The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

I know it.

Something about her big, gentle eyes lighting up with satisfaction and delighted joy does something strange to the pit of my stomach.

For once, someone isn’t pissed at me.

She’s pleased.

It’s a weird feeling. Foreign.

Violet walks to the circulation desk, plucks up a sheet of paper from the counter, scribbles on it, and returns with a handwritten line of numbers.

“What’s this?”

“My cell.” She hands the strip of paper over, hand extended. “So you can text me.”

“Can’t you just fucking put it in my phone like a normal person? What are we, twelve?”

The light in her eyes shines at the same time her upturned lips turn down. The small scrap of paper suspends between us, between her fingers, until the awkward tension in the air stifles me.

She’s not going to lower her arm until I take it.

I snatch it out of her hand.

The small scrap of paper with her phone number sits on my desk, folded into thirds, in a neat little square.

It’s been there for four days. Untouched.

Rising from my desk, I pluck it up, unfold it. The crumbly paper makes a crinkling sound and I smooth out the wrinkles on the edge of my desk before spreading it flat.

I stare down at Violet’s neat, tidy handwriting. The loop on the V in her first name. The blue, fine-tipped marker lines, bold and crisp. I palm my phone, unlocking the screen, and scroll with my thumb over the green messenger icon. Click. Hit compose with a scowl.

Zeke: We should talk about this Thursday. Figure out this play date crap.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

Violet: All right.

I roll my eyes and huff at her unenthusiastic reply before tapping out mine.

Zeke: Where do you think we should take the kids

Violet: Where would you like to take them?

Zeke: This wasn’t my brilliant ducking idea so this is all on you.

Violet: LOL

Zeke: What’s so funny?

Violet: You when you’re trying to be badass but your phone autocorrects to ducking.

Zeke: Shit, I didn’t even notice.

Violet: Okay, so, play date…how about bowling?

Zeke: God no.

Violet: What about painting pottery at one of those fun studios—the kids would LOVE THAT.

Zeke: Are you fucking serious?

Violet: I’m trying to be helpful!

Zeke: It’s a no.

Zeke: I said I’d play date; I never said I’d play nice.

Violet: Okay, how about the zoo?

Zeke: I would literally rather have my balls sliced off with a dull knife.

It takes her four minutes to respond to that, and I smirk, imagining her face is bright red to the roots of that light blonde hair.

Violet: It’s warm enough outside for the zoo—we should try to take advantage while we can.

Zeke: No to the zoo. Next.

Violet: Um…

Zeke: Try again, you’re doing great so far.

Violet: They have dollar movies and dollar popcorn at the Cineplex on Tuesdays and Thursdays when they show old movies.

Zeke: Which theater does that?

Violet: The little one on Main. I think Fantastic Beasts is playing?

Zeke: Then afterward, you can go ahead and shoot me?

Her next text takes an entire eight minutes.

Violet: I’m going to be honest with you, even if it makes me uncomfortable talking about it—I think you should know these kids come from really low-income families and they get to go to the movies almost NEVER

Zeke: I’m not sitting through a flipping cartoon.

Violet: It’s not a cartoon. It’s kind of like Harry Potter.

Zeke: …which I have not seen.

Violet: I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.

Zeke: Well have you seen the complete Star Wars trilogy?

Violet: Uh. NO.

Violet: Okay, what about a trampoline park?

Zeke: No offense Violet, but your ideas suck.

Violet: Really? I thought FOR SURE you were going to bite on that one…

Zeke: Wait. Did you say trampoline park?

Violet: One just opened in the industrial park off McDermott.

Zeke: Fine.

Her texts stop again. I wait a few minutes.

Violet: Was that a YES to the trampoline park?

Zeke: If there are actual tramps there, then it was a yes.

Violet: Haha, very funny.

Zeke: I thought so.

Violet: That is EXCELLENT! They’re going to be so excited!

Zeke: I too am thrilled beyond my wildest dreams, but not shouty caps thrilled.

Violet: Oh hey, Zeke?

Zeke: What.

Violet: Just a gentle reminder, don’t forget to get permission from Kyle’s mom.

Zeke: Peachy. I’ll get right on that.

Zeke

In the end, I didn’t forget to message Kyle’s mom. In fact, it was the one thing I didn’t fuck up this week, and Krystal Jones was ecstatic that I was taking Kyle to do something he rarely gets to do.

Be a kid.

Have fun.

Play somewhere she normally can’t afford to take him.

The conversation was awkward. Made me feel…like an over-privileged asshole…which I’ll admit to being, through no fault of my own. I didn’t choose to have wealthy parents, just like Kyle didn’t choose to have a deadbeat, piece-of-shit absentee father. His mom works her ass off and they still have no money.

But whatever.

Not my problem.

Not really.

Instead of dwelling on it, I shift my focus to Violet, who’s standing next to a tall blue trampoline, still wearing her fall coat.