The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag Book 5)

by Sara Ney

  He flips his phone over and checks the time. “Already? It’s been like ten minutes.”

  I check the time on my phone.

  Eight.

  It’s been eight excruciating minutes.

  “It might have been longer if you’d shown up on time.” I can’t help mentioning it since he never did.

  “Are you seriously pissed because I was late?”

  “No. I don’t even know you—and in hindsight, you actually did me a favor.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  I slide one arm into my puffy coat sleeve and then the other, bending to zip it. “If you’d been on time, I probably would have sat here longer trying to find something we might have in common when it’s clear that there’s nothing, which would have wasted more of my time.”

  “So? It’s not like you had better shit to do tonight.”

  I pause. “That was a really rude thing to say.”

  “Hey, look—I’m just hungry. I know you like food, so let’s order something. Don’t you love tacos?”

  No. I don’t even like tacos.

  “I don’t think I’ll be staying. Sorry.”

  “Really? You’re going to leave?”

  “Yeah, JB, I really am going to leave.”

  “How can I change your mind? Want to go back to my place?”

  That gives me pause. “And do what?”

  The nerve of this guy!

  “We can have drinks there.”

  “Oh, is that what you call sex? Having drinks?” I use air-quotes around the last two words and roll my eyes, pulling my gloves from my pockets. “Thanks but no thanks.”

  “Don’t stand there and tell me you’re not thirsty.”

  Thirsty.

  There’s a word no man on this earth has ever called me before.

  Definition of thirsty: eager to get something, desperate, desperate for attention.

  I ignore the hard knot forming in my stomach and the urge to lean over and smack the stupid smile off his dumb mouth. I ignore the desire to begin verbally sparring with him, knowing he will win, knowing I don’t have the stomach to be snarky and it would fly over his head like a helium-filled balloon anyway.

  “Have a great night, Jack.”

  Not.

  I hope his night is shitty. And that he can’t get hard later when he’s jerking off because he came here to get laid but didn’t.

  Asshole.

  Abe

  “Hey asshole. That co-ed you set me up with tonight was the definition of frigid bitch.”

  My roommate lets the door slam behind him, kicking his shoes off against the wall, and I let my eyes roam over his outfit.

  “Did you just come from the gym?” Why the fuck is he dressed like that?

  “No, dude, I came from McGuillicudy’s.”

  “From your date?”

  His brows crease. “Yes.”

  “That’s what you wore?”

  “Ask me one more stupid question,” he says, showing me his back as he strolls into the kitchen and yanks the fridge open.

  “Jack, tell me that is not what you wore to meet Blue.”

  “Who?”

  Jesus.

  “The girl you had a date with tonight.”

  “She said her name was Skylar.” He sounds affronted, like she lied about her name when, in fact, we hadn’t even known what it was. “Why did you call her Blue?”

  Skylar.

  Now the moniker BlueAsTheSky makes so much sense. I roll this new information about her around in my head.

  Skylar, Skylar, Skylar…

  Damn. I can’t stop saying it in my mind.

  “Her name is Skylar?”

  “That’s what she said it was—was she full of shit?”

  I ignore his question. “And that’s what you wore on your date with her?”

  “It wasn’t a date—so what if this is what I wore?” JB looks down at his hoodie, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I went straight from the gym.”

  “You look like you don’t give a shit.”

  JB shrugs, stretching his shoulders and rolling the knots in his back. I hear it pop. “Because I don’t. I’m not there to make conversation.”

  “Then what the hell is it you’re doing?”

  “You know I eventually want a girlfriend, but sometimes all I want is to get laid, bro.”

  “Which one was it tonight?” He knew this girl was the serious type; he said it himself—he’d seen her cardigans and knew she wasn’t the kind of girl you nail and bail.

  “A blowjob wouldn’t have killed her, but she was obviously not the type.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He looks disgusted. “She was dressed up. Everyone knows that place is a shit-hole.”

  “And yet you keep taking girls there. Class it up, dude.”

  “Like I can afford to?”

