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

by Sara Ney

  “Skylar, I…” Abe lifts his ass off the ground, repositioning himself on the concrete floor. “It’s been a really long time since I’ve been on a date. Years.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you have no idea what you’re doing?”

  “Yes.”

  Good. That makes two of us. It’ll be like the blind leading the blind—which could be a train wreck, but oh well.

  “I’m not sure I know what I’m doing either, but I know I’m not interested in dating around. I know myself well enough to say I don’t do casual very well.” I take a peek to see how he responds to this news; in not so many words, I just told him I’m the kind of girl who wants to be exclusive, expects loyalty, and wants a commitment.

  Especially when it comes to sex.

  I don’t sleep around. I don’t freely give blowjobs, participate in make-out sessions, or let anyone touch my body unless they’re committed to me.

  That’s the deal, take it or leave it.

  His nod is slow. “When I do something, I’m all in.”

  Stupidly, we grin at each other, all the bullshit from the prior week fading away as his brown eyes crinkle at the corners and those white teeth bite down into his bottom lip. Abe breaks the contact first to look down at his shoes—dark gray suede boots. Kind of dressy, kind of not.

  Hip.

  Is that a thing? Do people say that?

  My face tips up toward the dim lights until my eyes are scanning the wooden bookshelves, hundreds upon hundreds of books shoved precariously on each row. Dusty, this store is full of shadows, yellow pages, and worlds waiting to be discovered.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “My mom is a librarian, and she found it parents’ weekend. It’s kind of her thing, finding bookshops in whatever town she’s passing through or visiting. She’s a book nerd.”

  “Are you?” Clearly he knows his way around this place if he knows where the romance section is.

  “Yeah, I read a lot.”

  Ugh, my heart can’t take it! “Do you come here often?”

  He only seems slightly embarrassed. “It’s a great place to come clear your mind, sitting here among the stacks.”

  “Do you always sit on the floor?” I mean—it’s concrete and not even remotely comfortable.

  “No. There’s one table in the back, but the chairs aren’t great. I do homework here sometimes.”

  A hidden gem.

  I love it.

  “Abe?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If you liked me so much, how could you let your roommate take me out?”

  It’s the million-dollar question I didn’t realize was in the back of my mind, one that takes him a few minutes to reply to. I’m patient, waiting while he sits quietly across from me, thinking.

  “I don’t know.”

  I can see that there’s more coming, so I wait some more.

  His lips part. “All I know is that I prayed like hell that first date was going to suck.”

  “It did.” I laugh. “He’s pretty awful. Not in a mean way, just…he’s selfish. It’s not necessarily a bad thing—I’m sure there are girls out there who are into assholes, but I’m not one of those girls.” Jack Bartlett will never be my type, not even with his handsome face and fantastic body. “Plus, he wasn’t as tall as it says in his profile.” My eyes roll, but I’m grinning.

  “Am I tall enough for you?”

  I squint sideways at him. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

  “Maybe we should stand up and measure.”

  “All right.”

  Abe crosses his legs and rises in one fluid motion, extending his hand down to me; his palm is warm but rough. Calloused and hardworking. Sends shivers down the back of my spine.

  We’re face to face but not eye to eye, and I stand ramrod straight in front of him so we can measure our height difference, my hand on the top of my head aiming straight at his chest, resting there.

  Landing just at his collarbone.

  One whole head taller than I am with flat shoes on.

  I don’t dare glance up, but my hand stays put, on his chest, flattening against it all on its own. Palm on the fabric of his soft flannel shirt, the heat from his body—and the beating of his heart—warming my skin.

  Abe doesn’t move.

  To anyone coming across us…I can’t imagine what we look like, standing here in the aisle, bodies practically touching. Innocently at first.

  Always innocently at first…

  Then.

  Abe pulls back, creating space, his arms reaching behind my head. I can’t see what he’s doing until he produces three thick hardcover books from a top shelf and bends to set them on the floor.

