The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(41)

“Aren’t you taking a shower?”

I shoot him the stink-eye. “What are you now, my mother?”

“I’m just asking.”

Not to be disrespectful, but, “Why are you still standing here?” He can go now. The looks he’s shooting me and the fact that he’s invading my personal space are making me cagey. Paranoid.

Twitchy, even.

“You’re like a car wreck,” the bastard is saying. “I can’t peel my eyes away—I have to know what happens.” He leans against the metal lockers, crossing his ankles and arms. Cocky. “I’m invested.”

Invested? Jesus Christ with this guy. “I have it handled.”

“Ehhhh…” Zeke isn’t convinced.

I turn to face him, shucking the rest of my singlet, kicking it off and retrieving it from the ground. It will get tossed in the laundry in the corner of the locker room, cleaned, and returned for the next meet.

Digging through my duffle, I find gray boxer briefs. Pull those on, all the while ignoring the looming shadow beside me.

Why is he still here? Why does he care? This is a guy who doesn’t give a flying fuck about anything; suddenly he has a vested interest in my dating life?

I’m in hell, that’s what’s happening—there can be no other explanation.

Resigned, I ask, “What the hell am I supposed to say to Hannah? You know how girls are—Skylar probably told her every last detail, probably cried all night and—”

“Ate all the ice cream?”

“No. I was going to say plotted revenge.”

“Oh yeah, that makes more sense. A scorned girl is ruthless, but her friends are worse.”

“I didn’t scorn her.” Why is he so dramatic?

“Right. You catfished her—that’s even worse.” When I go to argue, he holds his palm up to shush me. “Don’t say it. We both know that’s what you did, because you’re a dumbfuck and you weren’t thinking straight.”

I’ve never been called a dumbfuck by anyone in my entire life. I’ve been called brainy, smart, too sharp for my own good… never a dumbfuck.

“Fine. Whatever.” I root around for mesh shorts and step into them. “What am I supposed to say to Hannah?”

“The good news is, when you call—don’t text her, because all she’ll do is chew your ass out then block you—she won’t know it’s you, so she’s going to answer her phone.”

True.

“Maybe say some shit like, ‘Wait! Before you hang up…’ so she doesn’t hang up.”

I roll my eyes.

He’s not impressed with my dismissal of his suggestion. “You should be writing this down.”

“That one sentence?” I feel around my upper torso like I’m searching for a writing utensil. “Gee, looks like I don’t have a pen.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” First I’m a dumbfuck, now I’m a smartass.

“Hold up. Quick question: do you think I should tell JB about this?”

“Are you out of your mind? First of all, he’s the one who got you into this mess. Secondly, all’s fair in love and war, and he’s a moron. He’s going to cockblock you left and right and three ways from Sunday and still not want that Sky whatever-her-name-is. So forget it. This is no longer his fucking business—completely out of his jurisdiction.” He’s giving me a hard glare. “Any other stupid questions?”

“Nope.” Just that one.

“Good. Now as I was saying—once you have Hannah’s attention, play up the fact that you’ve never done anything this stupid before.”

Which is true.

“And you’re a smart dude who made a really stupid mistake.”

Also true.

“And that if she helps you out, you swear you’ll never do anything this fucking stupid again, and if you do, she’s welcome to chop your nuts off with whatever dull object she can find.”

“That’s my only option? Her chopping my nuts off?”

His brows rise. “Stop talking. I’m on a roll here.”

God he’s an asshole.

He’s also gone silent, brows furrowed, forehead creasing. “Fuck. I lost my train of thought.” The glare he gives me could shrivel anyone’s nuts by four sizes.

“I’m sorry!” I blurt out, slightly traumatized by the exchange to begin with. This is so weird, getting advice from him. Zeke has barely spoken ten words to me in the three years I’ve been on the team, and suddenly, he’s playing matchmaker.

“I guess start with Hannah. If that doesn’t work, give up, because dude—don’t be a stalker.” His favorite thing to do is look people up and down, and he does it to me, again. “If I find out you’re creeping on her, I’ll sock you in the balls.”

I cup a hand over my scrotum. “I don’t want you socking my balls.”

He stares at me like I’m mental, lip curled on one end. “No one wants to be socked in the balls, dipshit.”

Okay then.





Skylar



“Sky, can I talk to you for a minute?” Hannah scrapes her fingernails on my doorframe as a courtesy—the action makes my skin crawl—then enters without waiting for a reply.