The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

“As I was saying,” James starts, spoon suspended near her lips. “I knew Violet would be back. I’m glad I was right…but I really wish I had taken that bet with Oz. I would have won.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, but I know if I don’t say something, she’s going to keep rambling. I attempt conversation, going with a cool, “Uh, yeah.”

“I really like her.”

Me too. “What are you doing up? It’s one o’clock.”

She shrugs with a sigh. “Your roommate woke me up with his roaming hands. Couldn’t get back to sleep after that. What about you?”

“Your boyfriend woke me up with his roaming hands. We share a wall.”

Jameson giggles. “Good one.”

I kind of smile. “Thanks. I try.”

“Do you?” Her question is full of skepticism.

“No. But I’m going to.”

She laughs at that too. “Ahh, I see how it is.”

I roll my eyes, playing along. “What is it you think you see?”

James is silent for all of ten seconds. “You love her, don’t you?”

We have a reckoning then, she and I, and judging by the firm set of her mouth, this question is a test. Jameson Clark is testing me, daring me to answer with the truth.

Patient, I know she’ll wait me out until I’m the first to speak.

My choices are simple. I can lie and be the guy Violet warned me not to be, or I can suck up my pride and choke out the truth, despite myself. Despite wanting my private life to be private and wanting to keep the details to myself.

Shit.

I nod. “Yes.”

Jameson’s mouth falls open. Hangs there.

“Have I stunned you into silence?”

“You might have.” Her spoon digs deep into the ice cream. “I mean, wow. This is great. I’m happy for you. I’m happy for me—another girl around the house? This is going to be great.”

Oh Jeez, she’s going to make this weird. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t get all…” I wave my hand in circles in front of me. “Girly. Stop planning dates and shit in your head.”

Another laugh. “Too late for that, my friend. The damage is done.”

“You realize you’re beginning to sound and act just like Oz? Always trying to give advice and meddling in my life.”

“I do? I am?” Her eyes crinkle at the corners, pleased. “Aww! You are too sweet, because I think he’s the best.”

Such a smartass, even at one in the morning.

“Did I-I miss the party invitation?”

James and I both jump, startled, turning at the sound of shuffling in the doorway. Violet enters the kitchen in one of my wrestling t-shirts, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a yawn.

Her pale blonde hair falls in a long braid over her shoulder.

I slide my arm around her waist and squeeze, dropping a kiss on the top of her sleepy head. “Hey babe, what are you doing up?”

Violet nests into my side, fits perfectly against my ribcage, like the missing piece of a puzzle.

“The sound of laughing from the kitchen woke me up.” Yawns.

“Sorry. I was thirsty, and apparently, this one night binges on mint chocolate chip.”

Jameson taps the spoon on the container in her hands, looking way too awake. “Guilty.”

“Well on that note, Pix and I are going back to bed.”

James rolls her eyes. “Night guys.”

I lead Violet down the hall, climb into bed behind her, wrap my arms around her waist.

“Goodnight,” she whispers in the dark, cuddling her backside into my junk—which never bodes well for my ability to sleep.

“Night,” I mumble, burying my face in her hair. “Love you, baby.”

So fucking much.

“I love you, too.”

Violet

“Pix, I wrote you a poem, wanna hear it?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Roses are red, Violet is blue—”

“Hey! I am not.”

“Okay, okay, let me try again.”

Zeke clears his throat dramatically, leaning into me from across the table.

“Roses are red, Violet is pretty, I wanna lay her.”

I scrunch up my nose. “Is that the entire poem?”

“Uh…something…something city?”

Giggle. “Just stop.”

He leans closer.

“Just kidding, that poem’s not your real gift.” Zeke clears his throat. “I have something for you.”

My real gift? What in the world…

I blink, confused. “For what?”

He shrugs. “I mean, it’s been like, six months. Don’t people give gifts and shit?”

Six months?

I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Give gifts for what?”

Zeke picks the menu up from the center of the table—the one that’s been obstructing our view—and sets it off to the side.

“Are you being serious right now? You really don’t know what I’m talking about?”

My head shakes slowly. “Sorry.”

“Oh my fucking god—I am going to kill him when I get home.”

“Who?”

“Oz.” He lets out a breath. “I am such…I am an idiot. God damn him, this is his fault. No, it’s mine. I shouldn’t have listened.”