How to Date a Douchebag: The Failing Hours

by Sara Ney

  My response to them both is to glare down at my notebook and thump my pen on the table as Violet’s jeans and white shirt appear in my peripheral view.

  “Incoming! Look alive, old chap!” Oz declares merrily. “And try not to fuck this up by being your usual cheerful self. That was sarcasm in case you missed it…”

  “Shut up, scrot.”

  “Why are you getting all defensive? I’m trying to help you charm the ladies.”

  “That’s never going to happen,” Gunderson chuckles.

  They’re the opposite of helpful, and they’re grating on my last nerve. The tension in my hands, legs, and shoulders is insurmountable, my fingers tapping on the table anxiously like a fidgety crack whore.

  Oz laughs, kicking me under the table. “Relax dude, or she’ll think you have issues.”

  “I said. Shut. Up.”

  “Say shut up please.”

  Oh my fucking god, seriously?

  “Say it.”

  I clamp my lips together.

  Oz raises his dark eyebrows. “Are you really not going to say please?”

  I don’t have to reply, because my eye roll speaks volumes. Crossing my arms, I glare.

  “Your Darth Vader death stare doesn’t intimidate me,” he drones, unimpressed. “Just say please and we won’t embarrass you when your girlfriend gets here.”

  My lips part, mouth clamps shut. Opens. Jaw clenches. Nostrils flare.

  Violet zigzags her way across the room, sights set on me, timidly approaching with a warm smile on her lips.

  “Shut up. Please.”

  Ozzy and Rex Gunderson cackle like a pair of washwomen, Oz tipping back in his chair.

  “Did you hear that Rexy? Daniels just said please! Holy shit, that’s gotta be a record for something. Write that down somewhere. I—” His voice breaks off when Violet reaches the table.

  “Hi guys. Zeke.”

  Oz and Rex wait for me to say something, one of them kicking my shin under the table.

  I dig way down deep and come up with “Hey.”

  Violet shifts on her heels, lips rubbing together. “Hey.” Her eyes twinkle, amused.

  “How’s it going, Violet? It’s Violet, right?” Gunderson asks, his stupid face lit up with a stupid grin. The idiot is smiling ear to ear and gives me another kick under the table.

  “Yes. Hi, we haven’t met.” She extends her hand and he takes it, first to shake it, and then to kiss her wrist.

  “My cherie, a pleasure.”

  Violet giggles, taking back her hand, her light laugh indicating that she’s entertained. “Very charming.”

  Oz groans. “Ignore him please; he’s a moron, which explains why he can’t make the wrestling team.” He looks her up and down, smiling a crocodile smile that drops panties all over campus. “You working?”

  “Yes, but only for another hour.” She shoots me a sidelong glance. “No appointments today.”

  “Zeke says you’re his tutor,” Rex says. “What subjects do you tute?”

  “A-All of them.”

  “All of them? Like—all of them?”

  “I guess I shouldn’t say all,” she amends. “I should say, most.”

  “Maybe I should hire you.” Gunderson waggles his brows at her, the little fucker. “I need serious help with chemistry.”

  “S-Sure,” Violet stutters. “You can check the schedule at the circulation desk and arrange it.”

  “What if I pay you on the side? That’s what Daniels does, isn’t it?” The little asshole isn’t talking about tutoring anymore, and everyone knows it. “Do you take side jobs?”

  “Enough with the questions Rex. Jesus, give it a rest,” I snap, ball cap coming off, fingers raking through my dark hair. “Leave her alone.”

  Oz clucks his tongue. “Now, now, don’t be like that.” He looks up at Violet. “He doesn’t like sharing—not the keys to his truck, not his clothes, not his tutor.”

  He uses air quotes around the word tutor and winks.

  If I thought Violet was red before, it’s nothing compared to how bright her cheeks are now; the blush extends down into the neckline of her shirt, and I swear even the pale skin of her arms begins to color.

  She’s met him a few times when he’s been on his best behavior, in the company of his new girlfriend; she doesn’t know the idiot is a total pervert.

