The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #1)(88)

My friends call me merciless. Heartless.

They claim cold blood runs through my veins—and who knows, it probably does.

But I like it that way; I like creating distance. No one needs me, and I need them even less. Happiness is a myth. Who needs it? This anger brewing inside me is more real than any happiness I’ve forgotten how to feel.

Walking into the grocery store, I grab a cart from the corral, pushing it with purpose up and down each aisle, tossing shit in without slowing my stride.

Steeled oats. Agave nectar. Walnuts.

I saunter to the nutrition and organics, hands automatically reaching for the Protein Powder, gripping the black plastic container in one hand, and lob it in among the deli meat, bread, and bottles of water.

Turning the aisle and pushing the cart on the right side of the aisle, I skid to a halt, almost plowing into a little girl on her tiptoes, reaching for a box of ice cream cones. Her black, curly hair pulled tightly into two pigtails, she strains with her string bean arms toward a shelf she’ll never reach.

Even on the balls of her feet.

“Shit kid, I almost hit you,” I growl. “Pay more attention.”

“Can you get that down for me?” Her little index finger wiggles toward a red box of sugar cones. I note that her tiny digits are painted glittery blue, bits of dirt encrusted under her nail beds.

“You shouldn’t talk to strangers.” I scowl down at her, plucking the box off the shelf and gruffly shove it toward her grasping hands. “Jesus Christ, where’s your Mom?”

“She’s at home.”

“Who the hell are you with?”

The little squirt tilts her head, narrowing her unblinking beady eyes at me. “You’re saying bad words.”

I’m not in the mood for this, so I narrow mine back. “I’m an adult. I can say whatever the hell I want.”

Her little mouth puckers and I can feel her silently judging me.

“Summer? Oh my god, Summer!” A flurry of gray and white flies by when a woman tears from around the corner, gasping for breath and latching onto the kid’s puny arm. “Oh my god, you cannot just walk off like that! You scared me half to death. Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

The kid holds her ground. “I was getting ice cream cones.”

“Summer.” The woman gets down on her knees, pulling the little girl into an embrace. Takes a shaky breath. “Summer, when I couldn’t find you I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“I was right here,” the kid squeaks out into the bare skin of the woman’s shoulder, combating to breathe through the struggle cuddle. “This boy was getting my cones.”

This boy?

I put my hands up. “Whoa kid, do not drag me down into the gutter with you.”

It’s then that the woman senses my presence and looks up. Up. Up, into my impassive eyes. No, I’m startled to realize—she’s not a woman—she’s a young woman. About my age, her eyes widen with a flash of panic and fear at the same time her lips part.

She recovers quickly, hugging the girl tighter. “Where you waiting with her?”

A snort escapes my nose and I ignore her question. “Lady, you make a shitty nanny. She could have been kidnapped.”

“I know.” The girls mouth clamps shut, chin trembling. Taking a few deep breaths to compose herself, she swallows nervously before, “T-thanks for helping her.”

“I’m no good Samaritan,” I snort, not wanting her thanks. “All I did was prevent her from crushing herself by tipping over the display rack.”

“Thank you nonetheless.” Another quick squeeze around the little kid’s shoulders, and the young woman stands. I take her measure, sizing her up. Petite, I gauge her height at around five foot five. Hazel eyes. Blonde hair so pale it looks white, falling down over her shoulder in a thick, wholesome braid. My gaze immediately falls to the neckline of her gray Iowa tee shirt, and I appraise her non-existent chest.

Bummer. Must suck.

She hunches her shoulders self-consciously and clears her throat. “Come on, Summer. We should go. We have more stuff to grab.”

“Yeah, you should go, because you’re totally in my way.” I give my cart a jostle, jerking it forward so they move and I can skirt around in what little room they’re not taking up. Before I round the next aisle, I stab an accusing finger their way. “For the record, Nanny, that kid shouldn’t be out in public; it should be in bed.”





Ah, my favorite part… The acknowledgements.

The “letting people know who made this journey a little more amazing along the way” part.

Thank you Internet for providing the inspiration for the dating quotes at the beginning of each chapter. They’re all based on real conversations, pick-up lines, come-ons, and texts between actual people. Yup. This is how singles talk to each other these days….and we wonder why chivalry is dead!

Shocking, I know.

To my brother, Jeff, who suggested I dedicate this entire book to him. He’s bossy and rude, and was the perfect person to call when I needed to make Sebastian just a tad douchier. The guy goes and helps solve one plot dilemma, and suddenly he takes credit for the entire story.

Typical douchebag.

To my Beta family: Tami Estes, Nikki Kroll, author ME Carter, Laurie Darter, author Emma Doherty, and author Kristann Monaghan—I know some of you were nervous to give me honest feedback, but without you, I couldn’t have struck the right balance between “douchey” and “likeable.”