The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(2)

“He’s almost done, Carpenter. Grab him when he hits seventy-five, would ya? He’ll be glad for the break.”

My phone chimes again, and I glance down at the screen. Groan out loud, perspiration dripping down the valley between my pecs.

It’s two more LoveU notifications.

Good news, JB! You’ve matched with Tiffany C and Kristy M. Swipe right to begin a convo!

I curse.

Then I swipe right on both of them.





Abe



“I don’t know what you’re doing setting me up with these airheads, man. You have to start screening them a little better.”

I swivel in my desk chair when JB appears in my doorway, lingering at the threshold, large frame leaning against the jamb.

“Or. You can start doing this yourself.”

He scoffs, running a hand along his jawline. “You’re so much better at it than I am.”

“It’s basically texting. I think you can handle it.” I stare him down, tapping a pencil against the surface of my desk. “Haven’t any of them noticed you can’t remember jack shit about what they’ve told you?”

“No. They’re too busy twirling their hair.” He laughs. “This one tonight though—she was pretty hot.”

Kristy M.

I remember her.

Brunette. Local. Loves kitties, glitter, and her sorority sisters. Oh, and she would, like, die for a decent sushi restaurant in town.

“If she was so hot, what was the problem?”

“I wanted my dick sucked, not to listen to her talk about her two fucking cats all night.”

This makes me laugh. “But you like a little pussy.”

“Not the same kind of pussy Kristy likes.” He smirks, still lingering at the door. “Too hairy.” JB sticks out his tongue and licks the air.

“Here’s a thought, maybe you should stop going out with girls you think are hot. Maybe—and call me crazy for suggesting this—you should try having something in common with them?”

“But I’m not the one talking to them. You are.” He sounds confused, bless his clueless soul.

“Right, well.” I toss my pencil on the desk, swiveling around until I’m presenting him with my broad back and shrug. “I thought you wanted a girlfriend, not an easy lay.”

“I want both.”

“Then stop trying to screw every warm body you take on a date.” I still won’t look at him.

“They’re not dates. We meet for drinks.”

“That’s what you’re calling it? Meeting for drinks?” What a crock of shit. “Semantics.”

“What’s the big deal?” I hear him shuffle his feet as I pop open my laptop, powering it up. “If I have to abort the mission, I don’t want the commitment of having to eat an entire meal for another half an hour, especially if the chick is a stage five clinger—fuck that would be painful.”

I’ll give him this one—that actually makes sense. But still.

“I get that, but you should still be the one talking to these girls, not me. It’s fucked up on so many levels.”

“You’re better at English than I am, dude. Plus, you’re better with girls.”

“How the hell am I better with girls?” I haven’t been on a date in over a year, which means I haven’t had sex in over a year, which means I haven’t seen an actual pair of tits in a year.

My dating life is fucking pathetic.

“Dude, I read what you said to that Tiffany chick—it was brilliant. That shit about everything happening for a reason and beauty being on the inside? Genius.”

“Yes. I’m a genius all right.” I mean, I kind of am. I’ve been on the dean’s list for the past three years. My current grade point average is three point nine. Not too bad for someone who barely has time to wipe his own ass, let alone study. “So when are you going on your date with Shelby?”

JB rubs the spot behind his neck that’s always cramping, working out the knot while he considers my question. “I don’t know. She’s been pretty annoying.”

Yeah, she has been.

“She told me she wasn’t looking for a pen pal, whatever the fuck that means.”

I saw that but haven’t replied to it yet. “It means she doesn’t want to keep talking. She wants to actually meet you so she can figure out if she’s wasting her time or not.”

“I don’t know, man. Do I really want to sit through a date with someone who uses the words um and haha eight thousand fucking times in one day?”

Nope.

“That’s up to you, man.”

I wouldn’t date her, but I’m not JB, and it’s not my LoveU account. I might be the puppet master pulling the strings, but he’s the one dancing up on stage.

Jesus, I’m crap when it comes to analogies.

As if he can hear my thoughts straying, my roommate lets a long, loud sigh drag from his giant body. “Cut her loose, would ya? Let’s start looking for quality, not quantity.”

Well this is certainly a new development. JB getting serious about dating someone? Color me surprised. “Any special requirements?”

He gives it some thought. Inhales and stands up straight. “Probably a girl I could take home to my mom if I wanted to, but who also wants to fuck a lot.”