  Oz looks at me. Looks at Violet. Looks at me, pencil limply flopping in the air to illustrate his point. “We have an away meet this week but our next match is home. You going to come cheer your boy on?”

  Rex looks confused. “Why would your tutor come to our wrestling meets?”

  Oz’s sigh is so loud and drawn out, several people turn to stare at us. “Gunderson, try to keep up. They’re dating.”

  “We’re not dating.” Not exactly. The hasty denial slips off my tongue. Out of my lips.

  I sound petty and childish, and shift my gaze to the notebook in front of me, eyes trained on the paragraphs I wrote just hours ago. I refuse to meet Violet’s hurt hazel eyes as she stands next to the table, spine ramrod straight, listening to the interaction intently. Waiting for me to say something to her.

  Except now I’m too pissed to do anything but sit here, seething.

  “Whoa.” Rex shoots Violet a sidelong glance. “Is he this big a dick when you’re studying?”

  Why are they doing this to me?

  Oh! I get it—this is because I’m such an asshole to Jameson. Well joke’s on him, because I’m not giving in to his word bait. I’m not going to lose my cool. No fucking way. Let him poke the hornet’s nest and see how well it ends.

  I cross my arms, steaming.

  “You, Violet, must be a saint,” Oz teases her. “Even his friends can’t stand him, yet you’re voluntarily spending time with him.”

  Even his friends can’t stand him?

  “What the hell kind of dig is that?”

  “It wasn’t a dig,” he deadpans. “It’s a fact.”

  “You are such a dick.”

  “Maybe, but I’m not the one sitting here ignoring his girl that’s a “friend” or whatever you want to call it. You are.”

  I realize I am, in fact, still ignoring Violet, who is standing at the table looking perplexed. Maybe even a little hurt.

  God I’m a douchebag.

  I know this.

  But I can’t stop. I can’t take the words back—not in front of my friends. I’ll be damned if I apologize to her in front of them. In fact, I can’t remember a single time when I’ve apologized to them for my bad behavior. Not a single damn time.

  Oz turns his attention to Violet, shooting her an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

  Her hazel eyes regard me, unflinching. “Zeke, are we still doing something later?” Her voice is steady.

  “Nah. We’re good.”

  Her head bobs up and down unhurriedly, eyes narrowing in a decidedly un-Violet-like way. “I see.”

  No, she doesn’t see.

  It takes several seconds for Violet to collect her thoughts and speak again. When she does, the words come out halted and ineloquent.

  “I-I…” Deep breath. “It was g-good seeing you guys. I-I have work to do, s-s…I sh-should should…”

  “See ya.” I force out those two words, affecting a bored tone but wanting to take those back, too. Don’t fucking listen me, please, I want to shout. I’m a clueless fucking moron!

  I should be ashamed of myself.

  Shouldn’t let her walk away when she spins on her heel, the soles of her worn brown boots needing replacing as much as Kyle’s shoes did.

  We watch her scurry away like a spooked rabbit. Her hip hits a table a few feet away and I wince as she rubs her side, rounding the corner, disappearing into a back room. I make note of it: private study room number four.

  “Wow.” Rex fills the silence. “Man…”

  “You really are a heartless prick,” Oz finishes for him, pushing away from the table to stand. He shuffles his shit around, throwi
ng his laptop and books in his backpack, the loud metal teeth zipping closed. His hand goes up, motioning toward study room number four. “Are you just going to sit there? Or are you going to follow her and beg her to overlook your stupidity?”

  “Wait Ozzy, where are you goin?” Confusion fills Gunderson’s voice.

  “Leaving. I can’t sit here and watch him self-destruct. Dude needs alone time to think about what a fucking bad move that was.” He hefts his bag onto his broad shoulder. “You’d be wise to come with me, Rex. Leave him alone to his own miserable company. That’s obviously what the poor sod wants.”

  Poor sod? Poor sod? What is he, British?

