The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)

Guilty, I glance away, staring up at the trophies lining my wall on a shelf my dad helped me build at the beginning of the year when I moved all my shit into this dump.

Anabelle closes the space between us, inviting herself farther into my room, perching on the edge of my bed, making herself comfortable like we’re familiar, like we’ve chatted like this a million times before.

“Are you going somewhere tonight?” I ask curiously, changing the subject.

“Yes, just for a little bit.” She leans back, resting with her elbows on my quilt, swinging her legs off the end of my bed. “I met this girl in one of my classes and we really hit it off. She just texted me and thought we could meet up and have a coffee or something.”

Coffee at night? Anabelle is going to be flying off the walls later.

She reads my mind. “Don’t worry, I’ll drink hot chocolate or something. She just wants to talk—I don’t think she has many friends, either.”

“Which class?”

“It’s one of the science classes I needed to fulfill a gen-ed requirement—biology. She’s actually one of the TAs.”

“This isn’t going to be a repeat of the night I brought you home that first time, is it?”

Anabelle groans. “I can’t believe you’re bringing that up, and no, it’s not going to be a repeat because we are just going to sit and talk at a coffee shop.”

“Whatever, it’s none of my business.”

My roommate leans over, patting my leg. “Yeah, sure it isn’t.”

“For real. It’s none of my business.”

“Oh come on—you don’t take an active interest in what I do? Don’t lie, we spend all our time together.”

That’s true. We have been spending a lot of time together. “Fine. Maybe I do give a shit about what you do, but only because I care and want you to be safe.”

“Right, only because you want me to be safe.”

Anabelle stares me down, blue eyes boring into me at the end of the bed, biting back a smile, wanting to say something else. I can see it in the way she’s worrying her bottom lip, in her eyes—the twinkle in them.

But she doesn’t just blurt out whatever she’s thinking.

I admire that about her, the fact that she doesn’t just say what’s on her mind, that she knows when and how much to say. She’s not nosy and she’s not overly tenacious; that in itself makes me want to tell her things I wouldn’t share with anyone else.

“Anyway, I should go. I just wanted to pop in and tell you again how sorry I am for what happened when my dad was here, but you understand why I didn’t tell him, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“I really wanted to live here and I didn’t want him to try to stop me. He would have had no problem with a female, which is dumb because living with girls has been nothing but drama. This has been like a vacation.” She pauses. “Well, except for tonight. That was embarrassing.”

“It’s fine. It’s over.” And hopefully he won’t be back to give us a hard time, because I really don’t want her moving out, either.

I like having her here.

The house wouldn’t be the same without her.

It certainly wouldn’t smell as good.

“No more drama, I promise.”

Anabelle

I beat Rex Gunderson to class.

Unfortunately, there are far too many open seats available, including two on each side of me, presenting him with the perfect opportunity for him to plop down next to me when he finally gets here.

I’m seated halfway up, in a middle row, a bird’s eye view when he strolls through the door at the front of the room.

He’s wearing a different version of the same outfit I’ve seen him in every class: khakis, an embroidered Iowa wrestling polo, brown belt, tennis shoes. If he’s trying to look the part of a team manager, he’s certainly doing a bang-up job.

Rex reaches my row, shimmying his way down the aisle until he’s pulling a desk next to me, inching it closer, close enough that I can smell a heavy-handed dose of aftershave and notice the hairs on his chin he missed while shaving.

He’s still wet from his shower, shaggy dark hair falling in damp, sloppy strings.

“Hey. Thanks for saving me a seat.” He yawns.

“I wasn’t saving you a seat.”

He sighs. “You know what I mean.”

“I was just stating the obvious, Reginald.”

He narrows his eyes. “I hate that nickname.”

“It’s actually not a nickname, so…”

I’m being a brat and don’t even care.

“If we’re going to be friends, you’ll have to call me Rex.” His grin is patronizing, and I’m embarrassed that I ever found it charming.

It’s not.

It’s strange and annoying and it makes me want to pop him right in the kisser.

“Did you get the notes I emailed you from class?”

Before I discovered what a sleaze he is, I borrowed lecture notes from him. Our professor talks really fast, and I never took pictures of the projection screen, so I had Rex email me his.

“Yes, I did. Thank you.” My lips purse.

Fiddling with the laptop, I decide to take notes longhand instead since I’m quicker at it than typing on a keyboard.

“Busy weekend?” he asks, making small talk.

“No.”

Short, sweet, and to the point.

Maybe he’ll get the hint and stop talking.

“What do you have going on tonight?” He leans in closer, shooting me a flirtatious smile. “Feel like doing something?”

Wait—is he going to ask me out? “What are you suggesting?”

“You’re new to town. I could show you around.”

“Yeah? Where would you take me? Because I’ve already been to the park, a house party, and the mall.”

He scratches his neck. “That doesn’t leave us with many options.”

I stare straight ahead at the whiteboard, eyes scanning the previous class’s notes, acting bored. “Not many options? That’s too bad.”

“What about a date or something?”

“A date? With you?”

“Yeah, I could take you out. We could go dancing or something.”

“Dancing? Where?”

“Mad Dog Jacks has a dance floor.”

“Mad Dog Jacks?” I let the sound of indecision enter my voice, pursing my lips. “Isn’t that a biker bar?”

“It used to be.”

“But it’s still a bar, right?”

“Sure, but they have a dance floor.”

I tap on my chin, pretending to ponder his offer. “Hmm, let me think about it.”

“Take your time. We have the entire class.”

“How magnanimous of you.”

Gunderson winks. “No problem, babe.”

Babe.

Gag me.

Elliot

“Knock, knock.”

“Door’s open.”

Literally, it’s wide open—I have no idea why Anabelle is actually knocking.

She appears in the doorway, fully dressed to go downtown, looking fucking fantastic, not at all casual like she did for her night out with the girl from her class.

My stomach drops and I sit up straighter in the middle of my bed, where I’ve been studying, transcribing notes for a class I’ve been struggling to ace, thinking that maybe when I was finished, Anabelle and I would spend the rest of the night watching movies or playing a game, or maybe go for a drink.

Together.

“You’re going out? I thought we could do something later.”

“We were, but then Rex asked me out—dinner and dancing—and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to feel him out a little. You know, do a little reconnaissance work? Kind of like an undercover FBI mission where I infiltrate enemy territory. See if it’s worth my time to get back at the smarmy bastard.”

“Oh.” I flop back against my headboard. “That’s cool.”

Passive aggressive much, Elliot?

Anabelle’s brows shoot up. “Why are you saying it like that? Do you want me to stay home? Because I will. We can hang out.”