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

by Sara Ney

  Give myself a little grimace. “This will have to do.”

  Another voice cuts in. “You are not talking to yourself.”

  “You’re supposed to pretend you’re not here.”

  “Your boy isn’t here yet so I still have time to butt into your conversations…with yourself.”

  Fair enough.

  I meander into the kitchen so she can check me out. She’s in the process of unscrewing the lid of a giant jar of peanut butter.

  “How is this outfit?”

  Hannah gives me a once-over. “Good. It says, ‘effortlessly sexy without trying too hard.’”

  “Good, because I didn’t try too hard.” I’m just wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt. Bare feet. The rest is pretty cute, though.

  She dips a piece of celery in the peanut butter and bites down on it. It’s loud and crunchy and obnoxious.

  “Are you only planning to eat loud food?”

  “Yes. Noise barrier.” There is a knock on our front door, and Hannah scoops up an armload of snacks. “That’s my cue to make like a tampon and get out of this hole.”

  Why is she like this? Seriously. Why? “Hannah, could you not?”

  She sticks her tongue out, nudging her bedroom door open with her hip. Dumps the contents of her arms on her desk then winks at me, closing the door.

  I hear it lock, as though I’m the one who needs corralling.

  Nervously, I pat down my hair. Wipe my sweaty palms down the denim covering my thighs, take a deep breath, and open the door.

  Hands shoved in his pockets, Abe stands bashfully. Almost shyly, he eyes the ground when I greet him, and it’s obvious he’s embarrassed.

  “Come in.” I give way so he can enter. He follows me to my room, walking to my bed and sitting on the edge of it. Stands.

  Sits.

  Stands.

  I’d laugh if he didn’t look like he was going to throw up.

  “Skylar, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I know he is, but, “For which part?”

  He finally raises his head, lifting his chin to look me in the eyes. There is a dark crescent beneath his right one, purple and blue and yellow at the edges.

  “Abe, what happened to you?”

  “I had a date with JB’s right hook.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he punched me in the face.”

  “What? Stop it—he did not!”

  “Twice.” Abe’s giant hand rises, finger tapping a line along his jawline. That, too, is bruised.

  I go to him, lifting my hand, the tips of my fingers hovering just over his skin. “Does it hurt?”

  “Like a sonofabitch, but not as bad as I thought it would.”

  “Why would he hit you?” JB might be pompous and arrogant, but he doesn’t strike me as the fighting type. Then again, I’ve been wrong about people before.

  “He was pissed when I told him about us then he made a wisecrack, and we started arguing, and…he slugged me.”

  That is madness. “Are you being serious right now? Has he lost his damn mind? We went on one lousy date.” And it sucked.

  Abe’s smile is wry, and when his mouth curves, he cringes. “It was two lousy dates, but who’s counting?”

  He is.

  Adorable.

  “That first date didn’t count—it lasted less than ten minutes and he acted super weird.”

  “Okay. If you don’t want to count that first date, we won’t count it.”

  I don’t want to count it; it was shorter than my ninth grade homecoming date.

  “So tell me more about this fight you had. I’ve never actually seen a guy with a black eye.” I desperately want to touch it but don’t want to hurt him.

  Dropping my hand, I also lower myself to the bed and sit, watching him do a short pace back and forth beside me.

  “Does he feel bad?”

  “I don’t think so. He was drunk when he did it, and he’s still sleeping so he hasn’t actually seen it yet.”

  “How can he still be sleeping? It’s like five p.m.”

  “I know, but he’s really fucking hung over. Sorry. I mean super hung over.”

  It’s sweet that he filters himself with me, though he doesn’t have to. I don’t need him to change; I just need him to show me some respect.

  Which is why we’re here.

  “I also think he might have been a little high, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  I won’t. I would never.

  “I thought athletes were given random drug tests.”

  “We are. Apparently he just doesn’t give a flying fuck.”

  “What happens if they test him and he fails?”

  “It’s not likely, but if he did fail, he’d get suspended from the team and his parents would have one hell of a time trying to get him out of that mess.”

