How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours

by Sara Ney

  “Sure, why not.”

  “I call it the White Castle of Regret.”

  I laugh, then she laughs, and soon our eyes are watering tears of mirth.

  “Holy shit that’s funny,” I enthuse, wiping my cheeks dry. “You don’t look like you have any sense of humor at all, but you’re hilarious.”

  She’s pleased. Smug. “Occasionally I’ve been known to throw out a few zingers.”

  “I still want to know more about a girl who wears pearls to the library but willingly makes out with a stranger.”

  “Willingly? That’s a stretch.”

  “Stop evading the question.”

  Slumping back in her seat, James rests her head against the chair. “I’m rather shy—”

  “You are not fucking shy, but nice try.”

  “Fine, I’m not shy—but if you really must know, sometimes I wear pearls and cardigans to the library so I look serious and so people leave me alone.” She shoots me a pointed look. “Which, obviously, does. Not. Work.”

  “Obviously. It’s not a very clever disguise and it makes you look like a kindergarten teacher—and not even a hot one.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she sarcastically replies. “My point is I’m having a hard time keeping my grades up. I have to work really hard at it—nothing comes natural to me, especially chemistry, which I hate but have to pass.” She sighs. “My major is pre-pharmacy but I’m having second thoughts. One of my biggest regrets is declaring so soon. Sometimes I wish I was more adventurous, although I’m pretty content watching everyone else act like assholes at parties.”

  “You don’t seem to shock very easily.” I’m referring to our meeting in the hallway, when the redhead was grabbing my cock.

  “No, I don’t. My mom does porn, so…” She shrugs nonchalantly, dragging out her sentence. “You ain’t got nothin’ I haven’t ever seen in one of her movies.”

  The bombshell has my eyes bugging out of my skull and I practically leap out of my chair. “What!”

  A burst of laughter spills from her lips and before I know it, she’s sputtering. Falling out of her seat, waving her hands around, trying to calm herself. “Sit down, sit down, I’m kidding. Oh my god, you should see your face.”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “So you keep saying.” The smirk returns. “It’s like looking in the mirror, isn’t it?”

  Sebastian

  She’s the last person I expect to see when I round the corner of the business school, but she’s exactly who I see when I bend to tie my shoe. I glance up when her familiar black patent leather ballet flats come into view.

  I rise to my full height and straighten.

  Jameson is wearing glasses today—black rimmed—and a long, smooth ponytail trails down her back. I can’t tell if she’s wearing a cardigan under her navy jacket, but I hypothesize that she is—and that it’s basic. Buttoned from the bottom all the way up to her throat. Probably in some boring color like gray.

  Or dark blue.

  “Hey Oz.” She greets me with her own onceover, checking me out from top to bottom. “You’re not following me around campus now, are you? Cause I’d hate to call security on you.”

  “Yup. I’m only pretending to tie my shoe so I can look up your skirt.”

  She’s wearing jeans and a smile. “Oz, you met Allison and Hayley at the party—this is our other roommate, Sydney.”

  “Hey.” I greet them both with a huge grin because, well, Sydney is almost as good looking as Allison and Hayley. All three of Jameson’s roommates are the kind of sexy that hits you immediately, not the subtle, classy kind that sneaks up on you slowly, the way Jameson’s does.

  The hot roommate’s mitten-covered hand shoots out. “Hi. Gosh, you’re so… I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at Welcome Week in August? I’m on the dance team?”

  Shit, have I fucked her already? I got pretty wasted during Welcome Week at a frat’s afternoon pre-party and can’t remember shit about that weekend.

  “You probably don’t remember me,” she prattles on. “You were working the information table for the athletic department. You’re a football player, right?”

  “No.”

  Not even close.

  At Sydney’s crestfallen expression, James eases closer to elbow me in the ribcage. I give her a What did I say? look and shrug my wide shoulders because honestly, I’m not on the goddamn football team. What does she expect me to say?