  Here’s the thing: he totally can afford to. JB gets a stipend from the university for being an athlete and an allowance from his parents.

  I think he rat-holes it, though we’ve never actually discussed it.

  I don’t get why he’s being so cheap.

  He was never like this when he was dating Tasha. I remember when they first met, he tripped all over himself, trying to impress her with home-cooked meals and expensive dates. When she dumped him, he actually sulked around the house for a good three weeks, all pissy and moody.

  Then one day, it’s like he woke up and had suddenly snapped out of his funk. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” he told me one morning in the kitchen while shoveling cereal into his face from a giant mixing bowl and using a soup ladle as a spoon.

  I stare at him now, blankly. “You know what, I don’t think I can do this for you anymore. Clean up your own messes and find your own fucking dates—I’m done.”

  Jack stares, confused. “Why?”

  Why?

  “Because I do everything but wipe your ass, JB. I help with your homework, I find you chicks to date, I clean up after you around this place. You don’t even know where the trash cans are.”

  “Yes I do—aren’t they on the side of the house?”

  “No, they’re on the side of the garage by the alley. Jesus, Jack—grow up.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He reappears from behind the refrigerator door, shoving a hunk of pineapple into his gullet. “You can’t tell me to grow up because I don’t know where the fucking trash cans are, dude.”

  I realize then that no matter what I say, it’s not going to sink in with him.

  “Take some responsibility. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Honestly, what is your fucking problem right now?” He continues to eat, swiping a bagel off the counter and jamming that in his hole, too. “All I did was be myself tonight. I don’t get what the issue is.”

  He’s right.

  All he did was be himself, and I need to chill out.

  This is my business, but it’s none of my business, which makes the whole situation kind of fucked up.

  “You’re right. You’re just doing you.”

  Still, he cocks his head to the side as he chews, studying me. “You want me to message her and apologize or something? She seemed pretty pissed when she stormed off.”

  “She stormed off?”

  He tears a chunk off the bagel with his teeth. “Yeah, in a huff or whatever.”

  Crap.

  That’s not good.

  “I doubt you’ll be able to come back from her storming off in a huff.”

  “Do I really want to? She wasn’t into it, and neither was I.”

  “Probably a lost cause.”

  “Yeah,” he agrees, using his forefinger to stuff in the last bite of bagel.

  But, ten minutes later, when I close the door to my room and sink down onto my desk chair, I can’t stop the guilty, nagging feeling inhabiting the pit of my damn stomach like a slowly spreading plague. I swivel, facing the bed, then rock back and forth, unsure.


  Disconcerted.

  This is none of my business.

  Leave it be, Abe. No good will come of this.

  It’s a shame I don’t listen to my own advice, fingers already opening LoveU and tapping on Blue’s profile. I compose a message before I can think twice and change my mind.

  Cause apparently JB isn’t the only idiot in this house.

  Me: Hey. Have you blocked me yet?

  The little bubble at the top of the app appears then disappears. Then reappears again—which means she’s typing.

  Stops.

  Types.

  Then,

  BlueAsTheSky: I thought about it but haven’t yet.

  BlueAsTheSky: Obviously.

  Me: Are you open to apologies?

  BlueAsTheSky: I guess that depends; what are you apologizing for?

  Me: Being an ass.

  BlueAsTheSky: I’m listening…

  BlueAsTheSky: But I have to be honest—I really didn’t feel like we were a good match, and I’m not going to say I want to remain friends, because that’s not why I’m doing this.

  Me: I get that. And I’m sorry.

  BlueAsTheSky: For what exactly? Say again and say it in my good ear.

  Okay. This is a good sign; she hasn’t blocked me yet, and she’s still talking to me—I mean, Jack—which means she was pissed but isn’t a completely lost cause.

  Me: For being a complete asshole.

  BlueAsTheSky: Not COMPLETELY…I’m sure there are worse guys out there than you. LOL

  Me: I don’t know what my problem was. All I can honestly say is I don’t normally act like that.

