The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(15)

I drag my eyes down my body begrudgingly, the plaid flannel bottoms I stole from my brother dragging across the carpet. Which, by the way, he totally bitched about once he realized I’d taken them.

Pfft, like he doesn’t have ten more pairs. That’s all the dude wears to bed, isn’t it?

I plop my unsexy self down next to my goddess of a roommate and nudge her with my knee, popping a chip into my mouth from the open bag she’s holding out in front of me like a feed bag. A bowl of cookies and cream ice cream is propped in her other hand. Like I’m going to eat it. As if.

I pop another chip into my mouth.

One or two crumbs fall from my mouth before I get any words out. “So, as I was saying—I have a life update.”

Hannah rubs our shoulders together. “It’s about time! Is this about a guy? Did you do the thing?”

“The LoveU app? Yeah, I did the thing I said I wasn’t going to do.”

“Andddd…?”

“And there’s this guy—”

Hannah immediately interrupts. “Already? Let me see him.”

My hand goes up, hoping she’ll cool her jets. “Can you just be patient?

“You’re going to show him to me, right? I need to see right now.”

I haven’t even gotten six words of the story out. “As I was saying, we’ve been talking for a few days. He’s a junior here and he’s on the wres—”

“He goes to school here? Did you recognize him right away?” Hannah has ice cream in her mouth, and I can see it melted on her tongue, white and slimy. It’s grossing me out.

“Oh my god, stop interrupting!” She is seriously so obnoxious. Didn’t her mother teach her any manners?

“I can’t help how excited I am.” Now she’s bouncing on the couch cushions like a little kid. “Sorry not sorry.”

I grimace. “No one says sorry not sorry out loud. That’s a hashtag.”

Hannah also overuses the acronyms LOL and OMG when speaking, along with the term low-key, which drives me insane.

“I can say it out loud if I want to, bossy pants. Stop trying to distract me by scolding. Finish what you were going to say before I interrupted.”

That makes me giggle, despite irritation.

She is pretty stinkin’ adorable.

I settle in, repositioning myself so I’m sitting cross-legged, bag of chips in my lap and salsa strategically positioned within reach. If I’m going to tell her all the details, I must be comfortable.

I start from the beginning. Again.

“So even though I said I would never do it, I downloaded the stupid dating app. I made up some bullshit profile bio because I didn’t know what to say, added a few basic pictures—”

“You didn’t crop me out of any, did you?”

I shrug, guilty.

“Number one rule of online dating: do not use cropped photos.”

What? I’ve never heard of that rule.

“Why?” I pop a chip and chew, seriously wanting to know the answer.

“Because. A guy might think you’re cropping out an old boyfriend or something.”

“Then he’s an idiot.”

“Who?”

“Any guy whose brain goes to that place.” I add an eye roll to emphasize just how lame this fictional person is. “Anyway, as I was saying…”

Hannah gives her hand a flippant wave, her ice cream spoon airily wafting about. “Please proceed.”

“At first I had a ton of guys swiping on me. My inbox had, like, thirty guys in it. Not a single one was decent.”

“I can imagine.” Hannah shudders, shoveling dessert into her face.

“But then…” I pause dramatically. “Then JB swiped on me.”

“BJ?” My friend wrinkles her pert little nose.

“No. JB.”

“B J stands for blowjob.”

Jesus. Could she not? “That’s not at all what his name is.”

“But that’s probably what I’m going to call him.”

“Please don’t.”

“Too late. He’ll forever be known as Blowjob.”

“Why are you like this?”

“Don’t date someone with the initials BJ and I won’t make jokes about it.”

“We haven’t been out on a date, and that’s not the order of his initials.” At this point, there is nothing I can do. My friend is a beast, and I know she’s going to run with this information as far as she can. Not only that, there is no doubt in my mind she’s going to tell Jessica and Bethany, and they’re going to start calling the poor guy Blowjob, too.

Eff my life.

“He seems really fun. And smart—so smart.”

“What’s his major?”

“Business.”

Hannah groans. “So generic. That could be anything.”

“My major is business, you asshole.”

For the record, so is hers.

“Duh, I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just said it was generic.”

Fine. She wins that round. “He’s also an athlete.”

“Which sport?”

“Wrestling.”

She considers this, tilting her head to the side in thought. “I wonder if his ears are all jacked up.”