The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

I’m the A-hole here.

“I won’t let him hurt me.” Then, to myself, I add, And I won’t hurt him.

Sid eyes my outfit. “Casual study date then?”

“Sort of.” I bite down on my lower lip and readjust my books. “I think something might be bothering him, so…”

“Any chance you’re going out with us tonight? I have a new pair of jeans I want you to see.”

I smirk. “Want to borrow a cardigan to go with them?”

“Heck no.”

Sebastian

Jameson is a sight for sore eyes, and I drink her in from head to toe when she slips silently through the door of our study room on the third floor of the library, the study room at the end of a long row of law school periodicals, research, and publications.

It’s quiet, relaxed, and isolated.

Emphasis on isolated.

I rise to greet her, skirting around the long conference table, and gently take the books from her hands. Place them on the table. Place my hands at her waist and lean in for a kiss. Place my hands on her ass and give her butt cheeks a squeeze.

“Well that’s a fine hello.” She laughs, swatting at my hands to create some distance. “You said we were going to study, Mr. Grabby Hands.”

“Yeah but your ass has gravitational pull—I’m drawn to it like a magnet. Can’t keep my hands off.”

She swats at me again. “I swear to god, Oz, if you keep manhandling me like this, we’re never going to get anything done.”

Reluctantly I back away and give her berth. “You’re right; I didn’t bring you here to accost you. The imprint of your ass on my hand will have to tide me over for the next hour.”

“You’re a raging hormone.” Jameson sits, rearranging her study materials. She aligns her pens and pencils, pushing each one into place with the tip of her finger, lining them up as if they have a permanent place on the table. Calculator on the right. Computer in the center of her workspace.

She takes a small stack of notebooks out of her bag, shuffling them. Spreads them out next to the pens like a fan.

Watching her meticulously fuss over her school supplies turns me on.

Glumly, I hang my head. “I know. It’s gotten worse since you let me in your pants. Bad move on your part.”

I join her at the table and soon, we’re both focused on our studies. Every so often I’m distracted by the sound of Jameson’s sighs, her little hums of concentration. The tapping of her pen against the tabletop.

“Stop watching me,” she mumbles without looking up.

“I’m not,” I argue.

But I am.

“You’ve been watching me for the past twenty-five minutes. I timed it.” Her pen scribbles in a black composition notebook and after finishing writing whatever it is she’s writing, she looks up. Sets down the pen. Crosses her hands in front of her. “Something’s bothering you.”

Well shit. I wasn’t expecting her to notice. “It is?”

Jameson cocks her head to the side and studies me. “Isn’t it? It’s just a guess, but you seem somehow, I don’t know…off.”

I scoff. “Can’t I just want to be with you? Why does something have to be wrong?”

The room is quiet as the seconds tick by. She’s thinking and I’m blankly staring and no one is talking.

Slowly, she gives her head a little shake. “You’re right; nothing has to be wrong. I read you wrong. Let’s just forget I said anything.”

Her smile is sympathetic and lopsided.

And so sweet.

Jameson is the least judgmental person I know.

I trust her. I trust her, and she is the only person I’ve ever told anything to besides my sister, but she’s not here right now and James is. So, I expel a deep breath and explain.

“No, you’re right, something has been bothering me,” I say, shifting in my seat, fighting the urge to fidget. “Since that party, Zeke has been riding my ass and it’s wearing on my nerves. Not sure what to do about it.” When Jameson doesn’t say anything, I continue. “I live with the guy, right? So I know how he is, what an asshole he can be—but I also see a side of him no one else does, yeah? And I know he isn’t always such a prick, especially when he’s friends with someone.” My fingers rake through my hair. “I don’t understand what his problem is lately.”

“Has he said anything?” Jameson asks carefully, watching me closely.

I give a curt nod. “This morning.”

“Ahhhh.” She drags out a breath, already seeming to know what I’m about to say.

“He’s…” What’s the word I’m looking for? “Angry.”

“He is,” comes Jameson’s whisper. “Do you know why?”

This time I’m shaking my head. “No. I suspect I know the reason, but I’m not a shrink so…” I shrug. “It’s just a guess.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?”

“This morning when he threatened me, I told him to piss off. That’s about all the talking we did.”

Her eyebrows shoot straight to her hairline. “He threatened you? Why?”

I fiddle with the keys on my laptop, aimlessly tapping at a few. “I’d tell you, but I don’t want you in the middle of it.”

Now her brow furrows with concern. “So you’re saying it had something to do with me?”