  BlueAsTheSky: What do you normally act like, then? Because I’m going to be totally honest—that seemed like status quo behavior.

  BlueAsTheSky: I’m not looking to be a notch on anyone’s bedpost.

  I can’t resist saying, I don’t have bedposts.

  BlueAsTheSky: Too soon for jokes, bro.

  Me: Did you just call me bro?

  BlueAsTheSky: LOL it felt like the right moment.

  Me: Indeed it did.

  Me: Anyway. I’m glad you didn’t block me, because I feel like a dick about the way I acted tonight. I came from practice and was distracted, and that’s shitty but it’s the truth.

  BlueAsTheSky: It’s fine.

  I have a strange feeling if we were having an actual conversation about this, in person, she’d be saying It’s fine in a way that means it’s not fine at all—the way girls say it when they’re setting a trap and want to argue.

  Bet her lips would be pursed. Chin tilted up.

  I wonder what Skylar looks like in person, since I’ve only ever stared at the few photos she uploaded in the app. We haven’t sent selfies—I couldn’t even if I wanted to, since I’m pretending to be Jack.

  BlueAsTheSky: No harm done. But I don’t think I want to see you again—sorry.

  Me: I was that bad?

  BlueAsTheSky: Yes, you were that bad.

  What the hell did JB do on this date?

  BlueAsTheSky: So, if there is nothing else you need…

  She’s trying to give me the brushoff, but I’m not ready to let her go yet.

  Me: There is no way I can make it up to you?

  BlueAsTheSky: I don’t think so.

  Me: What if…

  I pause, not sure how to end the sentence.

  BlueAsTheSky: What if…?

  Me: What if we go out again, and I let you pick the place?

  BlueAsTheSky: I don’t know, JB… I think we both need to move on. It was fun talking to you, but in person we have nothing in common.

  She’s right; they have nothing in common and never will. Because Skylar is sweet and funny, and Jack is a complete douchebag with fucked-up priorities who isn’t ready to settle down with anyone, and certainly not someone like Blue.

  What he wants right now is the physical gratification—not an emotional connection—that he isn’t getting in the weight room or in the middle of the wrestling mat.

  Blue wants more, and she’ll never find it with my roommate.

  So why won’t I let this go?

  Give it a rest, Abe.

  BlueAsTheSky: You know I’m right about this. It’s not like you were into me, either.

  She couldn’t be more right, but I’m not going to insult her by agreeing.

  BlueAsTheSky: There are better girls out there for you than me, someone who’s okay with a one-night stand and isn’t going to get her feelings hurt when you don’t message her the next day.

  All very true.

  Me: Maybe that’s not what I need right now.

  God, what the hell am I saying.

  Jack is going to kill me when he sees this.

  BlueAsTheSky: Are you saying this because you hate the fact that I walked away from you? And not the other way around?

  Me: No, that’s not it at all.

  BlueAsTheSky: Then what is it? Because tonight you didn’t seem to care that I left before even ordering a drink.

  Shit. She hadn’t even ordered anything?

  How long was the date, fifteen minutes?

  Me: I have a lot of pride, but not THAT much pride. I know when I’ve screwed up.

  I do. Me, Abe.

  I’m suddenly speaking for myself, not for my roommate, who almost always screws up but makes no apologies for his behavior.

  Me? I can’t live like that. I’m always atoning for my sins and mistakes—though few and far between they may be.

  I try not to be a dick.

  BlueAsTheSky: Hmm.

  Me: Is that a good hmm or a bad hmmm?

  BlueAsTheSky: I’m thinking about it.

  Hope springs up inside my chest, but I tamp it down—because even if she agrees to go out with me again, it’s going to be with Jack.

  Unless…

  Me: Do you have any single friends?

  BlueAsTheSky: Yes…

  BlueAsTheSky: Why?

  Me: We could double date. I have a single roommate. Remember, he’s a tutor?

  There’s a long pause before she responds, but that bubble continues to appear, disappear, and reappear.

