.”

“Is it sick that I’m beginning to find it sexy when you roll your eyes at me like that?”

“Um, yeah, it’s a little weird.”

“I can’t help wanting to blow a load every time I see you.”

“Is it weird I find that horrible, somewhat degrading sentence mildly erotic?”

“Will it get me laid if I say it’s not weird?”

“Probably.”

“Then no. It’s not weird.”





Sebastian




Watching Jameson across the crowded room, a few things immediately cross my mind:



I hit that—four times in the past twenty-four hours.

Four times.

Best sex of my life—and trust me, I’ve had plenty of it.

She’s just as horny and depraved as I am in bed, thank. Fucking. God.

I am harboring some serious feelings for her.





A smug grin crosses my face, like I’ve stumbled across an untapped gold mine not a soul before me has discovered. Because no one—and I mean no one—would look at Jameson and suspect what I already know: she’s hiding a banging body under those conservative clothes. Fucking fantastic boobs. Round, toned ass. Flat stomach.

Tight *.

Slipping into that shit? Toe-curling ecstasy.

Men pass her over; they see preppy cardigan sweaters and dainty shoes. They see boring. Staid. Buttoned up. A prude with a very smart mouth. They assume she’s sexually repressed, too much work for not enough output.

Like I did.

Which is fine—more Jameson Clark for me.

Every inch of her is all mine.

Holding court near the kitchen, the little vixen glances up from her conversation and I watch as she drags her exotic blue gaze up and down my physique, undressing me with her eyes, mouth curling into a knowing smirk above her red beer cup.

I return the favor, sizing her up: the light pink, tight-fitted sweater with the V-neck showing only a conservative amount of cleavage. Cropped skinny capris. The high, strappy wedge sandals she debated a full ten minutes on before deciding it wasn’t too cold to wear them outside.

In her pearl necklace’s place? A delicate gold chain with the word karma.

Her roommate, Allison, leans into her just then, speaking into her ear, causing James to laugh cheerfully. She throws her head back, exposing a column of neck I know smells like sweet coconut and tastes like dessert when it’s sucked on.

“Why do you keep looking over at Parker and his slam piece?” asks my teammate Pat Pitwell good-naturedly. For all his rough edges, he’s a really nice guy. Decent. He’s at school to wrestle, get a degree, and get out. He doesn’t sleep around, and he doesn’t make trouble.

So I’m honest with him. “I’m dating the girl in pink.”

“No shit?” Pitwell’s black bushy eyebrows shoot straight to the cornrows braided in his hair. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Goody two-shoes?”

I let the comment slide. “Yeah. I think she’s my girlfriend.”

“A girlfriend? Good for you, man.” He chugs from his red solo cup. “Pink sweater got a name?”

Pink sweater—that makes me smile. “James.”

“Seriously?” he asks again. “For real? Her name is James?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“That’s a dude’s name.”

“I know.” We both study her from across the room. “But it suits her.”

“Home girl got class,” Pitwell observes over the top of his beer.

“She sure does.”

“Still wondering how she ended up with a brother like you, are you?”

“Every day.”

“Well good for you, man.” He looks her over. “She sure is a pretty little thing.”

A nod. “Sure is.”

“She can’t keep her eyes off you, brah. You should go over there, lay claim to that shit.”

His hand clamping down on my shoulder propels me forward. I cross the room with long, purposeful strides, making it to Jameson’s side in fifteen footsteps flat. Approach her from behind. Wrap my arms around her waist, lacing my fingers just under her breasts, lips pressing a kiss to the curve of her neck while giving Parker and Allison a nod. “What was that look you were giving me from across the room?” I ask into the shell of her ear.