How to Date a Douchebag: The Failing Hours

by Sara Ney

  He is laugh is sardonic. “Sometimes, Violet, I think I’d let you.”

  “Uh…” It’s the best I can come up with.

  “Sometimes, Violet, I think I’d let you lead me around like a big, fucking dope.”

  “I-I…wouldn’t want to.”

  “No?” He’s skeptical.

  “No.” My head dips shyly. “I wouldn’t want to lead you around. I would never want you to feel like I was using you.”

  “Using me? You? Violet, look at me.” He takes two fingers and tips my chin so I’m looking into his crystal-hued irises. His mesmerizing, weirdly colored eyes. Mouth now curved into a delicious smile.

  A smirk.

  “Use me any way you want.”

  I watch those full, sexy lips say the words and feel my entire body getting warm. Hot.

  Oh. God. He isn’t talking about me leading him around like a big fucking dope. He’s talking about his body; I can tell by the way his pupils dilate under the light. The flaring from his nostrils.

  Zeke Daniels isn’t done with me.

  We’re not done with each other, not by a long shot.

  Except I’m not a well-practiced flirt. I have no idea what to say or what to do with this strapping, broody boy in front of me who suddenly looks like his solemn self.

  The boy who thinks too much and does everything with purpose.

  I want to kiss that boy so bad my lips ache.

  The music around us gets low, slow, and sentimental—I think it’s a heavy metal hair band from the early 90s, but it’s a ballad, and the dingy house lights get dimmer. Lights above the makeshift dance floor flicker, strobing. Biker couples and college students dance. Sway.

  “I should probably get back to my friends. I’m sure they’re looking for me.”

  His nose grazes my cheek when his lips find my ear. “You have to know this bar isn’t safe, Violet. You have no business walking around, wandering off alone. You shouldn’t even be in a place like this.”

  “Where should I be then?” My long lashes flutter. Lips tingle from our energy.

  “Not here.”

  “You’re here.”

  “True, but it would make me feel better if you were safe at home.”

  “I’m here with a group, so it’s fine.” To illustrate, I point to Melinda’s boyfriend Derek, who’s shaking a drink between two silver cups at one of the main bars. Mel and Winnie hover at his station, glancing my way.

  “Fine? There are only three of you! You couldn’t fight off any of the guys here if one was all up in your shit.”

  “All up in my shit.” I laugh, crossing my arms and tapping my toe. “Stop being so bossy, Zeke.”

  His eyes go wide. “Bossy?”

  I scoff. “N-No one has ever called you that before? I find that very hard to believe.”

  A snort comes out of his nose. “All I’m staying is, you could have picked a better place. Do not let your guard down, got it? Too much nasty shit goes down when no one is looking.”

  I cock my head, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Like roofies and date rape and back-alley shit.”

  “Are you planning to roofie anyone tonight?”

  For the first time since we met, Zeke appears absolutely horrified. “What? Jesus Christ, Violet, that’s not even funny!”

  No, it’s not funny, not even a little bit, but a laugh squeaks out anyway. “Sorry, I can’t help it. You should see the look on your face.”

  “I don’t want to see the look on my face.” He’s snarling now, really getting worked up.

  My palm finds his bicep, resting there, giving it a gentle pat. “I highly doubt I’m in any danger of unwanted attention, but you can keep an eye on me if it makes you feel better.”

  He silently stares down at me.

  “Would it?” My lips are moving and he watches them intently. “Make you feel better to watch me, I mean?”

  He nods. “Yes.”

  “You wanna know what I think?” My hand glides down his bicep, to his forearm, squeezing the tight muscles beneath my palm. “I-I think you care, Zeke. That’s why you’re so irritated with me all the time. I think you care a lot but you don’t know how to say it.”

  His shoulders dip and he’s leaning in again, driving me crazy with the smell of his aftershave. “Is that what you think? That I’m irritated all the time?”

  “Aren’t you?” I close my eyes when his warm breath lingers near my lobe, luxuriating in the closeness.

  I long for it.