  “The dance team, huh?” I ask. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. Now I remember. Good to meet you—again.” I shoot her a winning smile; I mean, why wouldn’t I? Sydney is hot. Flat chested beneath her Iowa Dance Team sweatshirt, but still pretty hot.

  Jameson grabs her roommate by the arm.

  “Anyway, good running into you, Oz.” She starts walking, attempting to haul Sydney away. “We’re late.”

  “Where you headed?” I take a few steps forward, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. “Maybe we’re headed in the same direction.”

  “Nope. We’re done on campus. A little late getting back to our apartment.”

  “Late getting back to your apartment?”

  Jameson clears her throat. “If you must know, our roommate Allison’s parents are coming to town, and we told her we’d help clean the place.”

  “No library?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to meet me in the back corner?” I give her a wicked grin and wiggle my brows.

  Sydney’s mouth falls open.

  Jameson, however, looks dismayed. “God, no. I don’t have time for that tonight—especially when you still owe me that money.”

  “Why do you keep bringing that shit up?”

  “Because you owe me money.”

  “Technically I owe you money, but think of it this way: you’re not really out any actual cash. You just haven’t had a gain.”

  “Technically you made a verbal commitment to pay me half of your earnings. I’m the one who earned it.”

  True, but still…

  I switch gears. “If you don’t come to the library, who’s going to help me with my chemistry?”

  Jameson squints at me, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a cute little laugh. “You are not taking chemistry classes!”

  “Fine, but I like making chemistry, and isn’t that almost the same thing?”

  Sydney’s dark brown eyes volley back and forth between Jameson and me then widen when her roommate lets out an unladylike snort.

  “I’ll tell you what Jim, since we’re friends, I’m going to help you out. If pretty little Sydney here has classes that would be helpful for chemistry—”

  “Do not listen to him Sydney. He is not taking chemistry.”

  “Jim, you’re hurting my feelings.” I place a palm over my heart solemnly. “Sydney, what do you say? You look like the kind of girl who knows her way around a…lab room.”

  Her toe taps on the ground. “Oz, seriously?”

  “My point is, if you’re free today, Sydney, why not let me take you for a burger? Are you as hungry as I am sweetheart? Wanna help me study?”

  Sydney nods zealously. “I can do that. I’ve got Bio Chem now so it would be a breeze.””

  “No hard feelings if I take her out, right Jimbo?”

  Her face is an impassive mask, the only tell of any indecision her brief nibbling of that pink lower lip.

  I gaze back at Jameson, trying to figure her out. Is she seriously going to stand there and let me take out her roommate without putting up a fight for me? Who the hell does that? Every chick on campus is dying to date me, bang me, or trap me into a relationship—and James doesn’t want to do any of those things.

  What the shit is that all about?

  If she’s playing a game to keep me guessing, she should know better than to play an athlete.

  We aren’t deterred that easily.

  I make one last-ditch effort, give her one last chance to change her mind and come to
her senses. “James, what if we meet for dinner after you’re done cleaning? I’ll take you for a burger, no strings attached, and you can bring your laptop.”

  “You just invited my roommate to go with you instead!”

  “Who cares?” I scowl down at Jameson, who cringes.

  “She can hear us arguing, you know.”

  I barely spare Sydney a glance. “So?”

  “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

  “You seriously won’t meet me for dinner?” I’ll admit it, I’m this close to stomping my foot on the ground like a child who’s not getting their way.

  “I can’t meet you for dinner. I’m helping Allison.”

  “I’m not going to beg, Jim.”

  She laughs. “I don’t want you to.”

  “How about a threesome?” Kidding, not kidding.

  “Oz.” Her tone carries a warning that I’ve pushed far enough. We stare each other down until Sydney uncomfortably clears her throat between us.

  “A burger sounds great.”

  “Excellent. I’m starving.” I lick my lips for show, both girls following the movement of my tongue with their widened eyes. “In fact, I could eat just about…anything right now.”