  He takes my hand.

  Guides me up so I’m standing on top of the makeshift step stool, several inches taller than I was before.

  Well. This is innovative.

  My chin tips up, directed once again by his fingers, and I swear, my bottom lip trembles a little. Just a bit from both nerves and excitement.

  I haven’t been kissed in ages—years, it feels like, though it’s probably only been months. Some drunk guy at the bar hardly counts; it was sloppy and wet and unmemorable.

  Okay, maybe not so unmemorable since I’m remembering it now.

  Focus on his mouth, Skylar!

  His pouty, full mouth.

  Abe doesn’t cup my face or run his fingers through my hair—but he doesn’t have to. The energy between us is static. Supercharged.

  The chemistry is like nothing I’ve ever felt with anyone.

  And to think I almost threw it away.

  One heartbeat at a time, our lips slowly touch. It couldn’t be any slower, but it buys me time to memorize this moment to replace any old ones. To lock it away for tonight, when I’m in bed, lying in the dark underneath my covers.

  Alone.

  When our warm breaths finally mingle, beneath the soft lighting of the secondhand bookshop, Abe slips his other hand around my waist, pulling me in. Soft lips. Gentle. Pressing against mine.

  First one corner of my mouth then the other, kissing those tiny divots on either side of my lips.

  I want to touch him more, but I’m not sure how. It sucks being twenty-one and this inexperienced and awkward, but that’s my reality and I have to live with it.

  No shame in my lack of game.

  We’re not making out. We’re kissing and it’s so sweet. His lips taste like coconut lip balm and I could stand like this forever, on this small stack of books, letting him kiss me like this, in this place.

  So. Romantic.

  We pull back at the same time we hear voices, my hands returning to my sides, but still, only an inch or two separates us.

  His grin is lopsided. “See? The perfect height.”

  A figure rounds the corner; a wide-eyed woman with a wire basket pauses, unsure how to proceed. Her eyes dart to the floor—to the books beneath my feet—then our flushed faces. The hands dangling at our sides.

  The sheepish look on my date’s face.

  We’ve been busted.

  The woman doesn’t say a word, but it’s obvious we’re in her way—and that she isn’t going to budge from the end of the aisle until we’ve moved.

  The woman wants romance novels? We’ll let her get to the romance novels.

  I run a hand through my hair, flustered, smoothing down the strands that got mussed when Abe ran his hands over my shoulders. Clear my throat. “Should we find your table? Go sit maybe?”

  He helps me down off the stack, offering me his hand even though it’s not at all high. Picks up the books and returns them to their proper places.

  Grabs my hand again, tugging gently toward the back of the store.

  “Yeah, let’s see if it’s open.”

  It’s not. Another couple sits in the chairs, reading, and Abe slips his arm around my waist. “Let’s get out of here, then.”

  “Where are we going?”

  He shrugs. “Any suggestio
ns?”

  Not really. The university might have a huge enrollment, but the city it’s in? It’s small, run entirely on the student population. When summer break arrives and the co-eds return home, it’s virtually a ghost town. So, as far as things to do on a weekend besides hitting the bars? The options are few.

  “Park. Roller rink. Coffee shop. Um…sit down by the lake?”

  “We could.”

  But it’s a bit too cold for that. I would freeze my ass off in this top.

  He can hear the hesitation in my voice. “Inside then.”

  Hmm. What’s quiet, private, and intimate?

  “I say we just get in my truck and drive.”

  “Perfect.”

  Abe’s truck is bigger than I was expecting, and clean, and when I hop into the passenger side, he twists his torso to watch me buckle my seatbelt.

  “What are you looking at?” I’m blushing already and I wish it would stop.

  “You. In my truck.”

  What a weird thing to say.

  “It’s nice.”

