The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(68)

Let the drunk, high asshole choke on that bit of information.

I wait for it to sink in, really let it marinate to achieve the full effect before dropping another bomb.

“We’ve been dating since the two of you went out.”

Damn the truth feels good.

Not as good as her mouth felt around my cock, but it’s a close second.

“What?”

“Skylar is my girlfriend. She’s the one who went out the window.”

“Dude.” Pause. “What?”

“Are you deaf? Do you want me to spell it out for you?”

It’s a dig and he knows it.

“Screw you, Davis.”

“Hard pass—your dick is too small. I’d rather be screwing Skylar.”

“Right. Your ‘girlfriend’.” He uses air quotes. “What are you, in kindergarten? You haven’t even been going out a month. How is she your girlfriend?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“What if I make it my business?”

“Oh, okay, Jack. What are you going to do about it, tell your mommy? Have your dad fix it?”

Spoiled, pampered Jack Bartlett, unable to fight his own battles.

“Screw you.”

“I take out the garbage. I clean your shit up. I’ve changed your tires, written papers, made excuses for you with the coaching staff.” Once I start listing off his offenses, I cannot seem to quit. “Lied to girls. Pretended to be you. Paid your half of the rent. Bought groceries. Lent you money. Cleaned up your puke.”

“That’s what friends do, asshole,” he shoots back.

“Oh yeah? And what have you done for me, JB? Huh? Name one thing.” I lean against the counter, waiting. “Go ahead. Tell me.”

“You’re a dick.”

“That’s it? I’m a dick? Whoa, way to hit below the belt.”

Fucker can’t even come up with one decent thing he’s ever done to help me out or make my life easier when I have a life full of chaos myself.

Selfish prick.

“I know one thing I don’t do—steal girls from you.”

“Give me a damn break.” I roll my eyes at him for the second time tonight. “Don’t act like you care—you didn’t even like her.”

“So? That’s not the point.”

“What is the point then, huh? Get to it.”

“I want to beat your ass so hard right now,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.

“Go right ahead, big shot.” I spread my arms wide, inviting him over. “Take a swing at me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“For real, Jack—what are you waiting for? If I’m such a jerk for stealing your girlfriend, go ahead and punch me.” I poke at my jawline with the tip of my finger. “Right here. Go ahead. Hit me.”

I’m egging him on, the idea of being walloped in the face a welcome feeling in comparison to the one churning inside my gut.

Guilt.

Guilt.

Guilt.

“You don’t have the guts to do it, you puss—”

JB fucking hits me.

Draws back and, with a closed fist, decks me right in the fucking face before I have a chance to react, or duck, or move out of the goddamn way.

I rear back, shocked.

I know I was provoking him, but Jesus Christ, I didn’t think he’d actually have the balls to do it.

Stunned, it takes me a few seconds to move. Then I lunge forward, hands gripping him by the shirt collar. He’s unsteady on his feet, so I shove him against the wall with all the force of a man who has finally hit his breaking point. One who’s had enough bullshit to last a lifetime.

JB’s drunk ass recovers, managing another swing, this time catching me in the eye—which is bound to leave a mark—and I shove him again, locking his arms down with my entire body.

“Enough.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” he retorts.

“Yeah, I am.” He does nothing around here, and he can’t tell me what to do; it’s just taken me this long to realize it.

“I don’t want you seeing that LoveU hoe again,” he slurs.

“What did you just call her?”

“I said,” he repeats slowly, “I. Don’t. Want. You. Seeing. That. LoveU. Hoe.”

That’s what I thought he said. “If you don’t like it, pack up your shit and get out of my house.”

His bloodshot eyes roll. “You don’t own this place.”

“No, but my name is the only one on the leasing agreement. You technically don’t exist.”

“What?” Why does he look so surprised? Did he not know this?

“I’m letting you live here because I’m a nice fucking guy, and you needed a nice fucking place to live, so I let you stay in my nice fucking house.” I give him a jostle so I have his full attention. “Piss me off by hitting me again, and I’ll call the landlord and have you kicked out.”

“You wouldn’t do that. You don’t have the guts.” He’s a bit too cocky in my opinion, so I knock him down a peg.

“Try me.”

His smug smile falters as he tries to readjust himself, attempting to wriggle out of my firm grip.