  Sydney bites her bottom lip, fighting back an excited squeal, and rattles off some house numbers.

  An uneasy feeling settles over me when I look to James for any sign of disapproval, some hint that she’s bullshitting. Any second now she’s going to throw her hands up and announce she’s kidding—of course she’ll meet me at Malone’s!

  Instead, the large smile pasted on her face appears sincere. Apologetic. Exaggerated, but sincere.

  I should be relieved. I should feel ecstatic to have James off my back. No nagging. No bitchy comebacks. No sass.

  I shouldn’t feel anything.

  But goddammit if I do.

  Jameson

  I should be relieved.

  I should feel excited for Sydney; Sebastian Osborne is her type one hundred times over. From his broad, firm shoulders to his black tattoos, his dirty mouth to his popularity on campus.

  I shouldn’t feel anything for him.

  But…damn if I do.

  Crap.

  Sebastian

  “So what’s the deal with you and Jimmy?”

  “Who?”

  I tap my index finger on the table impatiently. “Jameson. You know—you two aren’t…” I jiggle a limp French fry over the appetizer platter in the center of the table. “You aren’t exactly who I’d place together in a lineup.”

  I take a bite of my fry, watching Sydney intently, chewing slowly while appraising everything about her with male appreciation. In the hour I gave her to get ready for…whatever this is…she used every spare minute to get freshened up. Smoky eye makeup, sleek wavy blonde hair, tight pale blue sweater.

  Tighter skinny jeans.

  At the moment, we’re sitting in a corner booth at Malone’s, one of the closest bars to campus that serves the best burgers in town. You might reek like deep fryer when you walk out, but the food more than makes up for it. If I’m going to be railroaded on a date—which is costing me what little extra money I have—I’m going to eat a delicious goddamn hamburger, even if it I have to do an extra two miles of running and fifty extra squats to burn off the calories.

  “Placed together in a lineup?” Sydney’s dark blonde brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?” Her long hot pink nail pokes at a mozzarella stick on the appetizer platter, but she makes no move to eat it.

  I nab another fry and pop it in my mouth. “Seriously.” I swallow. “Conservative Mary and Malibu Barbie? How’d the two of you end up living together?”

  Another poke at the mozzie sticks. “Conservative? Who on earth are you talking about?”

  In a move I’m going to later blame on Jameson, I roll my eyes. “James.”

  How can she not know who I’m talking about?

  “You’re talking about James?” she asks, baffled.

  I gotta give the girl props: Sydney has the good sense to look affronted. I give her another few points for loyalty, and one for the irritated expression she’s trying to mask behind her faltering smile. “Jameson Clark? Conservative?”

  She says it so incredulously I begin to wonder if I’m starting to piss her off.

  Nonetheless…

  “Do you know more than one Jameson?” I recline back in my chair and cross my arms. Sydney’s eyes, lined in heavy black liner, rake my tattoo-covered biceps, flaring with obvious interest.

  Palming my beer bottle, I take a quick pull. “Yeah. Prim and proper. Smart mouth. What’s up with that?”

  I’m kind of being an asshole, but she doesn’t seem to care. Well, she cares, but I don’t.

  Sydney blushes out a stiff, “James is not boring.”

  I scoff. “I didn’t say she was boring—I know why she’s always studying, but what other stuff is she into? She does do other stuff, yeah?”

  “I think she’s just serious about school. She doesn’t like to be bothered when she’s studying.”

  I suppress an eye roll. “I know. Has it occurred to her that she doesn’t need to wear cardigans and shit to be serious about school or to be left alone?” I ask more to myself than to Sydney. “Does she ever go out and have fun? Let loose? Dress slutty?”

  Inquiring minds want to know.

  “Yes?”

  Yeah, right. My brows rise dubiously. “Really? What kind of fun?”

  Sydney’s arms flail helplessly on her side of the booth. “I don’t know! You just saw us at a party—that kind of fun. She likes snowboarding and swimming in the summer, so she does that a lot.”

