The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

Her jeans ride low in front, that tender skin dipping down into her waistline…into places I’m assuming no one but a doctor has ever been.

As she struggles, I catch a glimpse of Kyle’s horrified expression at the sight of her bare stomach.

I react. “Stop! Jesus Violet, are you trying to give everyone a free show?”

“Why! W-What’s happening? I can’t see!” Her panicked voice is muffled, trapped in the prison of her jacket, unable to see.

“Your shirt is about to come off.” I reach for the hem of her shirt, ignoring the spark from her skin when my fingers hastily pull the fabric over her flat stomach. “Let’s try this again, shall we? I’ll pull down while you pull up.”

My knuckles graze the skin above her hips, tugging. Hurriedly, Violet yanks and pulls at the stubborn pink jacket, wiggling her way out until it’s clear above her head.

Obviously, since she’s wearing a V-neck shirt, I check out her rack.

Or lack thereof.

Beneath that tee are two discernable bumps, smooth but small, and why the fuck am I all of a sudden staring at her tits?

I rush through peeling off her jacket, and when she’s free, the pale blonde hair surrounding her head sticks up in several directions. Adorable. Violet pats at it, smoothing away the flyaway strands, but even with her hair sticking out every which way, she looks flushed and happy and cute as all hell.

“I don’t even want to know what I look like right now,” she grumbles, stuffing her coat into Summer’s cubby.

“Your hair is a rat’s nest,” I put in helpfully.

Summer, who appears at our side, rolls her eyes and shoots me a hostile glare. “You’re not supposed to tell girls they look like rats.”

“First of all, I said her hair is a rat’s nest. I didn’t say she looked like one—there’s a big difference. Secondly, since when do five-year-old kids roll their eyes at grownups?”

“I’m seven.”

“Whatever kid. If you keep doing that, your eyeballs are going to get lodged inside your skull—permanently.”

Summer gasps. “No they won’t!”

“Try it and find out,” I intone cryptically.

The kid gives me another scowl so deep I have mad respect for her. “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh.” I raise my black brows. “It’s true.”

Violet clears her throat. “Okay you two, stop arguing.” She digs into the back pocket of her jeans and produces a twenty-dollar bill, tries handing it to me. “Zeke, do you want to get our tickets?”

I stare down at the money then up into her compassionate hazel eyes. “You are not paying for the tickets. Like I’d ever let you pay for our shit.” The idea is ludicrous.

I roll my eyes heavenward.

“You rolled your eyes!” Summer screeches, jumping up and down; she’s hyper—to say the least—and her long dark pigtails bounce as she hops around us.

“I did not,” I argue.

“Your eyes are going to be stuck up in your big, giant skull!”

Giant skull?

I glance at Violet. “Can you make her stop?”

Violet shrugs. “You started it.”

With a grumble, I jerk my head toward Kyle. “Come on kid. Let’s get the tickets and get bouncing so I can be done and get the hell out of here.”

Ten minutes later, we’re bouncing.

“I-I can’t believe I suggested this.” A pouting Violet boxes out in the corner of a red trampoline, legs spread and knees braced to steady herself. She’s determined not to fall flat on her ass. “You were right. This was a shitty idea.”

Nearby, Summer and Kyle are tiny jumping maniacs, hopping from trampoline to trampoline like frogs leaping on lily pads.

“Well,” I gladly remind her, giving her a few quick bounces with the heels of my feet, causing her to lose her balance. She lands on her back with a flop as I lightly spring onto the net beneath us. “You were getting desperate for ideas I’d be willing to try.”

She stares up at from the mesh, flat on her back. “You’re right. I brought this on myself.” Her arm goes out, palm extended. “Help me to my feet?”

I stare at her hand like it’s a foreign object I’ve never seen and have no idea what to do with.

Must hesitate too long because she stutters, “N-Never mind,” and tries to twist her body into an upright position. Only then do I react, my palm gripping her hand, pulling her to stand with too much force. She tips forward, bumping into me.

Beneath our stocking feet, the net bounces. We stand inches apart, so I have to bend my neck to look down at her. A little closer and she’d be flush against my chest.

I stare down at her pink lips, that crooked, amused smile.

“Zeke, watch what I can do!” A small, high-pitched voice calls out, giddy. I crane my neck to see Summer kicking her legs out haphazardly.

“What is she doing?” I mutter. “She’s freaking out.”

“She’s showing off for you.”

“That kid has zero skills.”

“Just watch.”

I point to Summer, gesturing to her erratic movements. “That’s not even a thing, whatever that leg kick action is that she’s doing.”

Violet laughs. “She’s having fun.”

“She looks like a klutz.”

She jabs me in the ribcage. “Tell her she’s doing great.”