How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours Read online

  “Fuck.”

  Suddenly and without warning, Jameson stands, the leather chair falling back and hitting the wall. She collects her things, closing her laptop and scooping everything into her book bag.

  “Maybe I should go. I’m not cut out for whatever this is, and I didn’t come here to get harassed, so clearly I’m not your type of girl.”

  My mouth falls open, but nothing comes out—no protests, no jokes, no innuendos.

  Shit.

  “Jim, c’mon—sit down. I’m kidding.”

  Her bag slung over her shoulder, she drops a pencil to the carpeted floor but doesn’t bend to pick it up.

  Probably because she’s not wearing any fucking underwear.

  I groan at the thought.

  “Stay—please. God dammit, I’m sorry, okay? I’ll stop being an asshole.”

  “You’re a nice guy, okay? I think you’re neat. But you’re not getting in my pants, so I wish you’d stop wasting your time.”

  Hold up. Did she just call me… “Neat?”

  “Yeah, neat.” Her head shakes with a laugh. “I’ll see you around, Oz. Do the women of the world a favor and try to behave yourself.”

  Another heartbeat and she’s gone, nothing left but the door slamming behind her and the musky smell of her perfume.

  I’m left sitting alone under the florescent lights of the sterile study room. She’ll see me around?

  Behave?

  Yeah, no. There’s nothing I love more than a challenge, and Jameson Clark just triggered my competitive reflexes.

  I tap a few keys on my laptop before an idea pops into my head.

  A genius, totally outrageous idea.

  See me around?

  You bet your tight little ass you will.

  Jameson

  “I still cannot believe the nerve of him!” I practically shout, slamming out of the campus union, my voice carrying through the courtyard, echoing among the sparse trees and frozen ground. Several students walking down the shoveled concrete path swivel their heads and glare in my direction, curiously. “That…that…asshole!”

  Undeterred, I stalk across campus, eyes set on one building, and one building alone.

  My day had been going great; after a long, sleepless night, I had finally put Sebastian Osborne out of my mind, aced my chemistry lab test, and scored the last rice crispy treat out of the vending machine in the cafeteria.

  All before ten o’clock.

  With a whistle and a spring in my step, I’d sauntered into the ski and snowboard office to gather whatever last minute travel information I needed for my trip tomorrow. I had nary a care in the world before Chad Hanson, our president, announced, “Hey James, we have a last minute addition coming on the spring break trip this year. He signed up late last night, paid in full by credit card.”

  Chad had paused then, shuffled a stack of papers, and cleared his throat, flipping the long hair out of his green eyes before addressing me again.

  “James? Did you hear me?”

  Shaking my head, I had planted a cheery smile on my face.

  “Sorry, I don’t know what my problem is. What were you saying?”

  “We have a new guy signed up for the trip—Sebastian Osborne, if you can believe it. Why didn’t you tell me he was your cousin? He called before I closed the office last night and paid for the trip with a credit card. Weird, huh?”

  I’m sorry, what? “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

  “I said, we have a new guy signed up for the trip—”

  I’d thrown my hand up to stop him. “No, no, I know what you said, Chad. I just…can’t believe that’s what I’m hearing. We closed registration weeks ago. Weeks.”

  Chad had rolled his lovely green eyes at me—green eyes I’d lately taken to gazing adorningly at when he wasn’t paying attention, stared into the depths of when they widened playfully.

  Kind but cocky, after flirting with me tirelessly for the past year, I was finally starting to reciprocate his affection. Sort of. Well, in my own special way. Add in the fact that he’s an incredibly talented snowboarder?

  “I know James, but it’s Oz Osborne. You don’t just tell that guy no—”

  “Yes you do.”

  “Dude, I had to make an executive decision; no one else was here last night.” Chad had raised his eyebrows at me, daring me to argue. “Osborne wants in on the trip, Osborne comes on the trip. We need the publicity.”

  “Publicity? We don’t need any more publicity! Chad—you and Patrick went to the X Games last year.” Granted, they hadn’t made it past pre-quals, but still.

