The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(84)

“Very funny, smartass.”

“We don’t have time to bask in the afterglow. You should probably pull your pants up.”

“Bask in the afterglow—I like the sound of that.”

“Awww, you really are a closet romantic after all.”

“Yeah, I guess I am.”





Sebastian




“What the hell do you think you and your crap are doing on my stoop?”

The wind blows, kicking up snow and sending frigid cold air whipping past me and into the hotel room. The gust has Jameson’s long loose hair swirling around her shoulders.

I’m standing in front of the same hotel room door, letting my red duffle drop to the frozen, snowy ground. A bright lime green snowboard leans against the doorjamb, along with a black boot bag and my clothes. “My old pal Chad said your roommate bailed on you,” I tease with a casual shrug of my shoulders.

“Chad you say? Hmmm…I heard he graduated and got a job at a tech company. You’ll have to come up with a better line that that; I can’t let just anyone pass through this door—my boyfriend would kill me, and he’ll be here any minute.”

“Your boyfriend sounds awesome—and really good looking.”

Jameson crosses her arms and shrugs, noncommittal. “Meh, he’s all right. I wouldn’t push him out of bed.”

I lean down to kiss her smiling lips, heft my bag, and shoulder into the hotel room. “Wow. Place looks just how we left it.”

“Yup.” Jameson pops her P with a loud smack. “Same bed, same dresser, same tiny bathroom.”

“Ah yes, the tiny bathroom of sin, scene of all masturbatory emissions.” My laugh fills the outdated hotel room as I walk to the dresser to set my things down.

“Could you please not remind me?” Jameson’s question hits my back.

I glance over my shoulder. “You stood and watched babe. It couldn’t have been that awful.”

“That’s only because I was caught off guard.”

“Righttttt…but then you listened at the door as I finished.”

“I find it very rude of you to bring that up,” she points out indignantly.

“Rule number twenty…”

Jameson holds up a finger and gives it a flirty little wiggle. “Nuh uh—we’re up to twenty-three.”

“Oh pardon me, ma’am. Rule number twenty-three: while we’re on vacation this weekend, we have to try to do everything the way we did it last time we were here.”

She’s skeptical. “You want to go to the lobby and watch me give my number to complete strangers?”

“Sure! It will be romantic.”

“That trip was not romantic. It was exhausting.”

“You didn’t think it was romantic when I tackled you in the snow on the way back to the bus?”

“Not really, no.”

“Bullshit. You moaned when I fell on top of you.”

“No, you were squishing me and I was trying to push you off. There’s a huge difference. Plus, I had snow down my pants.”

“Hmmm.” I think for a second, trying to think of all the nice things we did in Snowbasin when we were here last, but only a few things stick out in my mind. “You slept with me in the same bed because you couldn’t resist me. Admit it, that pillow wall was a desperate ploy for my attention.”

My gorgeous girlfriend bites down on her smile. “Fine, I’ll admit it—I might have wanted to snuggle up to you in bed, but you have to admit you had a huge crush on me.”

I look at her like she’s crazy. “Pfft, of course I had a huge crush on you—probably from the moment we met. You’re f*cking adorable.”

My delivery might be saying What’s the big deal, but Jameson’s expression rivals the time I gave her a dozen long-stem red roses. “Sometimes you say the sweetest things!”

“Only sometimes?” I move closer, teasing as she pulls the bed linens down and fluffs the pillows.

Jameson yawns, tired from traveling. “Fine. Most of the time.”

And she’s right; rarely am I an * to her. I’ve reserved the sensitive and softer side no one else has the privilege of seeing for Jameson. As lame as it f*cking sounds, she’s the light in my life.

And if anyone heard me saying shit like that, I’d get my ass beat.

Not that I’d care.

Slowly, James unsnaps the fly of her jeans, pushing the dark denim down her hips. “I’m exhausted.”

“My family won’t be here for, oh”—I check my phone for the time—“another twenty-four hours. How shall we ever pass the time?”

“Speaking of your parents, I can’t believe you never told them we were going to arrive early. And I can’t believe they’re giving up their Thanksgiving holiday to come all this way to be with us.”

I snort. “Please. My mom thought this would be more fun than cramming all those people into our tiny house. Plus, now she doesn’t have to cook. She hates cooking and always f*cks up the turkey.”

“I know, but—”

“Trust me, they’re pumped.”

A frown mars her forehead. “I know, but are you sure you’re okay giving up your spring break to be here now?”