The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

Violet moans. So unexpectedly long and loud, I play with her again. Her tits are small, sure, but when I effortlessly glide my palm over the palest, silkiest skin I’ve ever felt, the size isn’t even registering in my brain as inadequate.

She feels perfect. Unspoiled.

On the television, there’s shouting and arguing as the Highlanders engage in battle, but I barely hear any of it.

Our tongues roll, hers tentative at first. That’s fine, I don’t need her trying to devour me; we can build to that.

My hands slide out from under her bra, tracking toward the waistline of her pants. Dip down into her waistband, back and forth over her hips with just enough room to roam.

She sucks in a breath.

Holds it.

I smile into her mouth, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, fumbling to find the button on her jeans, feeling around the denim belt loops blindly, like Helen Keller on steroids.

“Zeke, please stop.”

I freeze. Stop. Fingers motionless at the fly of her pants. Lowering my hand slowly, I pull away from her body, eyes seeking her wide hazel irises. Face flushed, her parted lips plump from being thoroughly sucked and kissed.

“I’m sorry, but we have to stop.”

I lean forward on the couch, resting those coarse palms on my knees, running them up and down my thighs before raising them to my head, running them through my hair.

“It’s fine, Violet.”

“I-I thought m-maybe I could do this, but I can’t.”

Can’t?

That—that right there is what sets me off.

“Do this with me, or with anyone?” The words slip out of my mouth, already knowing the answer.

She doesn’t want to do this with me, and why the hell is that bothering me so much? I’m not fucking good enough? Too angry, too dark, too forward?

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“Whatever. I said it’s fine.” My jaw is clenched. I work it back and forth to loosen it, certain I must look like a psychopath.

She’s struggling to tug her shirt down, straightening the hemline, pulling it over her waistband. “Y-you don’t sound fine…”

I laugh, the sound slightly maniacal. “Trust me. I was fine before you came alone, and I’ll be fine long after you’re gone.” I stand abruptly, snatching up my jacket then tugging on my boots.

“Why are you getting so upset?” One hand rakes over that pink mouth, tips of her fingers stoking her swollen lips.

“I’m not,” I grind out, unconvincing.

“I-I just didn’t want things to go too far.”

“Too far? We’ve been making out for like, five minutes. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Her face turns bright red. “But you were unzipping my pants…”

“So? What did you think I was going to do, Violet? Fuck you on the couch? We were just making out, it wasn’t a big deal. Maybe I wanted to get you off—Jesus, I’m able to control myself.”

“I know that!”

“Then why did you stop us?” I start to yank open the front door, pausing when she gives a diminutive shrug. “Are you afraid of one goddamn orgasm or are you just afraid of me?”

“I-I was trying to gather my wits!”

“What are you talking about?”

“We both know you have more experience than I do; maybe I wanted five seconds before letting you stick your hand inside my pants.”

I stab my finger toward the ground. “This is the reason I don’t do relationships. This. Right here.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say.” She scowls as I step onto the front porch. “Did it ever occur to you not to react like I just rejected you? This isn’t about you, Zeke, it’s about me. We could have just stopped and cooled off for a minute.”

Her voice gets louder with each word that comes pouring, crystal clear, out of her mouth, hands balled up into little fists.

Her frustration wins out a breath later.

“I-It’s embarrassing enough t-telling you I have less experience. My track record is two guys! Two. And then you throw it back at me by being an insensitive jerk! Sex isn’t a big deal to you, but it’s a big deal to me—it’s for relationships.” She’s stabbing herself in the chest with her thumb. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Zeke Daniels, but I’m not the kind of girl you just sleep with. I-I’m the kind you keep.”

She’s glaring knives and daggers.

“Do you care? No! God no! You have your head stuck so far up your own ass, you probably haven’t noticed that guys aren’t exactly lining up to date me!”

What the hell? I’m the one getting rejected here, so what is she so upset about?

“You’re taking this the wrong way. I just wanted to take a quick step back before we crossed the line.” Violet’s hand grips the door handle. “So go. Go on. Leave if you’re going to be a big baby.”

Then, just as I’m about to open my mouth and, I don’t know, apologize, Violet does the last thing I expect her to do.

She slams the fucking door in my face.

Zeke: You should know—I don’t apologize to people.

Violet: Then don’t.

Zeke: But I feel goddamn guilty about leaving.

Violet: You didn’t have to text me to tell me that. I don’t feel bad about kicking you out.

Zeke: You didn’t kick me out, I left.

Violet: Remember that part where I slammed the door in your face.