The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

Her lips purse.

The girl reaches up and pulls the black glasses down off her head, propping them on the bridge of her pert nose, and shoots a scornful glance across the room at my table full of teammates.

“I know how this whole thing must look, but I promise you, my intentions are honorable. We’re just trying to have a little fun, yeah? No harm in—”

“Honorable?” The pink wires are still dangling from her ears when she reaches up and removes them, dropping the earbuds onto her laptop. “A little fun? At whose expense?”

Speaking of expenses, I’m about to lose five hundred big ones to the motion of her hand rising to cut off my reply.

“Tell me this: you come over here, try to get a kiss for god-only-knows-what-reason, and I’m supposed to be flattered by your attention? Please. Who do you think you are?”

I open my mouth to tell her, but she cuts me off.

Again.

“Do you win some special status—a plaque with your name on it, perhaps? The prime parking spot at your fraternity house for the month of September?”

She wants me to be direct? Fine. “I’m not in a fraternity, but yeah, actually, I do win something. I get five hundred bucks if you kiss me, and honestly, I could really use the money.”

Now she’s leaning back in her chair, balancing herself on the legs like a dude. “Ah, so you interrupted my research to act like an asshole on some lark. For money.”

“Yeah, basically.” I shrug. “Five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks.”

We have a reckoning then, regarding each other with unconcealed interest. She does little to disguise her inspection of my body, masked expression unreadable as she starts at my boots and works her way up.

I know when her eyes hit the flat of my sculpted abs. Feel when they run idly over my shoulders and hesitate when they flicker to my spread legs, to the crotch of my jeans.

Long dark lashes coated with black mascara flutter. Flawless pale skin flushes. Her lips, I can’t help but notice, are pursed but pleasantly full.

Pretty damn cute, except I am completely unable to tell what she’s thinking.

“You have one hell of a poker face you know that?”

“Thank you.”

I lean in. “What’s your name?”

She rolls her blue eyes.

Nonchalantly, I shrug. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to insist on calling you Sexy Librarian.”

Her eyes take a joy ride up and down my thick arms folded over the chair, the full sleeve of tattoos. “See that woman over there with the gray bun and cardigan cataloging the dictionaries? That’s the librarian.”

Now I roll my eyes. “No shit, she looks like one—but if we’re comparing, all you’re missing is the gray hair, bitter expression, and nerdy glasses.” Her hands touch the frames surrounding her blue eyes. “Never mind, you hit two of the three. A trifecta of sexual repression.”

“I’m not sexually repressed.”

At the base of my thick neck, I pretend to have a necklace around my throat and finger an imaginary pearl. “Could have fooled me.”

Her eyes narrow. “If this is your way of trying to be charming, you’re failing miserably. I thought you were trying to kiss me.”

“Does this mean you’re thinking about it?”

She pauses for a heartbeat, picking up her pen and drawing little circles in her notebook. “It would surprise you if I said yes, wouldn’t it?”

I chuckle. “Yes.”

“Hold on—I want to remember this moment when I say the words.” She squints at me like she’s taking a picture in her mind, then slowly says, “Yes. I’m thinking about it.”

Not. What. I. Was. Expecting.

Is this chick for real?

“Seriously?” I blurt out, brows planted in my hairline. “You’re not just fucking with me?”

Her shoulders rise into a shrug. “Sure, why not? I could use three hundred dollars.

People don’t surprise me very often, but Sexy Librarian…she just shocked the shit out of me. “Three hundred dollars?”

What the fuck!

“No offense, but I’m not giving you more than half the money; that’s not part of the deal.”

She lifts her earbuds, placing one back in her ear, then the other with a smug, satisfied smile. “See you around then, Oz.”

I catch her eyes rolling again before her neck bends, pen flying into motion as she goes back to studying.

I sigh. “Fine. Fifty bucks.”

“Two fifty.”

She never lifts her head.

What the hell? “This is bullshit. You seriously won’t kiss me for free?”

“Absolutely not.” She looks up and down my chiseled torso, eyes taking in my dense biceps and tattoos with only mild interest. An eyebrow cocks. “You’re not exactly my type.”

Liar.

“Kitten, you couldn’t be less my type even if you were sitting in that chair wearing nothing but that goddamn necklace.”

Liar.

“Please don’t ever call anyone kitten. It’s worse than sweetheart. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” Then she boxes out, adjusting her entire body, rearranging herself away from me. Head bowing over her notebook, her shoulders slump a fraction before she raises her head to look me directly in the eye. “Know what else? That was a shitty thing to say to someone.”

“What! You just said the same freaking thing to me!”