  “No.” His body presses into me; his hands slide up my neck, holding my face. Jawline. “I don’t get irritated with you Violet, and I wasn’t mad at you last night; I was mad at myself.”

  I inhale, holding my breath; he’s opening up to me.

  “I wish I could say I was going to try harder to not be such a dick, but this is who I am. I’m an ass and I’ve been like this a long time. But you’re not jaded—not like me. I’m a beautiful mess.” Rough thumbs tenderly stroke my cheeks. “You’re just beautiful.”

  His words kiss my soul.

  His lips kiss the exposed skin on my collarbone, up the side of my neck, gently.

  My eyes close when he kisses the lids. The tip of my nose. The divot above my lips.

  Tenderly, like we aren’t in a biker bar, surrounded by people, in a room full of drunks and troublemakers.

  I let my hands slide around his waist. Feel his intake of breath from the contact when I glide my hands up his chest, up his neck. Over the stubble to cradle his face like he’s cradling mine.

  I don’t even care that he’s probably kissing me because he’s had three beers. That he might not be thinking straight. That in the morning he probably won’t feel the same way I feel about him.

  Because when our lips finally meet? It’s magic. Tingling electricity all the way to my toes.

  This kiss is music and moonlight and basking in possibility.

  This kiss is…

  A light tap hits my shoulder.

  My roommate Melinda’s voice somewhere behind me.

  “Violet, please stop making out with the pissed off cheesy-looking bo-hunk. We said we’d stick together tonight, remember?”

  I remember. We did say that.

  But it’s Zeke who pulls back first, dazed, hands still cradling my jawline. Mouth still inches from my lips.

  It steals another kiss.

  “Whoa. Jeez, you should see the look on your faces. You both look freaking drunk. Combustible.”

  Zeke releases me, hands sliding down my arms. “Did you just call me a cheesy bo-hunk?”

  “Uh, yeah,” my smart-mouthed roommate yells above the noise. “You’re one step away from being oiled up and on the front page of a calendar. Dude, lay off the roids.”

  She grabs my hand, tugging.

  I catch Zeke’s toothy grin and my heart skips three beats.

  He kisses me on the lips. “I’ll be over there with a giant hard-on if you need me, Pix.”

  Zeke saunters off, leaving me rooted to the spot and staring off after him.

  “Ugh, the guys that come to this place, I swear,” Melinda quips, looping her arm through my useless one, and having never set eyes on him before, she gives Zeke Daniels a onceover. “What dark corner did you find him in?”

  I lift two fingers, tracing my lips, and grin at him. Sigh.

  “The library.”

  Zeke

  As promised, I watch Violet from a distance the rest of the evening. Kind of like a stalker, but it’s not nearly the same thing if she knows I’m doing it, right?

  All I do all night is keep sentry as she dances, always with an ice water in her hand, always with those two other girls. Melinda and—what did she say the other one’s name was? Wendy. Wanda? W something, shit, I don’t remember.

  The blonde, Melinda, continues running up to the bar, leaning in for quick kisses from the bartender. He’s Hispanic, with a grin I can see from here. Every so often he strolls over and plants a kiss on the
roommate, frequently wiping a glass or mixing a drink while he does it.

  I stay with my friends, never leaving the confines of my group, shooting covert glances over at her every few minutes. She hasn’t left my line of vision, and I’ve told myself over and over that it’s for her own good; I’m watching out for her, not indulging myself.

  Rex Gunderson is just setting another pitcher of beer on the high-top table when I trail Violet on her way to the bathroom in that sexy baby blue dress, stare at those pale legs, her heels clicking down the short, narrow hallway at the back of the bar.

  I relax when she opens the door to the restroom, disappearing inside, but stiffen when I see some tall preppy dude waltz toward the bathrooms. Walk to the wall. Lean up against the black painted bricks like he’s waiting for someone.

  For Violet?

  Hell no. Fuck. That.

  “Hey Daniels, what was the name of that one chick you—”

  I raise my hand to stop him from talking.