  The X Games.

  “Whatever, James, I’m not arguing with you.”

  “Seriously? That’s it? You’re letting him come? We had a deadline, Chad! No one applying for the trip was eligible after the 12th of the month!”

  “I know, but dude—since Celeste backed out when her financial aid didn’t come through, we had that one extra spot…”

  That one extra spot, my ass.

  “Where’s he staying, wise ass?”

  “We’ll figure that out when we get to the hotel. He’s your cousin, so maybe…”

  “No!”

  “It’ll work itself out, so chill.”

  Chill? Oh my god, snowboarders and their lackadaisical attitudes.

  Unfortunately, if Chad Hanson wants Oz Osborne on the damn trip, then Chad Hanson gets Oz Osborne on the damn trip. And now I was stuck with him for five entire days. Five days and four nights. One thousand eighty-five miles from school. No professors, no roommates, no parents—just us and the mountains and the fresh pow under our boards.

  My trip was ruined.

  Ruined by the foul-mouthed jock with an appetite for driving me insane. Ruined by a six foot two, sandy-haired Goliath named Sebastian that I was going to kill as soon as I could get my bare hands on him.

  When I reach the library steps, I glance up at the ivy-covered bricks and four stories, wondering if luck would be on my side, wondering if Oz Osborne was inside.

  What does he want with me?

  I’m not stupid; I know he’s coming on this trip to torture me.

  But why? He hardly knows me!

  Determined, I push through my hesitations, through the heavy doors, and into the lobby. Not bothering to remove my heavy down coat like I normally would, my eyes scan the first floor, taking careful measure of everyone there studying. Ginger guy with the glasses. The girl he studies with who obviously has him in the friend-zone despite his horrible efforts at flirting. The Hispanic kid who’s here more often than I am, who always has the same stack of books on the same corner of the same table. The football player and his pretty blonde girlfriend.

  And…Oz.

  I’d recognize that sneaky sonofabeehive anywhere, even from behind.

  Pen poised above a notebook, the muscles in his strong back strain against his thin baby blue tee shirt, neatly outlined and drool worthy. I mean, I can actually see every defined muscle of his damn latissimus dorsi from here.

  God that asshole is gorgeous.

  Unfortunately, he’s not alone; I recognize one of the guys as the idiot from the other night, the one who’d been cheering Oz on and leering at me.

  Nonetheless, I march directly to their table, hell bent on a mission and halting so fast I bump Oz in the elbow from behind, noting with satisfaction a black, inky line smudge across what looks like a very important paper.

  Smirking, I lean in good and close so he can hear every word I’m about to say, my black puffy coat brushing his rock solid shoulder as I murmur into this ear from behind. “I am literally going to kill you.”

  He rocks back, broad shoulders brushing the front of my coat before cocking his head to the side. “I get threats on the daily, Jim. You have to be more specific.”

  “Why’d you do it? Are you insane?” I pull away, drawing back to smack him in the arm—his dense, warm, muscly arm. It’s rock hard under my palm.

  He finally sto
ps writing, puts down his pen, and twists his torso to face me, amused. Cocky bastard.

  The hulky guy beside him laughs. “What’d you do to this one, Ozzy? You lay too much pipe?”

  The big black-haired guy crudely snickers like I’m a joke. Like I’m one of their little fan club members lining up to sleep with them. Nothing better than a groupie. He must find me wanting because his disinterested gaze flares before he redirects his cold, icy blue eyes to Oz. “Get her out of here.”

  I smack Oz again, the corners of his eyes wrinkling humorously as he makes a show of looking me up and down slowly—exactly how he looked at Sydney and Allison and all the other girls. That redheaded girl giving him a hand-job at the house party.

  Callous and cold and dismissive.

  “Oh please.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “Don’t bother pretending not to know who I am you turd. I’m so irritated with you right now I could strangle you with my bare hands.”

  More chuckles from around the table when Oz replies, “I like it rough as the next guy, Jim, but why don’t you wait until we’re alone.”

