The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

In front of an entire stadium full of spectators. In front of a nation of people.

My mouth gapes, and I lean toward my monitor, enthralled.

He is larger than life, this boy.

This man.

Zeke: It’s me. You have time to talk?

Violet: Yes.

Zeke: How was your week?

Violet: Okay. Yours?

Zeke: I’ve had better—I miss you Violet. I really fucking miss you.

Violet: It’s only been a few days.

Zeke: It doesn’t matter. I feel sick to my fucking stomach every time I think about this whole damn mess.

Violet: I honestly still don’t know what to say about it, Zeke.

Zeke: Did you at least get my letter?

Violet: Yes, I got your letter.

Zeke: What did you think?

Violet: I think it was your truth, and I know it took a lot of effort for you to say all those things

Zeke: I hear a but coming.

Violet: But actions speak louder than words, Zeke.

Zeke: Then help me Violet. I don’t know what I’m doing.

Violet: I know you don’t. I wish I knew what to say. I wish you hadn’t…made me feel what I felt, good and bad. In a matter of weeks, you’ve managed to make me feel both.

Zeke: Pix, please. I am sitting on a bus in the middle of fucking nowhere, unable to do anything but text you, and it’s going to take at least another two hours before I’m home. So PLEASE just don’t tell me no. Not yet.

Violet: Are you sure you’re not feeling this way because you’re not getting what you want? Is it because you care, or because you’re being stubborn?

Zeke: Probably both, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I care a lot—more than I’ve ever cared about ANYTHING. I can’t even believe I’m having a conversation like this. Do you realize that? This is insane. I’m texting about my FEELINGS.

Violet: It’s nice.

Zeke: It’s nice? That’s all you have to say? Because I’m skittish as hell and kind of want to puke my guts out.

Violet: YES ZEKE. That’s all I have to say. Because it’s really nice to hear, and maybe someday you’ll get to the point when you can SHOW it.

Zeke: I know I deserve that.

Violet: I hear a but coming.

Zeke: But it still fucking sucks.

Violet: They’re just words, right?

Zeke: No. They’re not just words and we both know it, and I’m sorry I didn’t realize it until now.

Violet: Can I tell you something?

Zeke: Of course.

Violet: I watched your match against Hassan tonight on ESPN.

Zeke: You did???? Wow. Seriously? I’m typing so fast right now, LOL

Violet: Yeah. I googled it and hunted down the channel.

Zeke: Well—what did you think???

Violet: I thought it was amazing—YOU were amazing. Everything about it was incredible. You’re so strong. I am so in awe of you.

Zeke: No one is more in awe of someone than I am of you, Violet. And no one is stronger. And when I get home and you’re ready, I’m going to come see you. There’s so much shit I want to say that makes being on this bus a fucking nightmare.

Violet: Hey Zeke?

Zeke: Yeah?

Violet: I’m ready.

Zeke

I sat on that damn bus for four hours and fifty-eight goddamn minutes with nothing to do but think. And think some more.

So when I step onto Violet’s front porch and give the wooden door a few short raps with my knuckles, I’m a ball of energy, body buzzing—not just from my win tonight, but from my text conversation with Violet.

I bounce on the balls of my feet nervously, hands stuffed into the pockets of my gray sweatpants. In a mad dash to get here, I didn’t bother to change into something decent, like jeans or whatever. Sweatpants and hoodie are as good as it gets and I make no apologies for it.

The door swings open.

Vi’s roommate Winnie glares at me through the storm door, scowling. “Can I help you?”

I scowl back, tempted to roll my eyes. “Is Violet home?”

“Why should I let you in?” She folds her arms, looking me up and down through the glass. “You look like a murderer.”

What the fuck. I sigh. “What would make me look like less of a murderer? So you let me in.” It’s fucking cold.

She taps her chin, thinking. Smiles.

“Well, you can start by taking your hood down. And take your hands out of your pockets where I can see them. You look shady.”

“You know damn well I’m not shady.”

Her pleasant smile turns into an evil grin. “Yeah, but I know you’re going to listen because you want me to let you inside the house. Am I right?”

I nod.

Remove my hands from the pockets of my sweats, reach up, push the hood of my sweatshirt down.

“Satisfied?”

“Almost.” She stares through the glass, crossing her arms. “I just want you to know, just because you think you’re hot shit doesn’t mean the rest of us approve of you.”

I cross my arms, mimicking her stance. “Is this where you threaten to kick my ass?”

“No. This is where I tell you…” She inhales. “This is where I say…I hope you know what you’re doing. Do you? Have any idea what you’re doing?”

“No. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”

“Hmmm.” She regards me through the window. “At least you’re honest. I can’t say much for your foul mouth though. You should work on not being such a total dick.”