  “What’s a poor sod?” Rex rises, packing up his shit.

  Good. Who needs them?

  “It’s another way to say sorry ass motherfucker.”

  “Really?” Rex sounds intrigued. “Where’d you hear that?”

  I hear Oz shrug, their deep voices trailing off as they depart. “James and I were watching Love Actually last weekend…”

  I sit, gazing toward the study room Violet disappeared into, willing them both to hurry the fuck up and leave.

  So I can finally follow her.

  Violet

  I manage to make it all the way to the study room before tears sting my eyes, flowing out like a dam that’s been broken. I wipe them away with a trembling hand, swiping angrily at my own cheeks.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I repeat, cold hands bracing my cheeks to cool them off, to salvage whatever composure might be left inside my broken heart before heading back out and finishing my shift.

  How embarrassing.

  Why would he do that to me?

  What is wrong with him?

  I don’t understand.

  Of all the people in this world to develop feelings for, why did it have to be him and his foolish pride?

  Suddenly I’m seeing what everybody already knew: Zeke Daniels is a heartless, cold-blooded jerk. Callous doesn’t begin to describe his treatment of me just then. The cold, unreadable expression—he couldn’t even look me in the eyes, the coward.

  Well the joke is on me, because I thought…

  I swipe another tear with my sleeve.

  The bracelets circling my wrist jingle, an unfriendly reminder of an amazing evening we had. I do my best to tug the stupid sunflower bangle off my arm, yanking at it, tears still blinding me.

  The jerk.

  I tug.

  Jerk.

  Tug again and again.

  Jerk, jerk, jerk.

  A brisk knock at the door has my spine stiffening. Zeke’s face appears in the narrow window of the study room, doorknob turns as he pushes his way into the small, square space, not waiting for me to invite him in.

  Rude.

  “What do you want? I’m b-busy.”

  Clearly I’m not busy doing anything but crying and pulling his stupid, beautiful bracelet off my wrist and he knows it. He enters cautiously, coming to a standstill on the other side of the long, wooden table. His thick arms fold across his chest.

  “Violet.”

  My chin goes up haughtily, fingers swiping at my cheeks. “I said, what do you want, Zeke?”

  “I… Fuck, I don’t know.”

  “Obviously.” The sarcasm in my voice is hard to disguise.

  For once in my life, I pull off a bitchy tone to perfection, secretly applauding myself with a mental pat on the back. I turn to the wall so I don’t have to look at his handsome face—the one that not two minutes ago was so very unfeeling and dispassionate.

  “We all know I’m an asshole, okay?”

  “No. Actually, it’s not okay.”

  Silence.

  “What do you want from me, Violet?”

  Is he serious?

  With those words, I swing around to face him. “What do you mean, what do I want from you? I want nothing! Why can’t we just be?”

  What the hell is wrong with you! I long to shout at him, get up in his face, so he hears me. Really hears me.

  I lower my voice instead, each word chosen carefully. “Why are you so angry all the time, Zeke?” I pause. “My god, you can’t even handle your friends teasing you.”

  “I fucked up. What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to be a good friend, but you can’t even do that, can you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, was that necessary back there?” I gesture toward the door. “You could at least have told them we were friends; they kept calling me your tutor.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Because.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “What do you expect? Jesus, how many times do I have to say, I’m such an asshole! before you start believing it? Everyone is not good and kind Violet. Some of us are mean. Some of us don’t care enough to try. Stop the attempts to make me better!”

  I’m ashamed to admit my shoulders sag, defeat pressing down on them. “You don’t get it, do you Zeke?”

  “No.”

  “You know that Zeke out there?” I point toward the door. “That Zeke treated me like a body for hire. That Zeke is not my friend. That Zeke can walk back out that door and out of my life for good.” My arm remains raised, finger pointing. “I don’t need him.”

  “Violet—”

  “No! Be quiet! Stop saying my name! Oh my god, we were having sex last night and look how you treated me today. Y-You humiliated me by acting like I’m only your tutor!”

