The Learning Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 3)

“Mom, please, just—”

Her hands go up. “I’m going, I’m going.”

I blow out a frustrated puff of air. “Five minutes.”

“I’ll stall your father.” She kisses me on the nose. Pats my cheek. “You look great. Put some pants on and throw those condom wrappers in the garbage.”

Slowly, I close my bedroom door. Stand in stunned silence, staring holes into the dark wood

I turn. “So…my parents are here.”

“How am I supposed to go out there, Rhett? Your mom practically saw me naked.”

“Pretty sure my mom knows we were in here having sex.”

Her head pops out from its hiding spot. “At least she knew you were seeing someone though, right?”

I fidget.

“Rhett, please tell me she knew you were seeing me so I can shrug this off as embarrassing, but not hopelessly unfortunate.”

Shit. “She didn’t know. I-I mean, we…I… Shit.”

Laurel slides out of the bed, magnificently nude. “You can tell your mom I’m your girlfriend if you want, all right? I don’t want your parents thinking I’m some random girl you picked up downtown for the night.”

“Trust me, that thought won’t cross their minds.”

“I know, but still. It would make me feel better. Less…” She waves a hand around. “You know, like I do this sort of thing all the time. Her opinion of me matters, Rhett. This is not the impression I wanted to make when I met your parents for the first time.”

She was planning to meet my parents?

When?

She prattles on. “My mother would die right now if she saw me. Die. Then she’d kill me.” Laurel bends at the knees, scooping up her bra, glancing over her shoulder as she fastens it. “Can you imagine what my dad would say?”

Her body shivers.

Retrieving her underwear, she pads over to where I stand, bolted to the floor. Kisses me on the lips. “I knew you would have great stamina.”

“Babe, don’t touch me. The last thing I need is another fuckin’ hard-on.”

Her gaze is wicked. Delighted. “Your parents are out there.”

“Yup.”

“You poor thing.” Her hand comes around, slapping me firmly on the ass. “Better not leave them sitting with your roommates too long. No good can come from that.”

Laurel

Rhett’s mother rises from the sofa, her shoulder-length brown hair cut into fashionable layers, her lithe frame a ball of energy. I swear, she’s positively about to burst at the sight of me. His two meddling roommates loiter in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, listening to the whole exchange. Brothers flank either end of the couch.

I shuffle into the living room, embarrassed, just my purse dangling from my hands as I do the walk of shame through Rhett’s living room, hair mussed, lipstick kissed off, mouth stained.

He moves to introduce us, face flushed, but Gunderson beats him to it, calling out from the kitchen. “Have none of you met Ginger, Rhett’s girlfriend?”

His mother’s brows go up, gaze trained on my flaming red hair. “Your name is Ginger?”

Ugh, why are his roommates such idiots?

My face heats up. “No ma’am, it’s Laurel.”

“It’s good to meet you. I wish we’d known…”

Again, the peanut gallery chimes in. “Tsk, tsk, Rabideaux—you didn’t tell your parents you had a girlfriend?”

I wish he would stop talking. He’s embarrassing Rhett and making a mess of everything.

“Girlfriend?”

“Uh…”

“That’s your girlfriend?” one of Rhett’s brothers practically shouts. “Holy shit. You’re hot.”

“Austin!” His mother gasps. “Manners!”

“We’re, uh, datin’, I guess,” Rhett says by way of explanation, hands shoved into the pockets of his Louisiana hoodie.

“Your mother and I thought we’d drive fifteen hours so we could wait in your living room while you threw some clothes on.”

“Charles!” his mother scolds. Turns to me. “This is what we get for comin’ unannounced. We were plannin’ on maybe doin’ dinner, but it’s so late now and Rhett has check-in and can’t leave so I think I’ll pack the boys up and head to the hotel.”

I smooth down my hair self-consciously, sure it looks like I’ve been rolling around in bed all night having sweaty, hot sex…which I have. “And I should get going. I, um…it was so nice meeting you.”

I need to get out of this house; I’m so embarrassed.

“Will you be at the meet tomorrow, Laurel?”

“Yes! I would love to sit with you if that would be okay?”

Mrs. Rabideaux beams. “We would love that.”

Rhett

“Rhett Clayton Rabideaux.” My mom starts in as soon as I set foot back inside the house after walking Laurel home. “How could you not tell us you have a girlfriend?”

“It never came up.” Not with all the bullshit I’ve been dealing with lately. “Besides, she’s not really my girlfriend.”

Mom’s face falls. “Oh.”

“If I could interject here.” Gunderson clears his throat, interjecting from the kitchen. “That’s a lie, Mrs. R—your boy here is full of shit. They’re definitely an item.”

Fucking Gunderson.

My parents both raise their brows. Turn back to me.

“I guess we’re kind of…talking.”

Fuck. Laurel would be so pissed I’m explaining it this way. She’s the type of girl that demands respect, and here I am, being cavalier, butchering the explanation like she means nothing.

“Are you using protection?” my dad inquires, pointing the remote at the TV, eyes locked on the screen. “Your mother and I are done raising little kids.”

Oh my fucking God. “Yes.”

“No worries, Mr. R, we hooked young Rhett up with the world’s finest prophylactics. No STDs in this house—not on my watch.”

“That’s disgusting,” my brother Beau chimes in.

“What’s an STD?” the other one wants to know.

My mother ignores them both.

“Laurel is so beautiful,” Mom enthuses. “Even her name is pretty, sounds like a flower.”

I know.

“How the hell did the two of you meet?” Beau rudely asks.

I glance up. Catch my roommate’s eyes across the kitchen as he pretends to be busy making himself dinner.

Gunderson shrugs.

Oh, now he has nothing to fucking add to the conversation?

“We met at a party.”

Gunderson snorts.

“Where did you take her on your first date?”

Jesus, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?

“We, uh, haven’t gone on a date yet.”

“You’re screwing her and you haven’t taken her on a date?” my dad deadpans from the couch, setting down the remote and suddenly paying rapt attention.

“Charles!” Mom reprimands him while turning a raised brow on me. “Is this the kind of gentleman I’ve raised? One that doesn’t take his girlfriend out on dates?”

“I never have time, Mom!”

Why am I defending myself? Jesus.

“Well what is it you do?” she presses.

“I don’t know—we study. Hold hands. Walk to school together. She comes to my meets. I don’t know what else to do with her!”

“Oh boy,” Gunderson deadpans from the kitchen, chewing on a carrot.

“That’s your idea of dating?” My youngest brother snorts. “Taking her to watch you wrestle? You sure are full of yourself.” He turns to my roommate. “What do they call that?”

“Egomaniac,” Gunderson supplies.

“Shut up, Beau, you’re not helping.”

He shrugs, thumbing through the fitness magazine he swiped from the coffee table, looking for female models.

“Trust me, she doesn’t care that we just hang out,” I counter.

My mother crosses her arms. Glaring.