The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 3)

Me: Probably not. I usually spend the weekend after a meet icing my body.

Laurel: Do tell.

Me: Ha ha.

Laurel: Sigh. You are a tough crowd, Rhett Rabideaux.

Me: Hey, can I ask you something?

Laurel: Sure!

Me: I was telling my roommates I drove you home tonight, and after I mentioned where you live and pointed out your house, one of them said they always see three cars parked in front of your house?

Laurel: Ummmm.

Me: Did your roommate borrow your car, or did something happen to it? Or…

Laurel: No.

Me: You can tell me if something happened to it, Laurel.

Laurel: Promise you won’t get mad?

Me: Sure?

Laurel: My car is… God, I don’t know how to tell you this without sounding like a horrible person.

Me: Jeez, just tell me where your car is. Did it get towed?

Laurel: My car is parked in front of the library.

Me: What do you mean?

Laurel: I mean, my car was three spots down from your Jeep. It’s still sitting on campus—is that what you want me to say?

Me: I don’t get it.

Laurel: What don’t you get?

Me: Why would you accept a ride home when your car was literally RIGHT there? Now you have to go back and get it.

Laurel: Why don’t I let you figure that one out for yourself? Or if you really can’t figure it out, ask one of your more experienced roommates.

The last text comes through and I shake my head, baffled. Why would she have had me take her home if her car was parked right there?

It makes no goddamn sense.

Fresh from the shower, I toss the towel I used to dry my hair onto the bathroom floor then walk into the front room. My roommates are both spread out on the couch, watching some dude on a home improvement show saw a piece of wood in half and nail it to a wall.

I clear my throat. “Hey. Question.”

“Shoot.” Neither takes their eyes off the giant screen.

“So, remember how I told y’all I drove Laurel home, and then you said you always see three cars in her driveway? I messaged her about it.”

“Yeah?” Gunderson’s ears perk up at the mention of a girl’s name, his eyes fastened to the TV.

“She had her car at the library.”

Eric points the remote at the TV, hits pause. “Your cars were both at the library?”

“Right.”

“But she had you give her a ride home.”

“Yeah.”

He points the remote, hits play. “Uh, yeah—she wants to bone you.”

I laugh, crossing my arms.

Johnson shakes his head, disgusted, and sneers. “The chick obviously wanted you to give her a ride home, fuckwit, and there’s only one reason why. How goddamn dumb are you?”

“Fuck you, Johnson.”

“No, fuck you, Rabideaux. That chick wants you to fuck her.”

I stand there, holding my towel closed.

“Honestly New Guy, if you can’t figure out what it means when a chick tries to be alone with you, your chances of getting laid at this point are slim to none.”

“Agreed,” Gunderson chimes in. “She either has horribly bad taste in guys or is mentally unstable. Are you sure she’s hot?”

“Yes.”

“Can I interject again?” Eric interjects. “Members of the jury, I’d like to point out that this chick has been dicking you around for days, and you’re letting her lead you around by the balls. You need to either fuck her already or tell her to stop messaging you.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Gunderson shouts, banging on the coffee table. “Exhibit A: first she lies to you about who she is. Exhibit B: she lied about her car and faked needing a ride.”

My roommates are on a roll now. “New Guy, I don’t give a shit how hot this chick is, you need to dump her.”

Gunderson nods enthusiastically “You cannot let bitches treat you that way, dude.”

I listen to them rambling on and on as if I’m not standing here, wondering what the fuck is wrong with these two? Seriously, they’re so fucking ridiculous. And the way they talk about women? Not cool.

No wonder they’re both single.

Not that I have any room to talk, but still…

“Can you not refer to her that way, please? Laurel isn’t a bitch.”

“Maybe not, but she sounds calculating.”

“Well, it’s your fault I’m in this mess to begin with, isn’t it? The whole thing with those damn flyers is the reason she and I are talking in the first place.”

“But you admit she’s been lying from the beginning.”

“Are you pre-law and didn’t tell anyone about it?” I ask him, narrowing my eyes at his cross-examination.

He ignores me, ticking off Laurel’s offenses on his fingers. “And she’s a cock tease.”

“How is she a cock tease?” These guys really are aggravating. “I’m not trying to sleep with her.”

“Fine. I’ll give you that one concession—she’s not the cock tease, you are. Look, all we know is that this chick likes you for some ungodly fucking reason—she must to be panting around after you like this.”

I sigh. Why did I bother asking these two for their opinion?

“That is not what’s happenin’ here, not at all. We’re friends—she wouldn’t date a guy like me.”

“That’s probably true—you are pretty ugly.”

“Fuck you, Gunderson.”

Laurel

I’ve been up every night this week.

Night after night, fitful, lying in bed, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. After hours of restless tossing and turning, I finally gave up and let my mind wander. I could not get that boy out of my head, and for the life of me, couldn’t figure out why.

Maybe deep down inside, I still harbor guilt over the whole texting thing, the lying, or maybe I feel sorry for the shitty way his friends treat him—they really are dicks. Watching him be the brunt of jokes isn’t funny now that I’ve actually met and spent time with him.

Rhett Rabideaux might not be Prince Charming, but he’s something else entirely: he’s real. He is who he is, and makes no apologies. He’s polite and sincere and…

And this morning, I’m paying for the fact that I lay in bed awake until nearly one AM thinking about him.

His body, his voice, his face.

What is my problem?

Yawning, I stride toward campus, long legs stepping over every crack in the sidewalk, the heels of my black boots hitting the concrete with a tap tap tap.

I look both ways when I approach a curb before stepping down.

“Laurel, wait up.”

At the sound of my name and the tread of tennis shoes hitting the pavement in a light jog, I stop dead in my tracks. Whip around to see who’s behind me, my heart skipping a beat.

Be still, my silly, racing heart.

Stop it.

Maybe it’s the cold weather, but my cheeks flush at the sight of Rhett jogging toward me: gray athletic pants hanging low on his hips, dark navy sweatshirt, backward baseball cap, black backpack slung over his broad shoulder.

His gait is easy as he hits a stride, slowing to a walk once he nears, a crooked smile playing on his friendly mouth.

“Hey.” He’s not even panting. “Mornin’.”

Mornin’.

“Hi.” I bite back a smile at his sweet southern drawl, lowering my head to the sidewalk so he can’t see my stupid grin. “Headed my way?”

“Looks like it.” His eyes rake up and down my body, my cool weather outfit. The apple green sweater that sets off my fiery red hair to perfection. The knit cap pulled down over it. The skinny jeans tucked into tall boots.

Together, we head toward campus, walking side by side. Squirrels dash out of our way and I squint at one in the middle of the sidewalk up ahead.

“I swear these squirrels are out to get us. I don’t trust the way that one is staring at us.”

Beside me, Rhett laughs. “I hadn’t noticed.”

I pause. “You haven’t noticed all the squirrels? They’re everywhere! I’m convinced they’re trying to take over the world—in fact, I’d bet my life on it.”