The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

True, but still…

I switch gears. “If you don’t come to the library, who’s going to help me with my chemistry?”

Jameson squints at me, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a cute little laugh. “You are not taking chemistry classes!”

“Fine, but I like making chemistry, and isn’t that almost the same thing?”

Sydney’s dark brown eyes volley back and forth between Jameson and me then widen when her roommate lets out an unladylike snort.

“I’ll tell you what Jim, since we’re friends, I’m going to help you out. If pretty little Sydney here has classes that would be helpful for chemistry—”

“Do not listen to him Sydney. He is not taking chemistry.”

“Jim, you’re hurting my feelings.” I place a palm over my heart solemnly. “Sydney, what do you say? You look like the kind of girl who knows her way around a…lab room.”

Her toe taps on the ground. “Oz, seriously?”

“My point is, if you’re free today, Sydney, why not let me take you for a burger? Are you as hungry as I am sweetheart? Wanna help me study?”

Sydney nods zealously. “I can do that. I’ve got Bio Chem now so it would be a breeze.””

“No hard feelings if I take her out, right Jimbo?”

Her face is an impassive mask, the only tell of any indecision her brief nibbling of that pink lower lip.

I gaze back at Jameson, trying to figure her out. Is she seriously going to stand there and let me take out her roommate without putting up a fight for me? Who the hell does that? Every chick on campus is dying to date me, bang me, or trap me into a relationship—and James doesn’t want to do any of those things.

What the shit is that all about?

If she’s playing a game to keep me guessing, she should know better than to play an athlete.

We aren’t deterred that easily.

I make one last-ditch effort, give her one last chance to change her mind and come to her senses. “James, what if we meet for dinner after you’re done cleaning? I’ll take you for a burger, no strings attached, and you can bring your laptop.”

“You just invited my roommate to go with you instead!”

“Who cares?” I scowl down at Jameson, who cringes.

“She can hear us arguing, you know.”

I barely spare Sydney a glance. “So?”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“You seriously won’t meet me for dinner?” I’ll admit it, I’m this close to stomping my foot on the ground like a child who’s not getting their way.

“I can’t meet you for dinner. I’m helping Allison.”

“I’m not going to beg, Jim.”

She laughs. “I don’t want you to.”

“How about a threesome?” Kidding, not kidding.

“Oz.” Her tone carries a warning that I’ve pushed far enough. We stare each other down until Sydney uncomfortably clears her throat between us.

“A burger sounds great.”

“Excellent. I’m starving.” I lick my lips for show, both girls following the movement of my tongue with their widened eyes. “In fact, I could eat just about…anything right now.”

Sydney bites her bottom lip, fighting back an excited squeal, and rattles off some house numbers.

An uneasy feeling settles over me when I look to James for any sign of disapproval, some hint that she’s bullshitting. Any second now she’s going to throw her hands up and announce she’s kidding—of course she’ll meet me at Malone’s!

Instead, the large smile pasted on her face appears sincere. Apologetic. Exaggerated, but sincere.

I should be relieved. I should feel ecstatic to have James off my back. No nagging. No bitchy comebacks. No sass.

I shouldn’t feel anything.

But goddammit if I do.

Jameson

I should be relieved.

I should feel excited for Sydney; Sebastian Osborne is her type one hundred times over. From his broad, firm shoulders to his black tattoos, his dirty mouth to his popularity on campus.

I shouldn’t feel anything for him.

But…damn if I do.

Crap.

Sebastian

“So what’s the deal with you and Jimmy?”

“Who?”

I tap my index finger on the table impatiently. “Jameson. You know—you two aren’t…” I jiggle a limp French fry over the appetizer platter in the center of the table. “You aren’t exactly who I’d place together in a lineup.”

I take a bite of my fry, watching Sydney intently, chewing slowly while appraising everything about her with male appreciation. In the hour I gave her to get ready for…whatever this is…she used every spare minute to get freshened up. Smoky eye makeup, sleek wavy blonde hair, tight pale blue sweater.

Tighter skinny jeans.

At the moment, we’re sitting in a corner booth at Malone’s, one of the closest bars to campus that serves the best burgers in town. You might reek like deep fryer when you walk out, but the food more than makes up for it. If I’m going to be railroaded on a date—which is costing me what little extra money I have—I’m going to eat a delicious goddamn hamburger, even if it I have to do an extra two miles of running and fifty extra squats to burn off the calories.

“Placed together in a lineup?” Sydney’s dark blonde brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?” Her long hot pink nail pokes at a mozzarella stick on the appetizer platter, but she makes no move to eat it.