  BlueAsTheSky: Oh? Tell me more about this roommate of yours—do you have much in common?

  Me: If you’re trying to find out if he’s a douchebag, the answer is no. He’s a pretty decent guy.

  BlueAsTheSky: How so?

  Me: The guys on the team call him Grandpa because he’s so responsible.

  BlueAsTheSky: Why is he single?

  I hate this question, as if being single is as bad as having a contagious disease. And far be it from me to point out that she is single, too, and not once have I asked why.

  I wasn’t interested before.

  But I am now.

  Me: He studies a lot when he’s not practicing.

  BlueAsTheSky: Practicing what?

  Me: He’s a wrestler, too.

  BlueAsTheSky: Hmmm

  What the hell does that mean?

  Me: But he’s quiet, doesn’t go out much.

  BlueAsTheSky: Kind of like a hermit? What’s wrong with him?

  Me: Nothing is wrong with him; he’s just not into partying and casual dating.

  BlueAsTheSky: I see.

  BlueAsTheSky: Will he talk, or is he gonna just sit there?

  Me: He’ll talk, LOL—he’s not a mute.

  BlueAsTheSky: Well I DON’T KNOW—you said he doesn’t go out much so I assumed he doesn’t like peopling.

  Me: What the hell is peopling?

  BlueAsTheSky: You know, going out in public. Seeing people. Some people hate people LOL

  BlueAsTheSky: What’s his name?

  Me: Are you going to look him up?

  BlueAsTheSky: Probably. I have to—I have to know who I’m setting my friend up with.

  Me: Which friend?

  BlueAsTheSky: My roommate is single. Her name is Hannah.

  Me: My roommate’s name is Abe.

  BlueAsTheSky: Abe _____ (fill in blank) If
I’m going to properly stalk him, I’ll need his full name. Please and thank you.

  Me: Abe Davis

  Silence.

  Absolute silence, and I—

  BlueAsTheSky: Gosh. Abe Davis is kind of super cute. No offense.

  Another sensation forms in my gut; instead of guilt, this one feels more like a sucker punch of stone, cold irony to the stomach. She thinks Abe Davis is cute, doesn’t really care for JB.

  Me: Why would I be offended?

  BlueAsTheSky: Because I just called your roommate cute.

  Me: Correction—you called him Super Cute.

  BlueAsTheSky: He’s not a superhero—you can lay off making it a proper noun.

  Me: I have to though.

  BlueAsTheSky: LOL

  Me: So does that mean you’re willing to double date?

  BlueAsTheSky: Um. Sure. I think she’d be cool with that, and it’ll be nice to have two other people there so you’ll be on your best behavior…

  Me: Very funny.

  BlueAsTheSky: It’s the truth. I wasn’t impressed with you—AT. ALL.

  Me: You don’t hold back, do you?

  BlueAsTheSky: I see no reason to.

  Me: Obviously not.

  Skylar

  “Is that what you’re wearing?”

  Hannah is already pestering me from her bedroom door, and I ignore her.

  She fills the silence. “The correct answer is no. No, you cannot wear that on this date.”

  “But—”

  “Ah ah ah!” Hannah tsks. “I don’t care if he wore pajamas on your first date. You are not wearing those gross leggings. Put on jeans and have a little dignity. Show him what he’s missing by acting like douche dribble.”

  What the fuuuu…

  “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  She gives her hair a toss. “Do you like it? Douche dribble.”

  “Oh, I heard you the first time.”

  “Heard it in the cafeteria yesterday when I was grabbing a salad between classes.”

  “It’s godawful.”

  “It’s creative.”

  She sounds so put out that I laugh, giving her a once-over. She’s not taking this date seriously either, judging by her barely made-up face and the straight hair she refuses to take time to curl.

  We both decided earlier this date with JB is probably going to be a waste of time—once a douchebag, always a douchebag.

  “Throw those jeans on and let’s get this show on the road,” Miss Bossy Pants tells me, pointing at the bed, where the dark denim is neatly folded and waiting to be put on.