  “No,” I cut him off.

  He looks confused. “Just real quick, I’m trying to win a bet here. What was the name of that girl you—”

  “Shh!” Jesus Christ. “Shut the fuck up for a second, Gunderson.”

  I watch, transfixed, when the preppy guy pulls a phone out of his pocket and checks his screen while he waits. Slides it back into his pocket.

  The women’s bathroom door opens and Violet emerges, straightening the hemline of her pretty dress. She sees him, gives a start, expression friendly—she doesn’t know he’s been standing there waiting for her. There’s also just enough light in the hallway for me to see her mouth move, lips forming the words, “Excuse me.”

  She attempts to sidestep around him.

  He doesn’t let her.

  That stupid fuck.

  I straighten, slamming my beer glass down on the table.

  Arms drop to my side.

  Flex my fingers.

  “Daniels man, what’s the name of—” Gunderson tries again. Oz grabs him by the arm, pulling him back, creating a wide berth; the parting of the crowd of friends affords me a better view of Violet and Preppy Fuck.

  He blocks her retreat again, arm braced on the wall next to her head. Lowering my eyes, I see her slender fingers wringing nervously.

  When he boxes her completely in? I’ve had more than enough.

  He is a dead man.

  I stride toward the bathrooms, eyes trained on one person only.

  Violet.

  It takes me thirty long-ass steps to reach her.

  Fifteen long seconds to shove my way through this insanely packed bar.

  I counted.

  I don’t mince words when I’m finally standing in front of them. Violet’s narrow shoulders sag in relief at the sight of me, and I swear I get taller by a few inches.

  Posture.

  “This guy bothering you, Violet?” I look her dead in the eyes, not sparing the douchebag a single glance.

  “I-I think I’ve g-got it handled, Zeke. I-It’s f-fine.” She lifts a trembling hand, running it down the back of her hair, but she can’t hide the fact that her stutter is back and it’s bad.

  My guard goes up.

  Everything is not fine, so why would she stand there and say it was?

  “Yeah.” The guy backing her into the corner smiles, his overly whitened teeth glowing under the hall lights. “She’s got it handled bro. It’s fine.”

  I want to yank the asshole by the collar of his pink polo shirt and sucker punch him in his arrogant fucking face.

  “Things don’t look fine, Violet. It looks like he has you pinned to the wall and is harassing you.”

  I dare them both to deny it.

  Violet can’t find the words, and the douche looks me up and down, lip curling, recognition drawing his face into a delighted grin. He obviously knows who I am—not hard when there’s billboard of me plastered on the side of the university’s field house.

  “Hey, don’t I know you?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do.”

  “Pretty sure you don’t, but we’re about to get to acquainted real quick if you don’t back the fuck off and leave her alone.”

  “What are you, her boyfriend?”

  My jaw clenches. “Does it matter?”

  He raises his palms in a show of surrender, like he’s the good guy here and I’m the piece of shit. “Look pal, why don’t you back off. Violet and me? We’re good. She’s safe. You can leave the stuttering freak with me. I just wanna talk to her.”

  Um…

  What?

  “What the fuck did you just say?” I utter the words so quietly, so venomously and deliberately slow. Violet inches farther into the cinderblock wall behind her.

  The preppy assfuck takes a step forward. “I said back off, dude.”

  I shake my head slowly. “No, no, the other part.”

  “You can leave her with me?”

  “No.” I grind out between clenched teeth. “The other part. You know what I’m fucking talking about, so say it. Fucking. Say. It.”

  He smirks. “Stuttering freak?”

  “Yeah.” I rub my chin. “That part, you motherfucking piece of shit.”

  I lift my hands so they’re illuminated under the dim light above us and he looks down, tracking my movements, staring at my open palms with wide eyes. “See these hands?” I ask, closing my palms into fists. “They are three seconds away from pounding the piss out of you.”

  “Zeke—” Violet tries to cut in, but I cut her off.

  “What’s it going to be asshole? Are you going to walk away, or am I going to take these fists and smash them into your face?”

