The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(24)

BlueAsTheSky: Well I DON’T KNOW—you said he doesn’t go out much so I assumed he doesn’t like peopling.

Me: What the hell is peopling?

BlueAsTheSky: You know, going out in public. Seeing people. Some people hate people LOL

BlueAsTheSky: What’s his name?

Me: Are you going to look him up?

BlueAsTheSky: Probably. I have to—I have to know who I’m setting my friend up with.

Me: Which friend?

BlueAsTheSky: My roommate is single. Her name is Hannah.

Me: My roommate’s name is Abe.

BlueAsTheSky: Abe _____ (fill in blank) If I’m going to properly stalk him, I’ll need his full name. Please and thank you.

Me: Abe Davis

Silence.

Absolute silence, and I—

BlueAsTheSky: Gosh. Abe Davis is kind of super cute. No offense.

Another sensation forms in my gut; instead of guilt, this one feels more like a sucker punch of stone, cold irony to the stomach. She thinks Abe Davis is cute, doesn’t really care for JB.

Me: Why would I be offended?

BlueAsTheSky: Because I just called your roommate cute.

Me: Correction—you called him Super Cute.

BlueAsTheSky: He’s not a superhero—you can lay off making it a proper noun.

Me: I have to though.

BlueAsTheSky: LOL

Me: So does that mean you’re willing to double date?

BlueAsTheSky: Um. Sure. I think she’d be cool with that, and it’ll be nice to have two other people there so you’ll be on your best behavior…

Me: Very funny.

BlueAsTheSky: It’s the truth. I wasn’t impressed with you—AT. ALL.

Me: You don’t hold back, do you?

BlueAsTheSky: I see no reason to.

Me: Obviously not.





Skylar



“Is that what you’re wearing?”

Hannah is already pestering me from her bedroom door, and I ignore her.

She fills the silence. “The correct answer is no. No, you cannot wear that on this date.”

“But—”

“Ah ah ah!” Hannah tsks. “I don’t care if he wore pajamas on your first date. You are not wearing those gross leggings. Put on jeans and have a little dignity. Show him what he’s missing by acting like douche dribble.”

What the fuuuu…

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

She gives her hair a toss. “Do you like it? Douche dribble.”

“Oh, I heard you the first time.”

“Heard it in the cafeteria yesterday when I was grabbing a salad between classes.”

“It’s godawful.”

“It’s creative.”

She sounds so put out that I laugh, giving her a once-over. She’s not taking this date seriously either, judging by her barely made-up face and the straight hair she refuses to take time to curl.

We both decided earlier this date with JB is probably going to be a waste of time—once a douchebag, always a douchebag.

“Throw those jeans on and let’s get this show on the road,” Miss Bossy Pants tells me, pointing at the bed, where the dark denim is neatly folded and waiting to be put on.

“I wasn’t actually going to wear leggings, just so you know.”

“Bullshit.” Hannah laughs. “Don’t lie.”

“Fine. I was planning on wearing the leggings.” But with a cute shirt—so it’s not like I planned on looking like a slob.

Sheesh.

“If you don’t hurry, we’re going to be late.”

I give her a blank stare. “The plan was to purposely get there late, remember.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I know being late is going to make you twitchy, but we’re trying to prove a point here.”

My best friend hates being late; promptness is a virtue written deep in the Book of Hannah. I’ve told her a million times she should probably reevaluate our friendship and find someone who isn’t perpetually tardy for the party every time her foot steps out the door like I am.

“What was the point we’re trying to make? Remind me.”

I sigh. I’ve gone over this with her a million times. “JB was late for our first date and didn’t apologize when he walked in.”

He might have sent his apologies via app message, but that wasn’t until hours later.

“If by some miracle this date goes better and I see him again, I don’t want to set a precedent that he can take me for granted. I have to prove a point.”

Hannah sighs. “Fair enough.”

“So you’re going to have to chillax.”

“Roger that. Chillaxing.” My roommate pauses. “Who is this guy I’m going out with again?”

I grab a jacket from my closet and shut the door. “JB’s roommate—his name is Abe.”

Once I had a name, I did what any decent friend and roommate would do: I stalked Abe online to make sure he wasn’t a creeper. Honestly, I’m already a bit jealous because Abraham Davis looks like a great guy—if one can tell that from a few pictures on the internet. Tons of wrestling photos of him on the mats. Many wins.

His eyes.

Something about those eyes of his made me sigh as I stared at his wrestling headshot; they’re deep and brown and kind.