The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(45)

“Hey Elliot, what’s up.”

“Oh nothing, just popping in to check on my roomie cause I had nothing else going on and I’m a good friend like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh didn’t Anabelle tell you? I’m her roommate.”

“Roommate?” He looks confused.

“Roommate. You know, we live together.”

“You live with Anabelle.” He pauses, scratches his balls. “She might have mentioned at dinner she’d been desperate for a place to live, but she didn’t say it was with you. Guess she wasn’t lying about being desperate.”

He smirks.

Dickhead.

“Everyone on campus has heard you and Johnson have an extra room available—or are you still on that mission to have the big room all to yourself?”

He’s onto my wordplay, narrowing his beady eyes. “Does her dad know she’s living with a dude?”

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but yes he knows. Why, what would you do if he didn’t know? Tattle on her?”

Gunderson scoffs, disbelieving. “There is no way Coach Donnelly is okay with Anabelle living with a guy—no fucking way.”

“How ‘bout you mind your own business, Gunderson?”

He ignores me. “What’s it like?”

“I just said mind your own business.”

“Has she crawled into bed with you yet? Dude, that would be so fucking awesome.”

Before he can say another word, I’m in his personal space, bumping my chest against his. “Say one more word about it and I’m going to—”

Gunderson’s hands go up. “Whoa, whoa. Dude, what the hell is up with you tonight? Between you, Osborne, and Daniels, I always thought you were the gentleman—guess I was wrong.”

“Guess so, or maybe I just don’t like you. Never have.”

He rolls his eyes, glancing over my shoulder. “And I’m real broken up about it.”

Why is this guy so fucking annoying? “Enjoy your night. It’ll be your one and only date with her.”

“As if that’s up to you.” He snorts. “Wait a second…” He rears back to look me in the eye. “Are you—you are! You’re jealous aren’t you?”

“Don’t be stupid, Gunderson. No one is jealous of you.”

“You are. You’re jealous I’m here on a date with Anabelle Donnelly.”

He’s struck a nerve and knows it, the little fucker. “No—I have a problem with the fact that you’re a lying scumbag who’s only going out with her to win a bigger bedroom.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Everyone fucking knows, Gunderson. It’s just a matter of time before Coach finds out.”

But he’s no longer looking me in the eye; he’s scanning the room looking for an escape from this conversation.

I get right up in his face so he hears every word I say. “If you think for one second I’m not watching you like a hawk, you’re out of your fucking mind.”

“What is your damn problem, man?” Rex throws his hands up. “I haven’t done anything to you, and no one has slept with her. Trust me, she sent Johnson to her fucking dad’s house, so he won’t go near her with a ten-foot cock.”

He laughs at his own joke, clever idiot.

“You’re too dumb to stay away from her. You just can’t stop yourself from doing stupid shit, can you? First that bullshit with your old roommate Rabideaux, now this crap with Johnson, and that’s only the shit anyone has found out about. This isn’t the first time the two of you have pulled a stunt like this, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll apologize to her, because once her dad finds out, you and that pissant Johnson are going to be fucked.”

Even under the dim lights of the bar, Gunderson is blanching, swallowing hard. Nervous.

“I haven’t done anything,” he repeats with conviction. A firm nod. “Maybe you should climb down out of my ass before I complain to the bouncer that you’re harassing me.”

“You’re so fucked.” I raise my arm, clamping my giant palm on his bony shoulder. “Consider this a friendly warning, eh?”

I straighten the collar of his polo shirt, wanting to smack my palm across his face. “Now act normal and smile, because I promised Anabelle I’d behave myself tonight.” Pull back and get a nice, long look at him. “Keep your dick and hands to yourself, pony boy.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Hands to your fuckingself.”

“Jesus Christ, St. Charles, were you always as big a douchebag as Osborne and Daniels?”

“Yes. Obviously I learned from the best.”





Elliot



Playing the white knight is exhausting.

I’m sprawled out on my bed, the house pitch black except for the glowing television in the corner of my room, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Anabelle tiptoe past.

Quiet as a church mouse, but not quiet enough.

“Psst. What are you still doing up?” I call out to her in a voice barely above a whisper. We’re both awake, but the lights are all off. The mood calls for it, bedtime having come and gone hours ago.