  Aww. Never mind what I said about it being weird. I’m not used to guys complimenting me, or being sweet, or…

  Now it’s my turn to watch Abe as he starts the engine, lets it idle a few seconds before putting the truck into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot in front of the bookstore. It’s such a quaint little place. Quiet. And now etched in my brain bank as the perfect location for a first kiss.

  The night grows dark, darker still when we make our way to a remote overlook point on campus. It’s a bluff, famous for its hiking trails overlooking the entire city, the university, and the river running along the edge of town. From it, you can see clear to the next county, and at night, the streetlamps below twinkle and shine, lending the most romantic glow to a pitch-black sky.

  Stars. The moon.

  The shadows of all the trees.

  We stay in the car when he parks, surrounded by a few other vehicles, one overhead lamp fifty feet or so away the sole light in the near vicinity. It flickers wanly, weak and dim, needing a bulb replacement but casting enough light so I can see Abe’s face when he cuts the engine.

  “It’s so quiet up here,” I muse to fill the empty airspace between us.

  A center console separates us, and I wonder if it’s the kind that can be folded up to create bench seating. A furtive glance in the back seat tells me there’s plenty of room there, too.

  My body gets warm.

  Girl parts prematurely tingle—he hasn’t spoken, or touched me, and here I am, getting turned on by the sight of him in the near dark.

  Get a grip, Skylar. Get. A. Grip.

  “You know so much about me already, and I know almost nothing about you,” I start. “We have to play catch-up.”

  “Good idea.” Abe gets comfortable, reclining his seat back a few inches from the steering wheel. “I love it here. I used to hike up here when I was a freshman but haven’t really been back since.”

  “Why?”

  “No time.”

  “Do you not have a lot of free time?”

  “I do, plenty. I just use it kind of…stupidly, I guess.”

  “Doing what?”

  He thinks. “Doing shit for other people, mostly—if I’m being honest.”

  “That’s not a bad thing.”

  He thinks on that, too. “Is it when you’re taken advantage of?”

  I want to touch him then, reach my hand across the space and lay it on his big, brawny forearm—but Abe doesn’t need my comforting. He’s not looking for pity, he’s just stating facts and making conversation.

  “It’s still really nice that you do good for other people, and you should never feel guilty about that. It says more about you than it does about them.”

  I can see his smile in the dark and bask in the fact that I put it there, that I said something that made him happy.

  “True.” His arms stretch, hands gripping the wheel to stay busy. Fingers tap the leather.

  “Who bought you this truck?” I blurt out then wish I could retract it. It’s none of my business who bought it for him. It’s just…we’re so young, and it’s so nice and new. Still smells like the showroom floor. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

  “Promise you won’t tell?”

  “Promise.”

  “I use the money the athletic department grants me as an allowance to make my car payments, and my parents pay my rent because they don’t know about the allowance.”

  “Resourceful.”

  “Some would call it that. Some would call it shady as fuck.”

  “I was gonna say that but didn’t want to insult you.” I laugh.

  “Let’s make a deal: I want to be the one you’re always honest with, no matter what. Eventually I want to be the one person you tell everything.” He steals a worried glance at me. “Is it too soon to say that?”

  Yes.

  Kind of?

  But I love that he said it and completely agree, so I nod like a bobble head. “All right. We have a deal.”

  It takes me no time to forget why we’re up here, where we were before, and what happened last week, because all I want is for Abe to touch me. So, I summon my courage to test our new pact.

  “Abe?”

  “Skylar?”

  “Since we’re being honest…”

  His interest is fully piqued, mostly by my hushed tone. Even to my own ears it sounds rather sexy. “Yeah?”

  “I’ve kinda been wondering if this center console folds up.”

  His eyes stray to the middle partition with its empty cup holders. “As a matter of fact, it does.”

  “May I see?” Whoa, Skylar, where did that voice come from? I sound like I’m asking to see something else entirely.

  “As a matter of fact, you may.”