  “Violet please, cal—”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! You humiliated me out there. You’re a user and everything my friends warned me about. Did I listen? No!”

  His hands dig deep into his pockets. “I never said I was perfect.”

  “No, you said you were an asshole and a douchebag and a shitty boyfriend and I should have listened. I’m the idiot here for letting you lead me around. Me.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t listen.”

  A laugh begins in my abs, rises through my chest, and escapes my lips. “Oh, I’m sure! You’re so glad I was dumb enough to ignore the warning signs!”

  “Are you mocking me?” His eyes narrow. “I’m being serious.”

  “Oh please. If this is how you treat someone you’re glad to have around, I shudder to know what you’re like when you’re not.”

  We stand warily regarding one another across the table; I seize the opportunity to size him up, drinking in the sight of him: tall, broody, and moody. So devastatingly handsome. Clear gray eyes. Heavy brows. Chiseled cheekbones and defined, masculine jaw covered in five o’clock shadow.

  Beautiful. A poet’s dream.

  He might have acted like he didn’t care but…

  It’s his eyes that give him away. They’re remarkable, yes, but forlorn. Serious but sad. Lonely.

  That doesn’t make it better, doesn’t make his callous behavior right.

  “What in the world do you have to be so mad about, Zeke?” I whisper into the room, more to the walls than to him, knowing he won’t answer. “You’re surrounded by amazing people. Why are you the only one that doesn’t see that?”

  He braces those giant palms on the table, leaning toward me. “You want to analyze me now? Go right ahead.”

  He’s pushing back, and he’s also giving me a small opening to talk—one I intend to seize.

  “You have everything you could possibly want; why do you push people away?”

  He scoffs, snorting through his nose. “I’m not getting into this with you—I hardly know you.”

  Yet his feet are rooted to the ground, hands anchored to the table.

  “That’s not true. You do know me,” I whisper. “Sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

  He’s never had to say it with words; Zeke Daniels gets me. Looks past all my imperfections and sees that deep down inside, we’re kindred.

  We bear similar scars.

  “Fine. Maybe
I do,” he concedes, one brick of his wall coming down. “You want to talk? We’ll talk.”

  I suck in a breath, afraid to move lest I push him away, like spooking a wild animal I’ve finally convinced to eat from my palm.

  “Everyone chooses to leave,” he begins, the low baritone of his voice reverberating down my spine. “When my parents started their company, my mom’s plan was to travel the world once they made their money. She wanted to ‘see things’, made list after list of places she wanted to go, things she wanted to see, and at first she would take me with her, right? I was only five when my dad sold his first software program. But you know, I was kind of a little asshole when I was little, so hauling me along became too difficult. It wasn’t fun for her anymore. Having me along was work, because I didn’t listen.” He shrugs. “Because I was only fucking five.”

  “The more money they made, the higher maintenance and more demanding my mom became. Everything had to be perfect. Everything had to be expensive. When it wasn’t convenient to drag me to France, they’d leave me with aunts and uncles and my dick of a cousin.”

  I listen silently as he begins opening up, words halted but constant. “My mom’s sister was…not loving.”

  A stormy shadow crosses his eyes as he recalls his aunt from whatever memory category he’s compartmentalized her in.

  My heart skips a beat. “Did they hurt you, Zeke?”

  A bitter laugh. “No. They did nothing.”

  “What do you mean they did nothing?”

  I want to put my hands on him—touch him—but I don’t.

  Can’t.

  The energy in the room grows.

  “My aunt and uncle took me in for money; my parents sent them a shit ton every month so I was out of their way, so my mom could do whatever the fuck she wanted, when she wanted. It was all about money, a glorified foster care system.”

  It’s starting to make sense.

  The bets. The charity. Giving his parents’ money away.

  The anger and resentment.

  Zeke Daniels feels abandoned by his family.

  “My parents chose work and travel. My aunt and uncle chose money. Oz is choosing Jameson.” His low voice rumbles, spitting the words out. “Everyone has a choice.”