  I bite down on my lower lip, chewing in concentration. “He was seriously high? Dang.”

  Abe nods, still standing in the middle of my bedroom, taking up most of the space and looking foreign and big—but like he belongs here. With me.

  “I think so. I guess he could have just smelled like pot, but I doubt it. I think he was smoking it. He wouldn’t have hit me if he’d just been drunk. Or sober.”

  I rest back on my elbows. “Have you ever smoked pot?”

  “Me? No. Never been tempted. Since we get tested for wrestling, I don’t know what the fuck JB is doing. Pardon my French, didn’t mean to cuss.”

  I wave him off. “I’ve never tried it either. I have a heart murmur, and it would freak me out not knowing how my body would react.” I pause. “It’s on my dad’s bucket list though.” Laugh. “He wants to smoke it.”

  “That’s…an interesting thing to have on your bucket list.”

  I shrug. We’re not here to talk about my father; we’re here to talk about Abe asking me to climb out a window to avoid confrontation.

  I cross my legs and dangle a foot. “So.”

  Abe stops pacing, faces me, rooted to the carpet. I almost expect him to drop to his knees to beg for forgiveness. Instead he raises his arms and hooks his hands behind his head.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking asking you to…” He waves a hand around. “You know.”

  I want him to say it, so I raise an eyebrow.

  Just one.

  He gets the hint. “I’m sorry I asked you to hide when JB came home. It was wrong and insensitive and really fucking stupid.” He sucks in a breath. “I’m an idiot.”

  “Okay, let’s not go down a shame spiral—we’re both human and we both make mistakes.” I think for a second, gathering my thoughts. “You just need to know that it wasn’t okay. It made me feel used. I know you’re not ashamed of me, Abe, and I know you weren’t ready to tell him, but I don’t want to be hidden away, either. That’s not what I signed up for.”

  He blows out a puff of air. Rakes his fingers through his beautiful, thick hair. “I know. The thing is, when I was lying to these girls—to you—I didn’t consider it lying. The LoveU account is Jack’s, and Jack was going on the dates and had the final say in who he went out with. So I didn’t really think I was doing anything wrong.”

  That kind of makes sense in a really messed-up way.

  “It’s really freaking hard to be honest with him. Everyone babies the kid—our coaches, his parents, me. He doesn’t do shit around our place, puts in just enough work not to get his ass kicked during every match. I have no idea how he’s even still on the team.” Abe squats in the center of my room then lowers himself to the carpet, sitting with his legs out in front of him in the middle of my floor. “How did you know something wasn’t right?”

  “You mean how did I know you were lying? I didn’t. The whole situation just seemed weird. JB was so attentive and fun on the app—well, you were. Then in real life, he was just so blah, as boring and uninterested as a human could possibly be. It made zero sense.” I poke his calf with the toe of my foot. “I wonder how many girls thought
he was a weirdo but didn’t say anything.”

  “He wouldn’t have told me. His ego is…” Abe’s head shakes. “Massive.”

  “He seems spoiled.” My gaze softens. “Abe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you ever lie to me again, we’re done.” I fold my hands in my lap and give my thumbs a little twiddle. “Seriously done. No third chances—this one was a whopper. Then the whole window thing, and not telling Jack. And him punching you—I mean, come on.” I stand and move over him, legs spread, one foot on either side. Lean in. “Am I nuts for taking you back? Is this crazy?”

  His head slowly shakes. “No.”

  “It kind of is. No self-respecting gir—”

  “Oh my god, it’s not crazy! It was two times! We all make mistakes, some of us more than once. Get over it!” Hannah shouts through the wall, her exasperation palpable.

  I lean in closer, our lips inches apart. “How you turned her to the dark side is beyond me.”

  “Am I the dark side?”

  “Duh!” Hannah shouts again.

  I’m seriously going to kill her. She’s certifiable. Supposed to be minding her own freaking business—how can she even hear me? I’m barely speaking above a whisper.

  I look Abe square in the eye, place my hands on his face, palms cradling his firm jawline. “You know if we screw around she’s going to hear everything.”