  Unbuckled, Abe’s hands dig under the hard plastic between us, pushing it up, nestling it like a puzzle piece, creating a bench in the front of the truck.

  “There’s so much more room for activities,” I joke.

  “And stuff.”

  Stuff. I’m reminded of the ridiculous chat I had with Hannah and her saying butt stuff, and I stifle a laugh—no one wants to explain that conversation on a first date. Abe does not need to know how perverted girls can be.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.” Then I remember we promised to be honest. “Actually, that’s not true. You said stuff, and it made me think of Hannah saying…uhhh, butt stuff the other afternoon. Long story.”

  I leave it at that, and he doesn’t prod, and now we’re back to staring at one another in the dark, wanting so badly to close the gap between us. The air practically crackles from the energy.

  “I…have no idea how to respond to that.”

  “Please don’t. I’m begging you,” I say, and we both laugh nervously. Laugh until we’re both acutely aware of how alone we are, surrounded by strangers in a secluded parking lot, overlooking the city below.

  Nothing but space between us, begging to be filled.

  Surprisingly, it’s me who moves first, resting my hand where the console used to be, trailing a finger across the dark, gray seat. I lay my palm upside down.

  Leave it there.

  As bait.

  Not surprisingly, Abe takes it, sliding his own palm against my skin, back and forth—not lacing our fingers, but it’s almost more erotic. Back and forth, the tip of his middle finger lagging behind, nail tickling the delicate skin of my hand.

  I shiver.

  Bite down on my bottom lip, glancing out the window at the cars parked beside us.

  A sea of tinted windows.

  “Maybe instead of talking we should…” I don’t know how to put this, so I just throw it out there. “I want to get to know you and everything, I really do, it’s just—I want to kiss you even more right now.”

  “Same.”

  We move at the same time, meeting in the middle, mouths fusing, instantly combustible.

  Open mouths. Wet
tongues.

  I ache for him.

  Ache for his hands. They’re swiftly in my hair, holding it back, his mouth releasing mine to nip at the side of my neck. Gently sniffing, nose rubbing below my ear.

  “You smell so fucking good.”

  “God that feels good.” I sigh, tilting so he can kiss the column of my slender neck. I’m insatiable for his mouth on my skin, lips, and body after three hot seconds.

  This doesn’t bode well for my chastity later, not when I’ve been so chaste for so long.

  “What turns you on?” I ask on an exhalation, head tipped back, allowing him free rein.

  “About you? Everything.”

  “Oh Abe, I like that answer.”

  “I like you.”

  “I like your hands, too. They’re huge.” Mmm, his hands…

  “I like your mouth.”

  I’m sitting at an awkward angle, still in the same spot, body twisted in his direction but not close enough to really touch him. With only one solution available, I shift, back to the door, ass scooting down, removing both my shoes before setting my feet in his lap.

  My head hits the seat and I’m flat on my back, legs spread, the invitation impossible to misinterpret: Come here.

  Abe doesn’t hesitate, his giant body looming over mine, moving between my legs. Kissing me while he runs a hand up my denim-clad thigh, fingers finding the hem of my shirt, pushing it up as his hand slips underneath.

  Keep going, keep going, keep going, my brain chants, wanting—no, needing him to touch my boobs.

  He keeps going, dragging his palm along my ribcage, up over my stomach, forefinger tracing the underwire of my black satin bra. Runs it along the full curve of my breast, sliding it under the strap and pulling it down.

  My shirt gets pushed aside. Up. Bra along with it. That rough, calloused hand cups me, thumb stroking my hard nipple.

  Mouth sucks it.

  This is what I want, this is what I want…

  I grasp at his hair. Tug. Run my fingers through it while he sucks me, lapping with his tongue. Blowing cool air across the hardened tip.

  “Oh…”

  I feel between our bodies for his erection, knowing full well I’m going to find it straining in his pants. And I do.

  We’re both panting hard as I go for his zipper, wanting to touch it, wanting to stro—