The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(75)

She snuggles, sagging into me, but rolls her eyes. “Pfft, what look?”

“You know the look.”

Jameson taps a finger to her chin. “You’ll have to be more specific. Was it my ‘I’m thirsty and need another drink’ look, or my ‘I’m undressing Sebastian with my eyes’ look?”

“Yes.” Ignoring Parker and Allison, I can’t keep my hands off her and I drag them down her ribcage, settling them at the empty belt loops of her jeans. Tug and pull closer.

She makes no attempt to pull away, but rather, seems to melt into me.

Getting her into bed later will be a piece of cake.

“Fine, then yes. Guilty,” she teases. “It’s your fault for dragging me here—I just assumed I’d be spending tonight in pajamas watching a movie.”

“So what you’re saying is, you want to go back to bed?” I purr low in her ear so only she can hear me—not that anyone would be able hear us anyway, not with the music blasting through the surround sound, high-def speakers. The room practically vibrates.

Her laugh curls my toes. “Oh god, no—my crotch can’t handle any more Sebastian Osborne.”

“Wanna make a bet?”

This earns me another laugh; soft and sexy, her glossy hair beckons. I lift a hand to run my palm down the locks, fingers intimately straining through each satiny strand like sand through an hourglass.

Fuck, even her hair makes me hard.

I tug at the waistband of her jeans impatiently. “Come on, let’s get out of here and go back to my place before my roommates get home.”

I’m a young, randy, walking erection; she can hardly fault me for that. Jameson’s lips part to refute—or agree—but her response is cut off by her damn roommate, whose timing is for shit.

“This party is fun!” Allison banters shrilly, oblivious to the negotiations taking place, and frustrated, I grumble my displeasure into Jameson’s hair.

“Make her go away.”

“Thanks for the tickets to your meet the last week Oz. I had a great time, didn’t I James?” She nudges Jameson with her elbow—hard—prompting her. “They were amazing seats. Weren’t they amazing seats James?”

Great. She’s drunk.

Speaking of drunk, obnoxious friends—over Allison’s shoulder, I see a few guys from the wrestling team approaching, curiosity driving the nosy bastards forward. They’ve wasted no time encroaching on my territory.

Awesome.

“Heads up ladies, *s approaching.” I step closer to Jameson and tighten my hold around her waist in solidarity.

Protectively.

A united front.

Leading the pack is Zeke Daniels, perpetual dickface, pushing through the crowd like a gladiator heading to battle. Determined and proud—and bearing a grudge.

His hard, steely crosshairs are on Jameson, then dart to Allison, dismissing her. Those untrusting gray eyes begin their perusal of Jameson, beginning at her feet, swiftly moving up her denim clad legs. Pausing at the apex of her thighs. Linger too long on her breasts. Face. Hair.

Zeke’s jaded perusal misses not a single scrap of fabric or inch of exposed skin on Jameson’s body.

My guard goes up when frozen regard hits her pristine pink sweater…the elegant necklace…the glossy lips. They narrow, irritated. Nostrils flare.

Shit, he really doesn’t want me dating this girl. I don’t know why or what his problem is, but I have a feeling at some point, I’m going to find out.

The hard way.

“Park. Ozzy. You gonna introduce us to your playthings?” Zeke’s sullen gray eyes hit the arm I have resting under Jameson’s tits and he plants a sneer on his face.

Dude is just so f*cking miserable.

“Guys, this is Jameson,” I give her tiny waist a squeeze. “You know her roommate, Allison.”

Allison tips her hand in a perky, friendly wave. “Hey guys. Congratulations on your wins this week.”

We didn’t just beat Stanford—we decimated them, individually and as a team.

“Hi.” One of my teammates steps forward, arm extended in a greeting like he’s meeting the homecoming queen, his expression is eager. “I’m Gunder—I mean, I’m Rex. Rex Gunderson. Hi.”

Enthusiastic doesn’t do Gunderson justice.

Wrestling in the lightweight class, Rex might be a winner on the mat, but he’s obviously out of practice with ladies; I can practically visualize the growing chub inside his pants and hear the internal dialogue: Hi, I’m Rex. You’re pretty. Can I take you back to my dorm and date you? I’ve never touched boobs. Can we date? And by date, I mean hump.

“Rex, it’s nice to meet you.” Jameson’s hand goes out for a handshake and Gunderson works it like a water pump. Once, twice. Three times.

Four.

Five.

I glower. “Okay dude, that’s e-f*cking-nuff.”

Beside him, Zeke makes his move.

“Jameson, Jameson, now where have I seen you before?” he asks, casually rubbing the stubble along the square jawline he hasn’t bothered to shave in days. Beefy fingers snap in her direction. “Right! Sexy Librarian. I almost didn’t recognize you without all the books. You must be a fantastic lay to have our boy Ozzy here following you around like a dog in heat—without being paid, too.”