The Coaching Hours (How to Date a Douchebag 4)

Our palms slide together, fusing.

I tug.

She stands. Swipes the grass off her rear, long legs marred with grass stains. Blushes.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Wait.” Her fingers reach out, plucking at my hair. “You have a piece of grass stuck right…here.”

“Thanks.”

She smiles. “No problem.”

I watch as she jogs away, eyes fastened on that ass. The long, colt-like legs striding back to her side of the field.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Fucking Devin.

I turn and shoot him an irritated scowl. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the other side of the field?”

“I took Brandon’s spot, he had to cut out early for a study group.” My teammate laughs. “Getting chummy with your roommate already, I see? Peel your eyes off her for one damn second, would ya?”

“Shut up.”

His laugh is loud and annoying as hell. “I knew you fucking liked her! You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.”

“I said, shut. Up.”

“It is too damn cute, that’s all I’m saying.” He falls into line beside me, way too far back to be in his correct position. “Like little puppy dogs!”

Curious, I can’t help asking, “What were the two of you laughing about during the penalty shot?”

My knees are bent, eyes still trained on the ball being kicked around.

“You, obviously.”

“Jesus, Devin, would you cut the crap? What did you say?”

He lets out a loud laugh. “I asked if you were being a kind and courteous roommate.”

“You fucking liar.”

“Yeah, I’m lying.” He sniffles, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt. “I asked her if she found you attractive, if she liked you as more than a friend.”

“What the actual fuck! Why would you do that?”

“Because I was curious and I knew you wouldn’t have the balls. Don’t fucking lie and say your dick doesn’t tingle thinking about her. She’s hot.”

She is hot, especially in those short soccer shorts, with those flirty pink socks pulled up to her knees.

“Well, what did she say, asshole?” He’s driving me insane.

“What do you think she said?”

I want to strangle him so hard right now. “God I hate you.”

“Do you? Do you though? Or do you wish your balls were as big as mine?” He grabs his dick through his shorts, laughing.

“Just fucking tell me what she said.”

“Nah.” He ignores me, watching the players move around the field. “I don’t think I will.”

Fantastic.

I don’t know what’s happening to me; I have Anabelle on the brain 24-7.

We’re playing with fire, and we both know it.

Elliot

When I enter the house tonight, Anabelle is snuggled up in the corner of the couch, blanket over her legs, highlighter in hand, hovering it over a book I’ve never seen.

I can’t decipher the title from here, but its hot pink cover catches my eye. Setting my bag down by the door and kicking off my shoes before entering the living room, I join her on the couch, plopping down on the opposite end.

“Hey.”

She looks down at my feet, propped on the coffee table, happy to see me. “Hey. Welcome home.”

“What the hell are you reading?”

“A book? I bought it on the ‘Zon.” She turns the cover toward herself, reading it with a snicker. “How to Get Revenge on Someone and Stay Classy in the Process.”

“Oh Jesus.”

Anabelle sighs. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about this whole Eric and Rex debacle thing, and I’m just not ready to let it go. Like, I don’t want to be a psycho, but I don’t think they should get away with acting like complete douchebags. Know what I mean?”

“I hate even asking, but what does the book say you should do?”

“Well, it’s not good news.” Anabelle clears her throat, opening to the middle of the book, trailing her thumb along one of the pages. “When you act in desperation to get revenge on an ex, this not only makes you look crazy, it can also make you look like a complete psycho. Seriously, you’re better than that.”

“It says that? For real?”

“Yeah, for real. It’s such a bummer.”

“Why?”

“Because everything I’ve researched is telling me to let the whole thing go. It’s depressing.”

I shrug. “I mean…you could. Those idiots are never going to learn their lesson.”

“Oh, and then there’s this!” She clears her throat dramatically. “Let karma handle the situation.” Anabelle snorts, reading. “You are not starring in a movie—this is real life. You might think you have the tools to pull off revenge flawlessly, but you do not.”

The book flops down in her lap, and my roommate tosses the yellow marker onto the coffee table. It hits the hard surface and bounces to the floor.

“How do the authors know I don’t have the tools to pull off revenge flawlessly? They don’t know me—they don’t know my life.”

“Do you have the tools?”

“No, but they don’t know that.” Anabelle tosses the book to the side next to her on the couch. “Ugh, I want my money back! This book is garbage!”

“Anabelle, don’t you think it’s time to tell your dad?”

“Probably, but I want to explore all of my options first—and correct me if I’m wrong, but getting back at those guys was your idea.”

“No, I want them to be held accountable for the shit they’ve been doing, not get revenge on them. They keep getting away with their crap. Telling your dad would finally put a stop to it.”

“Elliot, I went out with the guy, remember? He’s harmless enough. Honestly, I just think he’s rather impulsive.” Anabelle’s arms go above her head, stretching. She changes the subject. “I am so sore, my shoulders are killing me. I thought I was in better shape than this, but these soccer games are kicking my butt.”

“Should we chill out and watch TV? I can massage your back if you want.”

“Yes, oh my God, would you? I would love that!” She sits up, animated, scrambling to her feet. “I’m getting my pajamas on. I know it’s early, but I’m beat, and then you can give me a back massage.”

She does a happy dance on her tiptoes in the center of the living room.

“Seriously? That’s all it takes to get you excited? The promise of a shoulder rub?”

Her finger points in my direction, one eye narrowing. “You said back massage.”

“Semantics.”

My roommate rolls her eyes toward the ceiling. “Whichever way you want to rub me, I’ll meet you on the bed in ten minutes. I’m not missing this opportunity—I haven’t had anyone work on my back in ages.”

Whichever way you want to rub me… Meet you on the bed…

Head out of the gutter, St. Charles. That’s not what she meant.

I know, but I can’t help it.

I trudge along behind Anabelle down the short hallway to my room, shutting the door behind me and peeling off the clothes I wore to my classes and while studying in the library, where I just came from.

I’m pulling on a pair of navy mesh shorts when she knocks, giving the elastic waistband a snap and opening the door.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were still, you know…getting dressed.” She’s gaping at me, intense blue eyes swiftly raking my bare chest and abs, standing in sleep shorts and a tank top. “Do you want to throw a shirt on or something?”

“It’s fine, I’m good. Come in and make yourself comfortable—you always do.”

She doesn’t take offense at my good-natured teasing.

“Haha, but also, don’t mind if I do.” She almost literally throws herself on my bed, landing on her stomach, head at the foot, facing the television. Props her chin in her hands, waiting for me. “I brought this.”