  “Snowboarding?” I ask incredulously.

  Sydney nods. “She’s really good, too. I think she’s in the snowboarding club; they’re leaving for Utah for spring break soon.”

  No fucking way. “Snowboarding?” I parrot, sounding like an idiot. “There’s no fucking way.”

  Sydney stares at me then, across the table, the most perplexed look on her face. Brows creased into deep lines, her mouth is downturned in an arch. “Sorry? I’m getting really confused.”

  Her ditzy laugh doesn’t reach her eyes, and the air between us gets awkward.

  Shit. This isn’t cool. I’m a dick, but if I keep overtly acting like one, there’s no chance in hell Sydney’s going to blow me in the bathroom at the end of this quasi date.

  I switch gears and turn on the charm. “You know what? Forget I said anything; I was just curious. So tell me more about yourself.”

  Now her whole face changes, goes from guarded to animated when she gasps an excited breath. “I’m a senior nursing major originally from Tennessee, I’m on the dance team, and I just love wrestling. I’m a huge, huge fan.”

  A huge fan for someone who thought I was on the football team, I think sarcastically.

  “Uh huh.” I nod, half listening, and eat another limp fry, chasing it down with a swig of beer while trying to visualize Jameson Clark snowboarding.

  I’m fucking sorry, but I cannot for the life of me reconcile the image in my mind. Tiny Jameson, bearer of buttoned up cardigans and pearl necklaces, snowboarding? Terrain parks and half-pipes. Boxy jackets and bib overalls.

  There’s no freaking way.

  Sydney’s voice drones in and out.

  “…and then I transferred last year when I toured the campus with my cousin. That’s how I met Allison, who was already living with Jameson. I have to make up a few classes at the end of this year that weren’t accredited at my previous school, which will set me back a semester. That’s gonna suck.”

  Absentmindedly, I reply, “That does suck.”

  “Right? My parents are going to kill me.” Suddenly, Sydney’s mouth broadens into a huge smile. “So, enough about me. Tell me more about you. What’s the famous Oz Osborne’s story? I can hardly believe I’m sitting here with you. I feel like we have a lot in common.”

  Her teeth flash bright white in her spra
y-tanned face and she gives a tiny squeak of delight.

  Great. Just great. Jameson tricked me into going out with a sports groupie. I’m going to kill her the next time I see her; maybe she’ll let me stick my tongue down her throat as punishment.

  I lean forward in the booth, resting my elbows on the sticky tabletop. “I don’t know what there is to tell. I’m here on a wrestling scholarship, but everyone knows that. My major is HR, my—”

  “HR…like, as in human resources?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Huh.” Her response is one I’ve seen a million times before. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a guy majoring in HR. What made you decide to do that?”

  I have my reasons, but they’re no one’s business. I don’t know Sydney, don’t care to get to know Sydney—so I don’t tell her the reason I majored in HR when there were a million other career paths I could have chosen.

  “So Sydney, what else do you like to do for fun.” The tone of my voice is obviously an innuendo, an invitation I’m not quite feeling in my pants.

  “Well,” she starts slowly. “I like parties…and sports…and meeting new people…and being friendly.”

  Speaking of friendly: the vision of Jameson rising from her seat in the library right before she kissed the shit out of me has me pausing. The black sweater and pearls she had on. The buttoned up green cardigan she had on as she watched me get a hand-job in the hallway of a house party last weekend. The gray one she wore yesterday.

  “Hold up. Does she always wear cardigans? I mean, she wears other shit out of the house, right?”

  My date hesitates. “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve never seen her in anything but sweaters. She owns other clothes, right?”

  “Er…are we back to talking about Jameson?”

  “She has other clothes in her closet, yeah? Not just all that plain crap? Does she own sweatshirts?”

  “Uh…yes. I’ve seen her in other shit.” Sydney’s brow furrows into a pout. “Sorry if I’m coming off as confused, it’s just…I’ve never heard anyone call her plain before. I think you need your head examined.”