The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #4)(90)

“Know what would make you less crabby?”

“What?” My ears perk up.

“If we watch television tonight.”

“Television?” We’re always watching TV, how does that make— Oohhhhh. Now I get it. Television television.

Sex.

“How soon can we leave?”

She kisses the tip of my nose. “We can’t. Zeke and Violet haven’t gotten here yet.”

“So?” I pout. “We’ve been decorating for this party an entire three days. I did my time.”

“Elliot, we can’t leave their engagement party before they arrive because you’re horny and can’t wait to get laid!”

“Why? Zeke won’t give a shit.”

“Trust me, he’ll notice if you’re not here.”

Dammit, she’s right. He will notice. That dude notices everything. He might be broody and quiet, but my old roommate is freakishly observant.

And this is his engagement party, the one he is throwing for his fiancée, Violet. He enlisted our help, and we’ve been planning for the past few months so he could surprise her.

Romantic bastard.

He makes us all look bad.

“If you think this party is elaborate, just wait until their wedding,” Anabelle gushes. “He told me he wants her to have the best of everything.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s nauseating.”

“You talk so smart.” She kisses the underside of my chin. “But you’d do the same thing for me.”

I would.

I would give her the world if I could.

And I’m going to spend the rest of my life protecting my girls from douchebags, or die trying.

“Now can we go grab Lilly?”

Anabelle glances over at our group of friends, grinning from ear to ear. Rex holds Lilly in her frilly party dress, and they’re dancing to the music the small band is playing, spinning in little circles. Both of them giggle as everyone coos and awws at the cute baby.

And Rex.

For fuck’s sake.

Fortunately, my girlfriend is immune to his antics. “You want to go dance with your daughter, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I admit begrudgingly.

“Then why are we still standing here? Let’s go get her.”

And we do, together. Hand in hand, we cross the yard, my long stride confident as I scoop Lilly out of Gunderson’s arms.

Planting a kiss on her rosy cheeks, I swing her around. Pull Anabelle in by the waist and kiss her, too.

“I love you,” I croon into her ear, right below the spot that drives her crazy for me.

I love her. When we’re done with school, I’m going to propose and make her my wife.

And I can’t fucking wait.





Are these the final hours?

I think so. Yes **nods firmly**

It takes a village to write a novel; lots of hard work and pounding away at the keyboard. The hours I spend at Starbucks, toiling, are actually hours sacrificed away from my family. So I’d like to thank them first and foremost for being supportive (especially my sister, who keeps begging me to use her as research).

The crew at Starbucks.

My friends (they know who they are **wink, wink**) The members of Neys Little Liars, for loving my books enough to join my group and listen to me ramble.

Thank you to my assistant, Christine Kuttnauer. My Beta readers, Laurie Darter, Aly Hyne and Sarah Sawyer, who I rely on for honest feedback. My publicist Dani Sanchez with Inkslinger, PR. My cover designer, Sarah Hansen, at Okay Creations, who always kills it… Elisabeth Rossman, for the marketing, and Gel Ytayz for my gorgeous graphics.

And to the people who make it all pretty: My Editors, C Marie and Ellie McLove (is that even your name, Eelie?)—thank you for being patient; I vow never to be late again. The proofreader who polished, Jennifer VanWyk. Julie Titus at JT Formatting for making everything beautiful.

And last but not least: my agent Kimberly Brower, with Brower Literary Agency, for representing me with such class.

Now.

On to the next one….