The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 3)

“Come on.” She takes my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Me: What time do you have class tomorrow?

Laurel: Ten fifteen. You?

Me: I have to be on campus around then. Want me to come get you in the morning and we can walk together?

Laurel: Sure, I’d love that. Want to meet outside on the first block? Intersection of Dorset and Winona?

Me: No. I’ll come get you at your house. 9:45?

Laurel: That sounds perfect.

Laurel

I check my hair at least a half-dozen times, once more running a palm down the loose waves to smooth them, tossing them over my shoulder when I’m done. Tilt my head this way and that in the mirror, the light catching on my large gold hoop earrings.

Add another coat of black mascara. Lip gloss.

My navy-blue t-shirt is long-sleeved, and I throw a vest over the top. Black leggings. Tall black boots.

I want to look cute, but not like I’m trying too hard since Rhett isn’t judging me by my appearance. I’ve noticed that about him—he’s focused on me. Not my hair, or my face, or my boobs.

Still, I want to look cute—for him.

Satisfied with my reflection, I hit the light on my way out of the bathroom, gathering up my backpack, phone, and sunglasses.

Unbutton my vest so my boobs show.

Button it.

Catch my reflection in the mirror by the door, give my hair another fluff.

Rhett is sauntering down the street when I come out of the house, bag slung over his broad shoulder, holding the strap with one hand, the other shoved into the pocket of his dark, slouchy jeans.

He’s got a blue ball cap covering his unruly hair, and I can see the curly ends sticking out of the bottom from my spot on the porch. His Henley sweater is gray, layered over a white t-shirt, the stark white peeking out from beneath his collar.

Man, this guy is growing on me like a weed.

“Mornin’.” His voice is a deep baritone, the kind of deep from having just woken up, the sexy deep that makes your insides quiver, shakes your shoulders.

“Hello to you.” I hold up my offering. “Hungry?”

Two vanilla protein shakes.

Rhett takes one, surprised. “Thank you.”

“I have water bottles in my backpack, too.”

His brows go up. “Really?”

“One for you, one for me.”

We start off under the brisk morning clouds, overcast skies above, an impending rain forecast looming. I sidle a few inches to my left, closer to Rhett’s imposing form.

Brush my elbow against his arm. Once. Twice.

I watch as he bites the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning. To occupy himself, he opens up the protein shake and takes a long pull, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, smiling around the bottle. “What class do you have this morning?”

“Astronomy.”

“Astronomy?”

I laugh, taking a swig of my shake. “Yeah. I had a science gen-ed to fulfill. I dragged my feet freshman year, so I have to take it now.” I shoot him a sidelong glance, eyeing his ball cap, the hair looping around his ears. “What about you?”

We arrive at the crosswalk, stopping to check traffic.

“Global Environmental Policy and Negotiation.”

“Did my eyes just bug out?” I laugh. “Because that sounds intense.”

“It is.”

“How do you manage?”

Those hefty shoulders lift into a shrug. “I just do.”

A cool breeze blows across the commons, and I step closer still, my body aching for physical contact.

“You cold?” he asks, brows drawn. “Do you want to go back for a jacket?”

“No. I’ll be fine once I get inside.” It’s my fault I wanted to look cute and not puffy from a thick coat.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” I shiver.

In my imagination, Rhett’s hand moves up and down my back, doing that thing you do when you’re trying to keep someone warm. I’d snuggle into him, settle under his armpit. Bask in his warmth.

Sigh contently.

Instead, we march onto campus in the direction of the science building in a comfortable silence. It feels good being next to him, and when we get closer to my building, I’m tempted to rise to my tiptoes and show him just how—

“Hey Rhett!” A female voice interrupts from behind.

Together, we turn.

A pretty little brunette stands about ten feet away, sheepishly clutching a stack of books in her hands. She’s short, perky, and eyeing him up and down.

“Hey Monica.”

Ah, so he does know her.

She spares me a brief glance but shoots him an eager, blinding smile.

“Are you going to be coming to study group this week?”

“I’m not sure. I’m caught up with all my notes, so…” Rhett’s voice trails off. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“If you can’t make it, maybe we can change it?” She blushes, shrinking down into her winter coat. “I’m sure the others would be glad to see you there.”

And by others, she means herself.

She’s so hopeful.

Something in the pit of my stomach curls, wraps itself around my heart and squeezes.

Monica has a crush on Rhett.

Crap.

Monica has a crush on Rhett, and she’s in his study group for the entire semester.

Ugh.

Not going to lie, insecurity wells up in the form of jealousy, and in a move I’ll later classify as blatantly territorial, I loop my arm through his, relaxing my hand on his bicep. The muscles flex instinctively beneath my palm.

Monica’s eyes slide to that hand, landing and resting there. When her mouth forms a little O of understanding, my inner bitch does a fist pump, throws a parade, and waves at the onlookers.

Yes, that’s right—he’s mine.

“Oh. Okay, well…okay.” Monica’s dull brown ponytail blows in the breeze. “Guess I’ll see you in class.”

Rhett nods, clueless. “Yup.”

“Bye.” She scurries off, and we both watch as she hastily disappears into the university union. I’m holding Rhett by the arm, right next to his warm, heated body.

My hand gives his muscles one solid squeeze before releasing him, stepping away. “Thanks for the company.”

“No problem.” He looks down at the ground then up at me, hair in his eyes. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” I smile up at him. “What are you doing later?”

“Practice. We have a home meet this week.”

My brows shoot up into my hairline. “You do?”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “It’s at the arena.”

The arena is huge.

“Isn’t that where they have basketball games?”

“That’s the one.”

“Wow. That many people show up?”

Rhett laughs, snaking his fingers under his baseball cap and readjusting it. Plays with the bill, squeezing it tighter over his forehead. “Yeah. That many people show up.”

“How would you find me in the crowd if I showed up?” I playfully tease.

“I have a feeling you’d be hard to miss.” He dips his head, embarrassed.

So freaking adorable.

“I’d love to come see you wrestle. What time does it start?”

“Six. I can…” He trails off. Clears his throat. “I can make sure you have tickets at will call.”

I take that moment to lean in, the front of my vest brushing against his sweater, getting up nice and close. “I would love that.”

I’m not trying to invade his personal space, but I do it anyway. He smells freshly showered and incredible, clean and strong and male. “You smell good.”

His white teeth play peekaboo with his lips. “So do you.”

We stand outside the brick science building, grinning at each other until a girl from my class walks by, staring openly. Curiously. Wiggles her brows as she passes. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her; she sits in the back row, too.

I’ll have to introduce myself.

“I guess I should go inside.”

“Right. I should…” He throws a thumb over his shoulder.