  Kiss him on the lips.

  I’ll never get tired of feeling these lips.

  Abe’s baseball-mitt-sized hands slide up my thighs, thumbs digging. Fingers migrating toward the fly of my jeans, deftly unbuttoning. Unzipping. Hook inside the waistband and tug them down around my hips. Down past my knees and shins. Helps me step out of them.

  I’m standing over him, bracketing his body, crotch near his face.

  Baby blue lace panties now the center of his attention.

  My knees get weak watching him watch me, his hands back in position, unhurriedly creeping around the back to my ass. Abe squeezes my butt cheeks, sitting a little straighter from his position on the ground.

  Arches forward until his nose is pressed into my stomach. Runs the tip slowly down to my center.

  Legs unsteady, I have nothing to grab but the back of his head. I twirl a lock of his hair around my index finger, nails digging into his scalp. Of their own accord, my legs spread the barest fraction of an inch. Then a bit more when Abe’s mouth heats the lace of my underwear, followed by his tongue. Teeth.

  My eyes slide closed, head tips back. Sigh escapes my throat when those large hands wander again, left thumb hooking a bit of baby blue so his tongue can sink into me.

  The other thumb joins the party, parting me.

  I’ve never had anyone go down on me while I was standing up; Abe is full of firsts for me. First orgasm.

  First boyfriend.

  First love.

  I can’t even handle the sensation of what’s happening to me right now, cannot focus on what it feels like because there is a guy giving me oral while I’m standing over him.

  I’m standing up. Receiving oral.

  How do I…

  What do I….

  “Oh god, Abe, I think I might tip over.” I haven’t yet. But I might.

  But I can’t because then he’ll stop and it won’t feel good.

  “You’re not going to tip over, baby. I’ve got you.” His hands are back on my ass, fingers precariously close to my crack.

  I tug at his hair when he sucks harder, teeth giving my clit another nip, urging him on. Gyrate my hips like a porn star as he…as he…shakes his head a bit, going deeper.

  “Mmm,” I moan, head tipping toward the ceiling. Lashes fluttering so fast I can hardly focus.

  Thumbs. Fingers. Tongue. Teeth.

  Wet, wet.

  “Fuck Skylar, I could dine on your pussy every night for dinner it tastes so fucking good.”

  My pussy tastes good, my pussy tastes good…yes it fucking does.

  Shit. Now I’m swearing to myself.

  It takes Abe a few more minutes to finish me off and have me trembling—and when he does, he pulls me on top of him.

  Rolls me to my back and straddles me, bending for a kiss.

  I can taste myself, the sex on his mouth and tongue, and I don’t hate it. It’s musky and hot.

  Okay, fine. So it’s a bit gross—but I’m not about to go telling him that; he’s getting off on it. I can feel his erection through his pants, rock hard against my leg.

  Together we push the elastic waistband down.

  He’s not wearing any underwear, and I’m soaking wet.

  Easy in…

  Easy out…

  I gasp when he slides inside, still swollen and sensitive from my orgasm.

  “You’re so wet,” he groans into my neck, arms braced above my head, caging me in. Cradling me. Rocking back and forth, back and forth…deeper and deeper…every muscle tight. Every nerve alive.

  Our pelvises touching he’s so deep inside…

  “Holy fuck, oh fuck, I think I’m gonna come.”

  Huh?

  Glassy-eyed, I’m on the verge of coming a second time and want desperately to know what that feels like.

  He cannot be serious.

  It hasn’t even been two minutes.

  “I’m sorry,” he grunts, still pumping, skin damp.

  A few more thrusts and the hot heat of him is inside me; I can feel it filling me and I marvel at the sensation.

  A few more seconds and his hips jerk. Body twitches.

  He pulls out, rolls over.

  Pulls his arm out from under me and lays it over his eyes, dick blowing in the breeze, having spent itself prematurely.

  “I can’t even look at you right now,” he mumbles.

  “Why?” I laugh, planting a kiss on the side of his neck. I take a whiff of him; he smells so, so good and tastes salty.

