The Studying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag, #1)

by Sara Ney

“You’re not exactly my type.” Liar. “Kitten, you couldn’t be less my type even if you were sitting in that chair wearing nothing but that goddamn necklace.” Liar.

LIARS

“Fucking is my favorite,” I soothe gently. “The word, I mean.” Clearing her throat, James tilts her head to study me, intense blue gaze falling on my lips. They linger there, watching my mouth as I speak. “Personally, Jameson, I think it’s one of the most versatile words in the English language. Don’t you?”

He is the worse haha

“I told Chad we were cousins, remember? So he didn’t see a problem with us rooming together. Congrats, Jim! It looks like we’re going to be roommates.” “Don’t you mean cellmates?” I groan, glancing over my shoulder at the empty bedroom, at the one queen sized bed with its one threadbare coverlet, the single dresser, and the tiny bathroom with one tiny shower.

Ladies and gentlemen, there's only one bed!!!

“Small hands? Small…” “Dick.” “See? You get it.” “No—you are a dick.”

There was a time I used to worry about never finding the one. Worry I was going to be alone forever with no one to come home to at night but the dog. Or cat. Or fish. In fact, most of my friends were happily single. Wanted to be. On purpose. Free to do whatever and whomever they wanted. I think I woke up one morning and decided it didn’t matter any more; not having a man in my life wasn’t going to define me, wasn’t going to make me feel less whole or undesirable. Undesirable. What a ridiculous thing to say at the age of twenty-one.

“Can you feel it beating?” I can. “That’s for you. No one else makes me feel this way; no one has ever made me feel this way. No woman. No coach. No opponent makes my heart race the way—” “Stop talking.”

Yeah! Stop talking, Oz!

“I like you, Sebastian,” comes her husky whisper. “I like your brains and your body, and I’m tired of saying no. Tired of rules. Tired of waiting for date number five.” “I want to—wait.” Am I hearing her correctly? “What?”

WHAAAT??