  “Zeke!” Violet gasps out a sob. “P-P-Please.”

  The guy looks back and forth between us, trying to decide what our relationship is, internally debating about how strong I actually am. If he can take me in a fight. How far he can push and push before I knock him on his ass.

  If the stammering girl is worth getting his teeth knocked out.

  The bag of crap decides she’s not, rolling his eyes at us and shoving his hands into the pockets of his khakis. Khakis—who wears those to the fucking bar anyway?

  Wisely, he takes a step back. “Whatever dude.”

  Then another, until he’s backing away. Vanishing into the crowd, out of sight.

  Violet turns to me. “I-I can’t believe you almost hit him.”

  “He would have had it coming.”

  “I-I’m sorry you had to step in. Y-You know I-I didn’t come back here to g-get accosted. I j-just had to p-pee.”

  Jesus. It sounds like her teeth are chattering, on top of her stutter.

  I rest my hands on her slim shoulders. “Don’t apologize, Violet—you did nothing wrong. I watched him waiting for you when you were in the bathroom.”

  She nods.

  It’s then that I take a really hard, piercing look at her. My palms look enormous splayed on her petite shoulders. I squat, bending at the knees so I can gaze into her eyes.

  “Jesus, I thought he was hurting you. Did he touch you?”

  A shake of the head. “No, he was harmless. Just a little…mean.”

  “Mean?” I’m mean. “What did he say to you, Vi?” I press, wanting to shake the words out of her. Rather than telling me, her lips press together in a thin line. “Violet, you can tell me. I’m mean, too, remember?”

  I shoot her a wane smile.

  “You’re not mean, you’re angry at the world. There’s a difference,” Violet reminds me softly. “He…he was making fun of me.”

  “Yet he wanted to get in your pants?” The question just slips out, bitter and cold.

  “I guess.” She shrugs, her shoulders moving up and down beneath my hands. “I don’t want to repeat anything he just said. It’s embarrassing.”

  She doesn’t need to repeat a single thing that asshole said; I can use my imagination to figure that shit out on my own.

  “I let that fuck
er off way too easy. No one talks to you that way, ever.” I balance on my heels, still squatting, to meet her eyes. “No one. Not even me, you got that?”

  When her bottom lip quivers, I stand. With instincts I didn’t know I possessed, I tug her toward me, tucking her into my big body, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin atop her pretty blonde head. Run my open palm down her back, stroking it gently.

  Man, she’s so tiny.

  “It’s okay Violet, it’s okay,” I’m murmuring into her hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? Now you’re starting to sound like me. It wasn’t your fault,” comes her muffled reply, her cheek pressed against my chest.

  Her nearness feels…

  Good.

  Really fucking good.

  “Text your friends and tell them what happened. Let me take you home. Let me get you out of here. I don’t trust any of the jackasses here.”

  Grappling for her, we head toward my friends so I can let them know I’m leaving. I brought them here, but doubt I’ll be bringing them back—unless they all want to pile in my truck and leave with us now.

  I don’t make it all the way over.

  Oz sees me weaving toward them through the crowd, Violet in tow, and gives me the nod.

  I raise my hand in acknowledgement, shift gears, head toward the exit.

  Violet

  Zeke is hugging me again.

  Zeke Daniels is hugging me on my front porch.

  No, not a hug—an actual embrace.

  I’m enveloped in his strong arms and can feel the dense muscles flexing as he reaches around me to run his hands up and down my back, comforting me.

  I lean back to look up at him, the tips of his fingers finding purchase on my cheekbone, tracing my skin, the pads of his thumbs running under my eyes, wiping away whatever tears haven’t been dried up by the cotton of his t-shirt.

  Whisper-light touches. Soft.

  “Zeke?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Why didn’t you hit that guy?”

  He strokes the top of my head, fingers doing this massaging thing to my scalp. “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

  “Does that mean you would have punched him if I hadn’t been standing there?”

  “Probably.” His fingers stop for a few seconds. “I really wanted to knock him on his fucking ass.”