  “Oh, ha ha. You think this is funny? Is everything a joke to you? Well guess what. Forget it—you are not coming on my spring break trip.”

  “Wait.” The blond giant sitting with them grunts out a baffled, “Ozzy man—is this your sister?”

  Oz winks at me. “Cousin.”

  I ignore the idiot, even as my cheeks get flaming hot. “Sebastian Osborne, I want you to get on the phone right now to cancel this trip.”

  “Whoa, Ozzy, she’s busting out first names—she must be pissed. Are you sure you aren’t banging her?”

  Instead of responding to the barb, Sebastian reaches into his bag, pulls out a pack of gum, unwraps a single stick slowly, and pops the piece in his mouth. A few chews and, “Sorry Jimmy, already paid.”

  My arms cross over my puffy, down-filled chest. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it? Because you are calling Chad Hanson this instant and canceling.” I huff, wanting to stomp my foot in protest.

  At my raised tone, Oz glances around the quiet library, over his shoulder, to the left then to the right. Conspiratorially, he lowers his voice. “Look, Jameson—can we argue about this privately? Without an audience?”

  Oh, now he wants to be civil?

  Fine. I can do civil.

  His behemoth body pushes against the table, chair scraping along the hardwood floor as he stands, rising to his full height.

  I’m reminded how masculine and virile he is. And solid.

  His form towering over me, I fight back an enthusiastic whimper when his hand loosely grasps my forearm. Oz drags me to the far side of the library, dodging and weaving through the tables stealthily, like a maze runner.

  Placing my back against the far wall, he braces his arms against it, bending down into me so he can keep his voice low. He smells like peppermint gum, a fresh shower, and woodsy aftershave lotion. Like a lumbersexual.

  In a word: heaven.

  He grumbles near my ear, “Jameson, I’m going on that trip.”

  “Are you insane?” I hiss up at him. “What on earth possessed you to do that? You don’t even know me. Why would you come on a trip with me?”

  I know he doesn’t have the money. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s broke.

  His blue eyes bore into me and I see his internal debate; he wants to confide something in me—it’s there in his creased brow—but what? What on earth is going on inside that big, beautiful head of his?

  Big beautiful head? Ugh. What has gotten into me lately?

  I give myself a mental slap as Oz gives his head a shake. “I charged six hundred dollars I don’t have on my credit card last night, James. I’m going on that trip.”

  My lips part. “But why? Why would you do that Sebastian? You don’t meet someone and then a few days later decide to take a trip with them. It’s weird.”

  His free hand rises and he rakes it through his moppy, unkempt hair.

  “Because.” The word rushes out; he has to take a deep, steadying breath to continue. “Because for once in my damn life I want to see what it’s like being with someone who doesn’t know who I am.”

  My nose wrinkles. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

  He leans against the wall and stuffs his hands in his pockets, triumphant. “See? Exactly.”

  I’m so confused.

  He releases another breath. “Jim. I’m a wrestler for Iowa; next year I could be training for the Olympics. I could be working in an office somewhere. I’ll go where the money is, so who knows, but nothing about me is normal.”

  My mouth opens, then closes. Then, “I’m sorry, is the wrestling thing a big deal?”

  I can tell he’s trying to school his expression, but he’s failing. His mouth barely stays closed, instead coming unhinged and hanging open. “A big deal? James. Jim. Thousands upon thousands of fans scream my name on a yearly basis. I’ve been on television. I was courted by all Big Ten schools, and three from the Big Twelve as a high school senior before deciding on Iowa.” He looks smug. “So yeah, kind of a big deal.

  Well goodness, how does one respond to that? “I didn’t know.”

  “I know you didn’t know. That’s one of the things I like about you—that and your constant need to give me shit.” When he smiles down at me, I’m close enough to glimpse a chipped lower tooth. White but imperfect.

  Perfectly imperfect.

  Ugh.

  “Why didn’t you tell me who you were?”

