The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)

“Was he seriously a virgin?” Not that it matters, but since he brought it up…

“Nah, I don’t think so. It was our marketing hook, just had more mass appeal, know what I mean? Ladies dig virgins.”

“They do?” This is news to me.

“Oh yeah, totally. The whole thing blew up, right? Chicks texting and calling nonstop, wanting to bang him. All in all, a total success.”

“Isn’t that an invasion of privacy, putting his actual phone number on posters?”

“Totally legal.”

“Is it though?” I make a mental note to look it up as Rex continues his story.

“So anyway, it ends with a happy ending because he has a girlfriend now and they’re shacking up.”

“Are you sure he didn’t move out because of the prank?”

“No way man, he should be thanking us—we’re matchmakers. Without those flyers, he never would have hooked up with his girlfriend. She was one of the chicks who texted him.”

Oh.

Well.

How interesting.

“Are you friends with her?”

“Nah, she hates us.” Gunderson laughs, and it’s loud and so full of humor, I laugh along with him. I mean, come on—how could you not? You’d have to be stone cold not to find this guy the teeny tiniest bit amusing.

He is a complete numskull.

I can say with full confidence that Rex Gunderson, honest to God, thinks he is ruler of pranks, and he sees nothing wrong with pulling them. In his opinion, they are harmless fun, and the truth is? I am highly entertained, one hundred percent.

I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.

I want to climb inside his brain and find out what makes it tick.

“Is there more? Did you pull any other pranks last year?”

“Let me think—after I eat this chicken wing.”

He stuffs one in his mouth, whole.

Chews. Swallows.

Grabs another one, wash, rinse, repeat.

Cleans himself off with a napkin, moaning with pleasure. “Damn those are good. I could eat here every night of the week.”

Yeah, he could, because it’s a cheap bar that serves cheap fried food, not an actual restaurant.

I hand him a wet wipe for his chin. “You were saying?”

“Right, pranks. Oh! Duh. I brought my roommate’s girlfriend up to a cabin once and left her there with him alone, without a car.”

I blink. “What?”

“Yeah. I told his girlfriend—well, she wasn’t his girlfriend at the time. I don’t even think they’d banged yet…” Rex pauses, thinking a little too hard. “No, they definitely weren’t dating. So I give her this sob story about this bonding weekend up at Coach Donnelly’s cottage and said all the girlfriends and shit were going to be there—they weren’t—and if she didn’t want him to be the only loser there without anyone, she should go up and surprise him.”

“Did she?”

“Totally.”

“And?” Jeez, get to the point! This story is taking forever.

“And I drove her up. Then when they went upstairs to dump her luggage and stuff, we disappeared. Left them there.” Another pause so he can scarf down a few more wings. “Man, he was so pissed, no way was I going back. Besides, I wasn’t the only one involved so it wasn’t my fault.”

“Whose idea was it?”

“Well, mine, but someone could have stopped me.”

I genuinely think Rex Gunderson is just a careless human being. He’s selfish and callous, thinking only about himself.

It’s not that he doesn’t consider consequences, it’s that he lives for the moment.

Lives for fun.

Thinks he’s damn near invincible.

I wonder what it would take to break this guy. What would have to happen to make him take a hard look at himself? To change him?

After sitting with him, hearing him talk, I’m not sure if the answer is time.

Maybe maturity?

“He moved out after that?”

“Shortly after, once the semester ended, yeah.”

“And now you and your roommate have an extra room?”

“Yup.”

“The big room.”

He stops dipping a piece of celery in the ranch dressing to watch me. “Yup, the big room.”

“You know, not too long ago, I needed a place to live.” I smile, twirling my straw innocently. “I could have taken that big room.”

“No shit? That would have been cool—having a girl roommate.”

I cringe, wondering what life would be like living with a goon like Rex and a jackass like Eric Johnson. It would be a nightmare, that’s what. I bet they’re complete slobs, careless, and inconsiderate.

“Cool…hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. How long has it been since you vacuumed?”

“Vacuumed?”

My head tips back as the bubble of laughter climbs up my throat. “You know, a vacuum, the machine that sucks dirt and crumbs off the floor, keeps the house clean.”

“I don’t think we have one of those.”

He doesn’t know? “How do you clean?”

“Clean what?”

“Uh, your house?”

“Oh. Sometimes when we have girls spend the night, we have them clean the bathroom and shit before they leave in the morning.”

“For real?”

“It’s a pretty sweet deal actually, and so much cheaper than hiring someone to do it.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Why? You’ve never heard of hiring someone to clean your place?”

“No, not that. I can’t believe you said you have the girls you have sex with clean your shit up in the morning. We are on a date.”

Rex Gunderson scrunches up his goofy features. “I’d never ask you to scrub my toilet, that I can guarantee you.”

He winks.

I cannot stop laughing.

“You’re…I don’t even know what to say about you right now.”

“Trust me, many have come before you, tried, and failed.”

I don’t know why, but this makes me laugh even harder.

Gunderson has brought me to a biker bar.

Perfect.

Way to woo the ladies, Gunderson.

He’s disappeared into the crowd, presumably to schmooze and get us adult beverages, although now that I think about it, he never asked what I wanted.

What a gentleman.

I scan the crowd, bodies packed into the building far beyond capacity. Bright blue lights strobing, loud music vibrating the speakers.

“What’s the verdict?” a deep voice asks near my ear, warm breath brushing the outer shell and tickling my neck. It makes me shiver.

Has me swinging, nailing my roommate in the stomach with the back of my hand.

“Shit! Jeez, don’t sneak up on people, Elliot! And never do that at home—you’ll give me a heart attack.”

His presence gives my heart a kick, sending it into mild palpitations I’ve recently become familiar with.

“How can I sneak up on you in this place? It’s packed!” He has to dip his head so I can hear him, and I’m not exactly put off by his nearness.

Not in the least.

Because by leaps and bounds, Elliot St. Charles is growing on me. Gives me butterflies. Has me lying awake, staring at the ceiling, listening hard for the sounds of his—

“Where’s your date?” he asks, emphasizing the last word with air quotes, a sardonic smirk spreading his lips. “I saw him scurry off like a little rat.”

“I had to run to the bathroom and he maybe ran to get us drinks, not a hundred percent sure.”

“You are not going to take a drink from him. No fucking way.”

I lean in to hear his reply. “What do you mean?”

“Hello—date rape drugs? I don’t know anything about that dude other than the fact that he’s a complete fuckwit, but I definitely wouldn’t take a drink from him.”

I slap a hand over my mouth, eyes wide. “Oh my God, you’re right! I never thought of that.”

“I’m not saying he’s going to, or that he’s the kind of guy who would. Just be careful.”