The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(42)

It’s late, and a Thursday, so we’re both in our pajamas, but it’s clear only one of us has been studying while the other has been lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling for the past thirty minutes.

That’d be me.

I roll toward the wall, giving her a wide berth to sit on the edge of my mattress, the weight of her body sinking down, her palm resting on the swell of my hip as she bounces up and down a few times.

She gives me a nudge, eyes soft behind her black framed computer glasses, which she pushes atop her head so she can see straight. “Hey.”

“Hey. What’s up?” It’s nice that she popped in for a visit, but I’m not sure I’m done wallowing in my own misery yet.

“Have you been crying?”

“Pfft. Me? No.” A little, but I won’t admit it. Crying over a guy who lied, one I wasn’t even officially dating, one I barely know?

Lame. Pathetic.

Hannah doesn’t contradict me, just gives me a look that says When you’re ready, we can talk about it, and I’m grateful for that. Still, there is a part of me that does want her to push the Abe issue, because I do want to talk about it. About Abe, and this fucked-up situation. A part of me wants to give him another chance—wants to talk to him—but that part of me won’t admit it.

I need permission. Affirmation that I’m not losing my mind.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Hannah begins, crossing her legs and bobbing one idly. “Remember that time in high school when Kevin Rogers paid Lyle Stevens five bucks to write me love letters?”

“Who doesn’t remember Kevin Rogers?” He was always trying to convince people he was related to country music legend Kenny Rogers, claimed his parents changed his first name to Kevin only so there would be no confusion. Sadly, no one confused Kevin Rogers with Kenny—not even when he’d bring his acoustic guitars to parties and sing “The Gambler”.

Kevin simply could not carry a tune.

“Remember when we found out about the whole thing?”

“Yes. You were so mad you made your dad start a bonfire so we could roast those letters.” They were written on spiral notebook paper, folded into triangles, and slipped into Hannah’s locker every morning. She would pore over them, every single one, smitten.

Until Lyle spilled the beans, professing his own true love for Hannah, hanging Kevin out to dry. It was the biggest scandal Mount Pleasant High School had seen in years.

“Who were you more pissed off at? Kevin or Lyle?” I ask.

“Both, at first. But then I went back and reread some of those letters—I never told you this, but I saved a few from the fire pit of revenge—and they were so sweet. I still have them, you know.” She tilts her head to the side in thought. “I should look Lyle up, see what he’s doing these days…”

“Oh god. Do not look him up.” Hannah is such a creeper sometimes.

“I forgave him you know.”

“You did? How did I not know that?”

“Because I knew you were mad at him, too. Because I’d been so…not mad. I was embarrassed.”

Embarrassed.

She goes on. “Is that part of the reason you’re not talking to Abe? You’re more humiliated than angry?”

I haven’t spun it that way.

“Why are you bringing this up?” My best friend was right alongside me that night when I got home, rallying, raging, and incensed on my behalf. Swore she’d tear him a new asshole. I quote: “I’m going to find that sorry SOB, and when I do, I’m gonna…I’m gonna… Well. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll think of something. He better watch out!”

She was so loud, the neighbors called the apartment complex management to complain.

“The whole thing made me feel really ridiculous.”

“Which part?”

My face scrunches. “The part where I caught him in a lie, Hannah! The part where his phone was buzzing and I sat there looking at the stupid LoveU app blowing up his phone! That part!”

“So…is that the only reason you’re not talking to him?”

Okay—now I’m confused. I contort my body so I’m sitting, looking her straight in the eye. “What is this about? Hannah. What did you do?”

Shrug. “Nothing.”

“Then what’s with all the questions? Did you auction me off or something? Put my face up all over campus like those wrestlers did last year to get their buddy a pity date?” My bestie is loyal, but she also wants to see me happy. “Does your Kevin Rogers story have anything to do with me?”

“Yes. They’re eerily similar, and I forgave Lyle. He thought he was doing his friend a favor—and he ended up being a really good kisser.”

“Hannah! What the fuck?”

Another shrug. “What! He felt so guilty! He was so sweet.”

“How long were you sneaking around?”

“I don’t know—two or three months? Until Rick Roth asked me to the spring fling and lured me to go with his sweet, sweet ride.”

She is unbelievable. “His Honda Civic?”

“No, his dad’s Tahoe. We made out like crazy in the back seat. And other stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Now she’s got me wondering; she would have told me if she banged Rick Roth in the back seat of his dad’s SUV, wouldn’t she?