The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

His voice falters, drumming the mattress with built up energy. “What’s the real reason you let me kiss you in the library?”

It’s a good question, one I haven’t stopped thinking about since. I think of all the things I could say to him right now. I can tell him it was for the money (which I don’t need). I could tell him it’s because I felt sorry for him. I could tell him it was out of some humanitarian effort.

Instead, I go with the truth.

“I told you, I was curious.”

“Curious about what?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone like you before.”

“What do you mean?” I hear the pleased smile; the bastard is gloating.

Except he knows exactly what I mean, the cocky bastard; he just wants to hear me say the words out loud—not that I blame him. Don’t we all like hearing flattering things said about ourselves? Compliments. Flattery.

Gorgeous hunks of the male persuasion being no exception.

“Well, I wasn’t kidding when I said you weren’t my usual type.” I speak in his direction. It’s dark and I can barely make out the shape of him on the bed. “The guys I date are usually less…”

“Hot?”

Yes.

I let a sigh escape my lips. “No. That’s not what I was going to say.”

“Less shredded?”

Yes. “No. They’re usually less—”

“Popular?”

Yes. “Would you stop interrupting me?” Then, “Wait. Did you just call yourself popular? You know we’re not in high school, right?”

“Babe, if you think I’m cool now, you would have been really impressed with how badass I was in high school. I was the shit.”

I don’t doubt that for a second. Closing my eyes, I conjure up an image of high school Sebastian Osborne: tall, cocksure, and a total hottie. If I had to guess, I’d imagine he probably screwed his way around school in the back seat of his parent’s car starting freshman year, racking up first place wrestling medals and trophies after making varsity sophomore year. Going undefeated the following three years. Missing his graduation to compete in the state wrestling tournament…

Fine. I might have accidentally google stalked him.

Accidentally.

And no, it didn’t say anything about him having sex as a freshman—that part I made up.

“I never said I thought you were cool.” I laugh, snuggling into my blankets and pillows with a shiver. “Cool. Who even says that any more?”

Oz’s scoff comes out of the dark. “Cool or not, I totally would have fucked you by now if this was high school.”

Is he for real? Thank god the lights are off, because my cheeks flush and I can feel my neck getting hot. I burrow deeper. “Um, no, you totally wouldn’t have.”

He scoffs again, this time louder. “Oh come on, give me a break; you so would have let me bone you. No way would you have been able to resist the big D. All the chicks dug me.”

He’s so utterly ridiculous I chuckle, but sadistically, I also find him completely charming.

Ugh.

“Bad news, Oz: if you think I’m a killjoy now, you should have seen me in high school. I was worse. Brace yourself for the plot twist: I was saving myself.”

“Saving yourself for what? A convent?”

“No idiot, for someone who respected me. Loved me. Marriage. I don’t know, I was young—or maybe I just knew I didn’t want to give it up to a fumbling, inexperienced high school kid.”

“So who’d you end up giving the cherry to?”

I lie silently a few seconds, ignoring the fact that he just referred to my virginity as ‘the cherry’, and contemplate my answer with a snicker. “I finally gave it up to a fumbling, inexperienced college sophomore because I was tired of waiting for a good guy to come along.”

His chuckle comes out of the shadows. “Did you have an orgasm?”

“I’m not answering that question.”

“So that’s a no.”

“Why do you… Ugh. Yes, that was a no, but I’ve made up for it since.” I shrug my shoulders in the dark.

He hums out an, “Interesting…” Then, “So what do you consider a good guy?”

“Are you using air quotes in the dark?”

Oz laughs, shaking the mattress. “Yeah, how could you tell?”

“You’re kind of a goof.” Nonetheless, I consider his question. “A good guy? Hmmm. The answer is…I have no idea. Someone respectful, I guess? Who does what they say they’re going to do. Is reliable. Who doesn’t cheat…doesn’t bullshit me.”

“That’s a lot of negatives.”

It does sound like it now that I’m saying the words out loud. “When it comes down to it, I’d like someone who makes me laugh.”

“I make you laugh.”

Giggle. “You sure do.”

“And I’m respectful,” he adds helpfully.

Hmmm. “That’s debatable.”

“I do what I say I’m going to do.”

Rolling over on my back, I stare toward the ceiling. “No offense, but I don’t know why you’re telling me all this. Are you applying for the job?”

“Probably because I’m trying to fuck you?”

I roll my eyes heavenward, ignoring his vulgar answer. “Okay, what about you? Who did you give it up to your first time?”