The Failing Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 2)

He raises his arm, signaling to the waiter to bring the check with a brief nod of the chin. When he’s taken care of that, he stands, helping me to my feet. Helps me slide into my jacket.

People are staring at us, the big, angry-looking boy and the crying girl—I can only imagine what they’re thinking.

“You know, just now I was reminded of something.”

“What?”

He turns me to face him, reaching for the collar of my coat and pulling me close. Kisses the tip of my nose. “I loved you first.”

My brows rise. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not sure about that, but I’ll take the bait. When did you know?”

“Remember that time I came into the library and rang that little bell on the desk? It was really obnoxious but you were really polite. The look on your fucking face though…I loved that face.”

“That’s really mushy coming from you.” I roll my eyes, which are still damp. “I thought you were the most handsome guy I’d ever seen.”

“When?”

“At the grocery store, when you got those ice cream cones down off the shelf for Summer.”

“Really? I was a huge dick that day.” He leads me to the front of the restaurant toward the exit, hand at the small of my back.

“I know, but you made my heart leap, and it hasn’t stopped since.”

He stops walking. Turns to stare at me. “That was so fucking cute.”

“We’re disgusting.”

“Fuck yeah we are, but you know what they say.”

“No, what do they say?”

“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

The End