  “Tell you?” A laughs bursts out of him then, and I catch another whiff of him when he tips his neck back. “You’re killing me. It’s not a secret. I mean, look around you Jameson. Everyone in here is gawking at us.”

  I peel my eyes away from his face then; he’s right. Heads are turned our way curiously. Gazes, stares, glances—it does seem that everyone is watching us.

  Rude.

  “What are they looking at? Is it my puffy coat?” I complain, pulling at the zipper, nervously dragging it up and down along its track. “Sue me for being cold all the time.”

  Oz raises his finger and bops me on the tip of my nose. “You’re really something, do you know that? Adorable.”

  This time, I roll my eyes and cross my arms with a pout. “Super.”

  He puts an arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze. “We’re going to have a great time, I promise.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m still going to be mad at you for not asking me first. Talk about high handed.”

  “You’ll get over it.”

  Somehow, I doubt that.

  Sebastian

  “Last night before we leave for Utah. Are you packed yet?” I hand a piece of gum to Jameson across the table. She reaches for it and our fingers touch, sending a volt of electricity straight down my spine. It sizzles.

  Weird.

  That’s never happened before.

  I discount it, cracking open my textbook and powering up my laptop.

  “I don’t have much to pack, mostly just winter clothes and some under layers. No biggie.” She taps her pen on the table. “How bout you?”

  I nod. “Yup. I have a duffle that’s always packed for away matches, so I’ll just take out my suit and throw my winter stuff into that. It’ll take me a whole three minutes.”

  “Your suit?”

  “My suit. You know—dress pants, suit coat.” At her confused expression, I elaborate. “We’re required to dress up when we’re guests on another campus for wrestling matches.”

  Jameson giggles. “You keep your suit stuffed in a duffle bag?”

  “Sometimes, yeah. Why?”

  Her forehead creases. “Doesn’t it get wrinkled?”

  “Um, yeah?”

  Her head hits the solid tabletop with a thud. “Ugh, I can’t even with you.” She raises it, eyes smiling. “Who irons it out for you?”

  “Me, myself, and I.” I shoot her a devilish grin. “It’s not like I have someone to iron it for me, but someti
mes I do wear an apron when I press it.”

  Jameson’s head tilts to the side as she studies me, her gaze lingering on my mouth. I can’t tell what she’s thinking right now, but I can only hope she’s picturing me in my imaginary apron.

  Naked.

  “You do not wear an apron.”

  “No, but now you’re picturing me in one, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know, it depends. Is it one of those old-fashioned frilly ones that tie around your waist, or the barbeque grilling ones?” Her elbows hit the table and she leans in. Her pale blue sweater pulls taut over her round, fantastic boobs.

  “Which do you prefer?”

  Jameson pretends to mull it over. “On you? The manly barbeque kind, but not with a cheesy saying on it. I wouldn’t want it to detract from your—” She clamps her lips shut.

  “From my…?”

  Her head gives a little shake.

  “Come on, say it. You wouldn’t want it to detract from my hard…body? My stiff…muscles?” I lean back in the leather desk chair, crossing my arms over my chest. “Would it kill you to flirt with me?”

  “That’s not flirting, that’s blatant—”

  “Foreplay?”

  A jerky nod. “Is that what you’re calling it? You’re driving me crazy.”

  “But not the ‘I want to fuck you’ kind of crazy, huh?”

  She looks nonplussed. Chagrined. “Is sex all you ever think about? You’re relentless.”

  “No, it’s not all I ever think about, but I swear, something about those goddamn sweaters of yours make me stupid.”

  “I’m certainly not going to argue with that,” she says primly. “You do sound stupid.”

  “Does it bother you when I talk like that?”

  “Yes.” But she’s shaking her head no.

  I lean in with a chuckle. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Yes, it bothers me.”

  “Why?”

  Eye roll. “We’ve been over this.”

  Have we? I don’t remember.

  “Well let’s go over it again.” Because it’s fun bantering with you and it’s sexy, and I like to see you squirm in your chair. It gets me turned the fuck on, especially when your breathing escalates and your tits rise inside your cardigan.