  “Because he came in one minute and forty-seven seconds!” Hannah shouts from her bedroom. “I timed it. Sorry folks—I am what I am!”

  “Jesus Christ, why is she like that?” Abe moans, mouth grimacing.

  “I don’t know, babe. She just is.” As I trail a finger down his sternum, he shivers. “But. The good news is, she’d shank someone for me. And now that she’s on Team Abe, she’ll shank them for you, too.”

  “She’s right! I will cut a bitch!”

  “I think you need an apartment with thicker walls.” He blindly feels around for his pants. Locating them near my bed, he tugs them into place. “You’re moving in with me. JB is out, Skylar is in.”

  He’s joking—of course he is—but it still sends butterflies soaring within my stomach.

  “That sounds nice.”

  “Get a room!” Hannah gives the wall a tap with what sounds like a spoon.

  “We have a room!” Abe and I both yell back, laughing when we lock eyes.

  Hannah huffs. I can literally hear it through the paper-thin walls. “Well go in the living room then!”

  So we do.

  Hannah

  Three months later…

  Skylar and Abe make me ill.

  Oh, relax. Not in a sick, vomit enducing, I’m going to puke kind of way. Just…the kind of ill that makes me want the same thing for myself. A jealous, I want that, kind of feeling in the pit of my stomach when they’re around the apartment.

  I want what they have.

  It’s too damn bad I act like such an asshole half of the time.

  Guys hate that.

  They want sweet. Bidable. Sexy.

  I am none of those things.

  Fiddling with my phone, I tap open the LoveU app. Smile when I see a new match; grin when I open his profile and read:

  Rex Gunderson. 24.

  Yo yo yo ladies, I’m an alum, back in town for the next few semesters pitching in at the athletic building and wouldn’t mind your company. A few things about me: fun-cle to a baby girl (she’s not actually my neice but who cares). Hilarious. Big boy job. Has my own place. Love
s fancy shit but prefer to do them in my sweats or j’s. You: are legal and over the age of 18.

  That’s it? That’s the entire thing? All he’s looking for is someone over the age of eighteen? Have some standards, dude, even if you’re just looking for a hook-up.

  Still.

  He is kind of attractive, in a skinny guy kind of way.

  I bite down on my bottom lip and swipe, knowing I’ll probably regret it later. Shoot him a message because there is nothing worse than waiting for a guy to make the first move.

  Me: What kind of fancy shit are you talking about here…? Inquiring minds want to know.

  RexG: You know, the usual. Dinner, bars. Play a round of golf or two.

  Me: In your sweat pants?

  RexG: No, I wear real pants for that.

  Me: Khakis?

  RexG: No one wears Khakis anymore.

  Me: Sure they do, I saw some yesterday.

  RexG: Who was wearing them?

  Me: My Lit professor.

  RexG: I rest my case.

  Me: So, I’m just going to come out and ask or it’s going to drive me insane.

  RexG: Go for it.

  Me: What are you doing on this app, it says you’re 24.

  RexG: So? I just turned 24. That’s not ancient.

  Me: Aren’t you a little old to be fishing in the school kiddie pond?

  RexG: I barely just graduated. Why you gotta be like that?

  Me: I had to get it off my chest.

  RexG: I was checking out your chest earlier. Very impressive.

  Me: Uh, gross. Stop, don’t even go there.

  RexG: Uh, why?

  Me: You can’t just say things like that. It’s douchey.

  RexG: Funny you should mention that; I never said I was a gentleman.

  Me: You look like one. Kind of?

  Me: Actually you look like a huge dork.

  RexG: How about you just kick me in the nuts and get it over with.

  RexG: And FOR THE RECORD I’m not photogenic and am WAY BETTER LOOKING IN PERSON.

  Me: Says who?

  RexG: MY FUCKING MOTHER, Jesus lady.

  Me: Shit, I’m sorry. I have no filter—I wasn’t trying to be a bitch.

  RexG: Whatever, it’s fine.

  Me: I suppose you’re going to unmatch me now?

  RexG: Why would I do that?