The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

“I-I know, I know, but I told them—”

“Them who?”

“Summer and Kyle.”

This get my attention. “What the hell do they want?”

Violet narrows those almond-shaped eyes at me, black lashes fluttering. Agitated. “They’re children. Please be respectful.”

“Fine. What do the darling children wish for you to ask me, pray tell?” I smirk. “That better?”

“Kyle and Summer were talking…”

Fucking Kyle. That kid and his meddling.

“…and the kids were wondering…”

Oh. The kids were wondering?

“…if we could do a play date on their next Thursday with the both of us. I-I promised I’d at least ask.”

We sit silently while the words sink in.

She’s asking me to do a play date.

Play. Date.

Me. With two kids.

Hysterical.

She forges on, because if there’s one thing about Violet that I’ve discovered, it’s that she will do anything for a little kid.

“Kyle assumed you’d say no.”

“Kyle is a very bright young boy.”

“You’re not even going to think about it, are you?”

“Nope. Why should I?”

She takes a deep breath for courage and forges on. “Because, the kids want—”

“Oh! Oh!” I mock. “The kids want! Let me fall all over myself doing fun shit because some eleven-year-old is begging me to.” I level her with a stare. “Tough. Shit. Kids don’t always get what they want, Violet. It’s called life and they’re going to be bitterly disappointed throughout the rest of it.”

She regards me then, quiet. Waiting.

Patient.

Always so goddamn patient.

It’s unnerving and annoying.

Just like Jameson, Oz’s girlfriend.

“I understand.”

“You’re not even going to try to change my mind?” I spit out, no longer able to stand her ambivalence. “You know, for the kids.”

“No.” Her soft voice is barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t my intention to get you all worked up and m-mad about it. I’m so—”

“Don’t fucking apologize. Can we just get this goddamn paper done so I can go home? I have a shit ton of other studying to do.” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger.

Jesus Christ. She’s looking at me like I just kicked her puppy, dejected and crestfallen, no doubt from my callous dismissal.

Well that’s too damn bad, because I don’t have time to think about her sensitive feelings. Or Summer’s. Or Kyle’s. So she can just take her sad eyes and downturned mouth and…

Shaking my head, I ignore the knot forming in the bottom of my stomach, dismissing it as hunger pains. Yeah, that must be what it is; I haven’t eaten in hours and normally don’t go more than two hours between a snack or meal. Why else would my gut feel so shitty?

The silence at our table is deafening.

For the next thirty-five minutes, we do nothing but work side by side, taking notes and exchanging information for my paper. Violet doesn’t smile. Doesn’t laugh.

Doesn’t stutter once, because she’s not fucking talking.

Does nothing but edit my bio essay, that bright yellow highlighter gliding across my notebook in smooth strokes. Her indifference shows in the straight line of her normally smiling mouth. The hesitant replies to my scientific questions. The dulling twinkle in her now guarded eyes.

I follow them now as she reads my paper, scanning my carefully worded essay, following as her eyes trail along line after line, widening occasionally.

Smiling, too.

I can’t stand it.

“What’s so damn amusing?”

Inquiring minds want to know.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You’re laughing at me. Give me the paper.” I try to snatch it back but the little tease holds it far out of my reach.

“I wasn’t laughing at you, Zeke.” She sounds bashful. “I was surprised, is all, especially by this line here.”

I lean in close as she holds it toward me, finger pointing to a sentence near the end of a paragraph.

“It’s good. Insightful.”

My jaw clenches and I cross my arms, moody. “I’m smart, you know, not a fucking idiot.”

“I never implied that you weren’t,” she says quietly. Pauses. “But let’s face it, it is a paper about people having babies with their cousins, and I-I wasn’t expecting it to have so much introspection.”

I raise a brow.

“Introspection is a good thing.”

“Anything else?” I ask, now hungry for her praise.

“The whole thing is actually really…good. I would tell you if it wasn’t. I had Professor Dwyer my sophomore year and know how hard she grades.”

She’s not kidding; Dwyer is a tyrannical bitch.

I’ve had her for less than half a semester and already I can’t stand her. Her class. Her TA, who is just as big a prick as she is.

“Anyway,” Violet is saying, “I think she’ll be pleasantly, um…surprised? By your topic. It’ll be a nice change of pace from all the other boring topics.”

“What was your paper about when you had her?”

Violet squints, the corners of her eyes wrinkling in thought. Her pert nose twitches, reminding me of a rabbit. “Uh, let me think here for a second.” Now she’s closing her eyes, visualizing her paper, I’m sure. “I wanna say it was something on our environment and the effect it has on us getting cancer.” She shoots me a sheepish look. “Snoozefest, I know.”