The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 1)

Theirs are for children.

So yeah. I’m wearing a kid’s extra large, which doesn’t exactly fit. In fact, it doesn’t fit at all.

Black, sleeveless, and extremely tight, I try to ignore it and force myself across the cold wooden floor, pulling at the fabric riding up my butt crack. All because Oz is an asshole who insisted I wear one.

A single light shines above an azure mat in the center of the gym floor, a hanging light bulb, just like you’d see in the movies.

Darkness shrouds the recesses of the room.

I point to the light above. “Uh, did you plan this? It’s way creepy.”

He smirks. “I may or may not know the custodial staff, and now I owe them a favor.” He looks me up and down. “You look hot by the way.”

Insecurely, I pull at the straps barely coving my breasts. Because I. Am. An. Idiot. “Hot as in ‘cheap stripper’?”

“No. Hot as in ‘cheap ballerina stripper’. Where did you get that thing, anyway?”

“Target, because I didn’t have time to order one from one of those online dance stores and it was the only place that had them.”

His beautifully sculpted lips slide into a knowing curve. “Don’t you have Prime? That would have only taken two days to ship.”

I want to face palm myself because he has a very valid point. Instead I ignore the question completely. “I’m freezing here; can we get this over with? I feel like I’m about to be put under a microscope.”

Advancing farther into the room across the shiny, polished hardwood floor. Conscious of my bare, colorless legs. My pale, freckled arms. My pink painted toes that could use a fresh coat of polish.

Hyperaware of Sebastian watching me pad barefoot across the room, I try not to stare at his masculine glory. His taut broad body. His lean hips. His massive thighs. His sinewy, rippling biceps. His bulging…

Oh god.

I can’t look.

But I have to look.

My depraved eyes travel wantonly from his defined collarbone down to his hard-as-rock pecs and flat, toned abs, every inch of his long, thick dick visible under his thin, tight singlet.

Lord bless the designer of that horrible outfit.

My eyes widen when they settle on the length of him, glaringly obvious in the spandex fabric that leaves nothing to the imagination because he is wearing nothing underneath.

Not even a jock strap.

I swallow.

Take a few more cautious steps.

Hesitate.

“Scared?” his voice inquires, not really in a taunt. I’m surprised when he sounds…sincere. Caring. “Excited?”

“It’s hard to get excited when you don’t know what to expect.” I cross my arms over the breasts I always considered porcelain; they haven’t seen the sun in months and now they just feel…white. White, white, white.

“So you are scared.”

I give a single nod. “A little.”

“Don’t be. I’m going to take real good care of you.” He moves under the single dim light. “You might even like it.”

I gulp down my nerves. “Not likely.”

“Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.”

“You’ve been pissing me off lately.” I give a little indignant huff. “You’re lucky I showed up.”

“We had a deal.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

His hooded gaze drifts up and down my person so excruciatingly unrushed that goose bumps develop all over my skin, over my entire body.

I shiver.

“Uncross your arms, Jim.” He gives his hands a clap. “Let’s get this party started.”

I can’t help it—I let a nervous giggle bubble out of me, drop my arms to my sides, and stand there awkwardly, fidgeting. “When you call it a party it doesn’t sound so horrible.”

His enormous palms rub together gleefully. “I haven’t been able to think of anything but pinning you down all day. Having you under me.” He takes one deliberate step toward me at a time. “Not studying.” Step. “Not practice.” Step. “Not work.”

He stops, the barest inch of space separating us.

Barely.

“And here you are. Jameson Clark, in my gym.” The heat radiating between us is combustible. “So. What are we going to do about this, Jim. Any suggestions?”

Two black leotards. Two sleek figures.

One hard, one soft.

Raising my eyes to meet his, I manage to shake my head back and forth, mouth dry.

“Nothing? Really James? No suggestions, not even one? Good thing I have a few for the both of us.”

He makes the simple statement sound dirty and pervy and hot.

My estrogen levels skyrocket, ovaries tingling on vibrate.

Sebastian’s warm hand grips my arm, sliding gradually up toward my elbow. I shiver while my lady bits do…other inappropriate things.

“Okay Jimbo.” His voice is low. Erotic. “This is what we’re going to do: I’m going to show you how to get in position, then I’m going to flip you on your back. Okay?”

I stare at his pecs.

“Jim, nod if you understand.”

I bob my head up and down.

He smiles down at me, all testosterone and sex appeal, cupping my chin in his huge hand. “God you’re fucking cute.”

Cute? Ugh.

“Bend your knees like this and mimic my stance.” He releases me and steps back, squatting and separating his legs slightly, knees bent and back arched. “The point is to center your gravity.”