The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 3)

Did she seriously just say she’s falling in love with me?

There’s no fucking way.

“Just a little.” She fidgets in her seat. “Aren’t you going to say something?” Her eyes are bright, like the sky before it rains. Her voice? Timid and cracking and unusually small. A whisper. “Please say something.”

I have no idea what to fucking say.

She loves me? This girl—this smoking hot, gorgeous, sexy, intelligent girl loves me?

It refuses to compute in my brain. Won’t.

Can’t.

“Oh my God.” A sob escapes her. “You don’t feel the same way.” Her wide eyes take on a horrified gleam. Downcast.

No girl has ever told me they loved me before, if you don’t include my mother.

I sit in stunned silence, processing, basically freaking the fuck out.

“That’s not it,” I finally croak out, my own words raspy. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I get it. I didn’t tell you so you’d say it back. I just had to get it out, so you knew I was serious about you. So you’d know.” She stands, almost knocking over the chair. “I should go.”

“Jesus, Laurel, please—”

Her palm goes up to stop me, nose turning red. She’s about to cry. “Please, just let me leave, okay? I want to go. I’ll be fine.”

But she won’t be fine, and neither will I.

Not by a long shot.

I let her leave, actually sit and watch her pack up her things, fighting back tears as she shoves shit into her backpack, the whole time wishing my brain would work.

Fucking tell me the right thing to say for once.

Rhett

“Mom.”

“Hey honey!”

“Hey.” My unenthusiastic greeting has her proceeding with caution. Maybe she even assumes the worst—that someone on the team has pulled another stupid stunt.

“Everything okay? You never call.”

“Everything is fine.” After a few seconds, I clear my throat. “I need some advice.”

“Is this about Laurel?”

I shift in my desk chair, turning to face the window. “Yeah.”

“Did something happen?”

“No. Yes.” I run a hand through my shaggy hair. Why haven’t I fucking gotten it cut yet? “I don’t know.”

“All right,” she says slowly, cautiously. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“Okay.” She waits me out, patient. “Is it related to…” Her voice drops to a whisper. “S-E-X?”

“What? No!”

“Did you break up with her?”

“Huh?” Why would she phrase it like that: did I break up with her? “No, nothing like that.”

“Because that young lady is sweet on you Rhett—those blue eyes sparkle when they look at you.”

“They do?”

“Yes. Even your dad noticed.”

“Dad?”

“Yes, your dad.” Mom laughs. “We were young once too, you know. We remember what it’s like to be jeune et amoureuse.”

Young and in love.

“Is that it?” Her voice is quiet. “Does that have something to do with it? She’s a sweetheart.”

I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use to classify Laurel, but I keep my mouth shut.

“And she likes you.”

Loves me, actually.

Loves.

I roll the word around in my head, the concept foreign.

“Is that the problem? You don’t think she likes you?”

My silence speaks for itself.

“Why do you think you’re not worthy of her liking you?”

Leave it to Mom get to the root of the problem without even trying. The phone line is silent as I mentally catalogue the reasons why I’m not worthy of her liking me:

I’m not handsome.

I’m not outgoing.

I’m awkward with an embarrassing amount of inexperience.

My teammates treat me like shit though I’m now the team’s winningest athlete.

Laurel is everything I’m not—beautiful, boisterous, and popular.

“Honey, are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to listen to me Rhett Clayton Rabideaux.” Her tone is firm, her words encouraging. “You’re smart, you’re clever, and you’re hardworkin’—not many young men your age can say that.”

I roll my eyes.

“Handsome—”

I scoff, interrupting her monologue.

“Be quiet and listen to your mother,” she snaps over the line.

I clamp my jaw shut.

“I’ve never seen anyone so young work hard as you do. It’s all you’ve done since you were little. You’d set a goal and work toward it—we could never tell you no. I worry that I should have given you more limits, but you never wanted to settle.”

She’s quiet, considering her next words. “Practice, practice, practice. Helped take care of Nanan when she was alive. Worked every single summer, savin’ every last dime to buy that Jeep.”

She pauses again.

“I know you think Dad and I are upset you transferred, and that’s probably my fault, but you couldn’t be more wrong. Daddy and I are selfish. We didn’t want you to transfer because we wanted to keep you close to home—it had nothin’ to do with Iowa as a school. We’re so proud of you, Rhett.

“You’ve always been a role model to your brothers, stayin’ out of trouble, away from the alcohol and drugs. Don’t you think it’s time to let yourself have some fun? Get caught up in the love of an intelligent, pretty girl?”

Silence.

“Rhett honey, anyone with eyes can see that she loves you, even if she doesn’t know it yet herself.”

I give my head a shake she can’t see. “She does know. She told me.”

Mom’s breath hitches. “When?”

“Today.”

“Is that why you’re callin’?”

“Yeah. She told me and I…”

Mom’s voice lowers gently. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Pause. “Is that bad?”

Mom’s short intake of breath is not the reaction I was hoping for.

Shit.

“Oh sweetie. What did she do?”

“She got a little upset, got up and left me sittin’ in the library.”

“How do you feel about Laurel?”

“I like her.”

“Is that all?”

Is it? “No.”

“Do you love her?”

“Maybe.” Probably.

“But you’re not ready to say the words?”

I’m ready; I’m just fucking scared. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ve never said it to anyone but you.”

“I’m sorry honey, I wish it was easy. Wish I could give you an answer and tell you what to do, but I can’t. This one you’re going to have to figure out on your own—it’s your heart.” She pauses. “And Rhett honey?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t make her wait too long—don’t make her wonder. She’s probably already upset and embarrassed enough as it is. Go talk to her and tell her how you feel.”

“Kay.”

But I’m not sure if I will.

Because I’m not sure if I can.

Rhett

“Laurel, I’ve been givin’ this a lot of thought, and last night when I talked to my mom, she told me I shouldn’t make you wait for me to tell you how I feel.”

Wait, shit. I can’t tell Laurel I talked to my mom about her—I’ll sound like a fucking idiot, a goddamn momma’s boy.

I start my speech over, speaking into thin air—into Laurel’s empty yard, where no one is around, leaving me no one to converse with but the squirrel eyeballing me skeptically from a big oak tree.

I give him the stink eye right back. “Stop judgin’ me you little asshole, this is hard enough as it is. I’m tryin’ to…I’m tryin’…”