The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

“Wow, this is you being nice?” Over her shoulder, I watch Fuck Buddy and the other girl nudging their way through the crowd toward us. They stop when they reach Jameson’s side, both of them primping their long blonde hair with flirty, well-practiced flips.

Even with both of them at her side, Jameson resumes her teasing.

“Of course I’m being nice; you owe me two hundred and fifty dollars. Or have you already forgotten?”

“How could I possibly forget when you’re hell bent on reminding me? Instead of cash, why don’t we get creative?”

She lifts a well-manicured brow. “Creative?”

“Yeah. There are other ways I can pay you, starting on my knees with my tongue. Or if you’re not a fan of orgasms, I’ll let you—”

“Stop!” Jameson shouts in a rush, hands going up in the universal sign for time out. “Stop talking! Jesus. Okay, fine. How about you just pay me when they pay you?”

“You didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

“Trust me, I know where that was headed.”

Fuck Buddy’s mouth drops open.

“Uh, James—not to interrupt, but…why is Oz Osborne trying to pay you in sexual favors?” Her chest sticks out, tits on full display in a bright pink top with a scoop neck, her bleached blonde hair artfully curled and spilling down her back. She flips it over her shoulder again and smiles wide.

Nice. Very nice.

Very friendly, I’ll bet.

She’s so smoking hot it’s no wonder Parker fucks her on the regular.

If Jameson notices me noticing her friend, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she takes a healthy swig of beer, leaving another coating of foam on her top lip. I avert my eyes, removing them from her friend’s breasts, then watch as Jameson’s pale pink tongue slips out. Licks the foam. Laps more foam from the top of her red cup like it’s whipped cream.

Jameson collects herself, fanning her face before introducing her friends. “Uh, Oz, these are my friends, Allison and Hayley. Allison and Hay—well, you obviously already know who this is, and I’m assuming you didn’t have to google him.”

The girls glance between us, rusty wheels turning inside their beautiful blonde heads.

“Um…” the blonde in pink drags out. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing,” Jameson deadpans, recovering her quick wit. “If you don’t count the fact that he owes me money for services rendered.”

Her duh inflection has me sputtering in surprise, the beer in my mouth dripping down my chin in the un-sexiest dribble when a delighted chuckle leaves my throat. I can’t remember the last time I choked because something was funny, let alone on alcohol.

Or maybe I’m just getting drunk.

Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I lift it to wipe the drool, noting with arrogance that both Allison and Hayley are hungrily gawking at the solid, tight, six-pack abs on display. I take my sweet time lowering my shirt.

Let the ladies look their fill.

Hell, I’d even let them touch.

“I simply need to pay you for them.” I remind Jameson.

“Sure, okay. But only because you were begging for it.” She blinks innocently, sipping from her beer cup.

“Sweetheart, begging is something I never do.”

Beside her, her blonde friends’ perfectly groomed eyebrows simultaneously shoot into their hairlines, and for a brief moment, I wonder what else on them is perfectly groomed.

Probably everything.

Eyebrows. Legs.

Puss—

“I’m so confused,” Fuck Buddy interrupts. “What is going on?”

We ignore her.

“Long story short, Oz won a bet and he has me to thank.”

“That’s it? What services were you talking about before?” Allison probes, her eyes roaming the room. “Would one of you please explain what’s going on?”

Jameson shakes her head. “Sorry Al, but this is between me and Oswald here.” She grabs Fuck Buddy by the arm and tugs. “Come on, let’s find Parker—that is the reason we’re here, isn’t it? So you can paw at him shamelessly while hopped up on liquid courage?”

Allison blushes prettily. “Yes.” Still, her eyes skim the front of my jeans, landing on the bulge there. “Nice finally meeting you in person. I hate doing the walk of shame down your hallway, Oswald.”

Shit, that’s right. I’ve only ever seen her ass in the morning walking out the door—and I occasionally hear her moaning Parker’s name during their loud, dirty fucking.

Oswald?

Damn if the sound of another girl saying it doesn’t grate on my last nerve. I cross my arms and nod, watching as Jameson drags her friends off, her rapid retreat kind of...insulting.

I feel slightly offended that she just left me standing here by myself.

Weird, right?

That almost never happens.

Fine. It never does.

Intrigued, irritated, and slightly enthralled, my competitive nature has my senses instinctually tracking her whereabouts throughout the whole goddamn evening.

It’s rather inconvenient.

I catch glimpses of her: James and that damn prissy sweater that’s somehow come unbuttoned. A sober James with Jack Pryer, a first-year football redshirt, giggling it up in the corner. A sober James with Fuck Buddy near the keg. A sober James tipping her head to tie that silky brown hair back, walking in and out of the front door, presumably for fresh air.