The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(86)

“Stop talking, Sebastian, you’re making it worse. The fact that you can’t even tell me you lo—” Her sob cuts off whatever she’s about to say.

“Baby, I’m an idiot…what do you expect?”

“I expect more than a man that makes excuses about why he can’t tell me how he feels.” Her anger turns to a cry, a steady stream of tears pooling down her flushed cheeks.

“Don’t cry, please don’t cry.”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

“This dream is turning into a f*cking nightmare,” I moan.

“That’s because you’re dreaming.”

“No,” I argue. “This is a goddamn nightmare, Jameson—”

“Sebastian. Sebastian wake up, you’re having a dream.”

With a start, I gasp, jolting myself awake.

“Shhhh, you were crying.” Jameson’s delicate palm runs down the course of my spine in a gentle stroke, landing at my waist and wrapping around my middle. I feel the pillows of her pouty lips plant a kiss to the planes of my shoulder blades, her hot breath caressing my bare skin as she spoons me from behind.

“I was?”

“You were,” she whispers with another kiss on my shoulder.

“Fuck, sorry. Did I wake you up?”

She nods. “You did, but it’s okay.”

Shit. “What was I saying?”

“You don’t remember?”

I lay in the dark, staring at the wall before rolling to my back. Moonlight floods the hotel room, casting a warm glow on Jameson’s beautiful, worried face.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice is a gentle caress from the shadows.

“I asked you to marry me, and you said no.”

“Why did I say no?” Jameson is biting down on her lip to hide her smile. I can see her white teeth glowing against the light filtering into the room.

“Because I haven’t told you I love you yet.” My voice is small and aloof, because even though it was a dream, I feel like an *.

“Oh?”

And I haven’t, not yet. We’ve been together officially for more than half a year and all I’ve ever done is show her with my body how much I care. That part I’m stellar at. That part is easy. The sex. The affection. Holding hands. Whispered words across the library table. The way every now and again, she lets me f*ck her in a study room.

Not once have I told Jameson how my heart feels about her, how I love her intelligence and sarcasm. How I love her quick wit, and the fact that she doesn’t put up with any of my shit. Or Zeke’s nonstop bullshit.

How I love her.

No wonder she keeps rejecting me in my own damn dreams.

I’m a dick.

“James?”

“Sebastian?” This time when she smiles, she doesn’t bother hiding it.

I roll over to face her, repositioned so we’re snuggled against each other in the center of the bed, her arms across my stomach. My fingers find and sweep away the stray hairs across her temple, and I stroke her forehead.

“I do, you know. Love you. More than probably anything.”

There. I said it.

And wouldn’t you know, her breath actually hitches—just like you see in the movies when the girl is so startled and pleased she loses her breath for a second.

“I know you love me.” Wistful and filled with wonder. “I love you, too.”

Somehow, it’s not enough. “For real though, babe. The only person I love more than you is myself.”

A loud laugh fills the otherwise darkened room. “Oh my god, tell me you did not just say that.”

Am I missing something here? “What’s so damn funny? I’m being serious.”

“The only person you love more than me is you?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me?”

“So much.”

A floodgate opens, and now that I’ve said the words, they’re easier to say than I could have ever imagined.

“I love you.” My arms stretch toward her, dragging her flush against me then pulling her over my body. Hands grasping her face, I do my best to look in her eyes. “I love you.”

Our lips meet and she sighs.

“I love you, Jameson. I’m in love with you.”

“Desperately?” She breathes with a smile.

“So desperately.” I open my mouth for another kiss with tongue. “So f*cking much.”

I don’t stop dreaming about us.

Won’t stop.

And when the time comes and I ask her to marry me and have cardigan-wearing babies?

She’s going to say yes.




The End





AN EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT from BOOK 2





The following is an unedited, rough excerpt of, tentatively titled

How to Date a Douchebag: The Failing Hours.



This is Zeke Daniels story.



A very small part of him.



The guy you love to hate.

Be gentle with him.





Ezekiel




“Are you listening to me Mr. Daniels?”