The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)

“Why?”

“Confidentiality.”

Her, “Oh,” is small.

“Have you considered telling him about these dickwads?”

“No. Well, yes, but he would totally lose his mind. This is our fresh start and it would, I don’t know, make him so mad. He’d freak, and I don’t want to ruin the semester.” Her sigh is loud. “Why do guys do stuff like that?”

“Stuff? You mean act like fucking idiots? I have no freaking idea since I generally try not to act like one.”

“I can tell.”

“How?”

“I don’t know—you have a way about you. You’re more mature, and you’re not… you’re just different.”

Anabelle

This guy is kind of awesome.

He’s gazing at me insightfully, waiting for me to say something, to tell him what happened that had me so upset I was ugly crying in the back corner of the library.

So upset that I interrupted his studying.

Ugh.

As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, the guy is really cute, and it’s never fun making an ass of yourself in front of a complete stranger you find attractive. Like, shoot me now.

He waits me out with a neutral expression schooled on his face, dark brows dipped into a worried line. They’re darker than his hair, a rich brown, expressive, arching and bending with each word I utter.

I noticed his height when he first approached my table, tall and toned with a gray T-shirt stretched across a set of broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Eyes I can see are green now that I’m up close.

A tiny cleft in his chin I’m finally forced to peel my eyes off of.

“As I mentioned, I, uh…” Could he not study me so intently? He’s listening so hard it’s making me nervous. “I overheard some guys in the weight room talking about me.”

“What did they say?”

I lower my voice into a false baritone. “Let’s get real here—the only reason he wants to fuck her is because she’s Coach’s daughter. I heard she’s not even hot.” I pause. “In a nutshell.”

“Not hot?” The guy laughs, tipping his head back. “Well we know that’s bullshit, and I can say this because I’m not trying to hit on you. You are definitely not a brown bagger.”

That’s his take-home factoid from all that? “Uh…thanks?”

“The good news is, now that other people know about it, it won’t be a bet for long. It will get back to your dad, trust me.”

“Yeah.” My voice is small and I hate it. “I bet it will.”

“Was that a joke?”

“Not on purpose.”

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but maybe you should stay out of the weight room for a while, just until you figure out what you’re going to do, until the whispers die down.”

“Maybe, but I still have to exercise. If I see either of those guys, it’ll make me want to…”

“Cry?” he supplies when I don’t finish my sentence.

“No, punch them in their faces.”

He draws back with another laugh, his whole face changing.

Jesus, that dent in his chin—so freaking ugh!

“I doubt anyone would blame you if you planted them a facer, and Donnelly wouldn’t either.”

I sigh into my hands. “Yeah, my dad’s been known to support a good, swift kick to the groin.”

“That would level them to the ground, for sure.”

“That doesn’t solve my problem though—I have class with one of these guys.”

“Right.” His voice is smooth and steady like a rich whiskey. “What are you going to do?”

“Besides avoid him like the plague? I don’t know, I’ll have to think about it, maybe Google voodoo magic and revenge spells.”

“Well, I’m here all the time if you want to run any ideas past me.” He chuckles low and deep.

And that’s my cue to leave.

“I should get going.” I rise, collecting my things. “See you around maybe?” I glance at him over my shoulder, silky hair swaying.

He lifts his hand in a wave. Smiles. “Take care. I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks for, you know, listening.”

“No problem. Good luck.”

I saunter away slowly, checking my phone, shooting him another glance over my shoulder. He’s watching me, that handsome smile plastered on his classically handsome face.

What a nice freaking guy, unlike those assholes on the wrestling team.

I feel so much better after getting everything off my chest, but my mind still reels, not quite ready to let Eric Johnson or Rex Gunderson off the hook.

Those douchebags need to learn a lesson.

And I’m just the girl to teach them.

Anabelle

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Without even looking, I know it’s Eric Johnson—that fucker—standing next to the treadmill, lurking.

It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to turn on him. Scream. Knee him in the nuts. “Meeting like what?”

“At our special spot.”

My legs continue moving to the rhythm of the music beating through my headphones, the thumping bass a lively melody I was enjoying until a moment ago, praying I wouldn’t run into him.

Seems God wasn’t taking requests this morning.

“This is not our special spot, but nice try. This is you interrupting while I’m trying to get my workout in.”

“It could be our special spot if you let it.”

I remove my earbuds, an exasperated sigh building in my throat. I force it back down. “You’re pushy, aren’t you?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if it’s a jock thing or an asshole thing.”

He clutches his chest in mock pain. “Ouch! So angry today.”

I laugh because I can’t help myself; the look on his face is priceless. So dramatic. “Well? Which is it, jock or asshole?”

“Honestly? A bit of both.”

I hit the speed button on the machine, dropping it from a light jog to a walk, slowing so I can get a better look at this guy, the one who made a disgusting bet with Rex Gunderson, who has the gall to think I’d be interested in sleeping with him.

“Can I be honest with you? You drive me nuts.”

“Nuts in a good way or a bad way, because I photocopied mine once.”

“You photocopied your nuts? Why?” I hold my hand out to stop him because I don’t actually want him to answer. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. I meant it in a bad way.”

I grab the towel hanging off the treadmill, tossing it around my neck, intent on heading to the locker room, hoping he won’t trail behind me.

He does, because he’s dense, quickening his pace to keep in step. “What’s your name?”

I halt.

“I’ve told you before, Eric Johnson.” I throw out his name to rub in the fact that he forgot mine so quickly. “We’ve already exchanged names.”

“Sorry. I meet a lot of people.” He doesn’t look the least bit apologetic.

“I just bumped into you a few days ago.”

“Can we start over?”

I keep walking, waving him off. “Nah, we’re good.”

“Lilah, wait up.”

I roll my eyes. Stop in my tracks. Spin on my heel to glare at him. “It’s Anabelle—Lilah isn’t even close.”

Eric Johnson grins. “I knew you’d tell me your name.”

“Oh my God, you’re—you’re such a…” Douchebag.

His stupidity has rendered me speechless, and I wonder what my dad would say about all this, what he’d say if he knew Eric was making bets and stalking me around the gym.

“I seem to have that effect on all the ladies.”

“You’re not having an effect on me.”

“I’m not?”

When I laugh, it’s a little too loud, turning a few heads in our direction. Oops. “No, you’re not.”

“What’s it going to take to get a girl like you to go out with a guy like me?”