Home > How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours (HTDAD #1)(9)

How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours (HTDAD #1)(9)
Author: Sara Ney


“What’s she doing here?” Zeke nudges me again, a bored inflection to his deep voice. “I didn’t think they let geeks out of the library on the weekends.”

“Let’s be honest, she’s their DUFF,” someone else says.

I cringe. Designated Ugly Fat Friend? Hardly.

Everyone stands around laughing, and our friend Jared sputters, “She’s not their DUFF, morons. She’s not fat.”

Or ugly.

Not even close.

Calmly, I shrug, not wanting to call any more attention to Jameson, but not coming to her defense, either. “Who cares? It looks like she came here with Parker’s booty call.”

I might sound blasé, but inside I’m fuming.

Now that I’ve kissed those lips, I know she’s not as prissy as she looks. I know her tits are real, her lips are demanding yet pliant, and her tongue does this magical swirly thing that makes my dick stiff. I know she likes sweaters, studying, and the library.

And let’s not forget her sarcastic, shrewd little mouth.

So it’s kind of pissing me off that these assholes are making fun of her.

“Let it go guys.”

Zeke shrugs his wide, NCAA wrestling championship-bound shoulders. “Whatever man, just letting you know she’s here. I’d keep my eye on that one if I were you; you know how the nerdy ones are. Clingy,” he pronounces knowingly, like he’s some goddamn Yoda for nerdy chicks.

“Stage five clingers,” Dylan adds, trying to be helpful—until I jab him in the ribcage with my elbow. It’s one thing for me to degrade Jameson behind her back; it’s another completely for my friends to do it, and I’ve had enough.

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Dylan coughs from the contact, sputtering on his beer. “Big fucking deal—she showed up at a house party.”

“I’m running to grab another beer. Anyone want anything?” I ask, not waiting for their answers and already heading toward the kitchen. The solo keg on the yellow linoleum floor summons and I answer its call.

Beside it? Jameson Clark.

What a coincidence.

“Here, let me get that for you.” I reach down for the keg nozzle, grab the red cup out of her hand, and give the handle on the barrel a few hard pumps.

Despite the blaring music filtering through the house, I still manage to catch the sound of her foot tapping on the kitchen floor.

“You owe me more than one measly foamy beer, Oswald,” she teases.

Did she just call me—

“Oswald?” I search the throng around us. “Who the hell are you talking to?”

Jameson scrunches up her nose, causing the freckles across the bridge of her nose to wink at me. It’s kind of really fucking cute, actually—or is that just the three beers I’ve already chugged down talking?

“Uh, you? Oz. Oswald.”

I laugh then, a loud, booming laugh that echoes in the small, shitty kitchen.

“You seriously don’t know who I am?”

Lips purse, and she takes a dainty sip of the red plastic cup, tapping on the rim with her index finger as she drinks. A thin line of white foam coats her top lip. “I don’t know—should I?”

I guess that answers that question.

“Sweetheart, Oz is a nickname. Haven’t you googled me yet?”

Amused blue eyes roll. “I’m sure you google yourself enough for the both of us.”

Shit, she’s right. I do google myself a lot.

Nevertheless, I persist. “There is no fucking way you don’t know who I am.”

She gives me a sidelong glance, thinking. Taps her cheek with the tip of her index finger. “Are you an actor? Have I seen you on TV?” Snaps her fingers together. “I know—your father is an important politician. The president of something or other? No? Hmmm…”

My grin widens. “You’re a sarcastic little asshole, did you know that?”

“I take that as a compliment coming from you. Luckily, my sarcasm is usually a sign of affection when I’m warming up to someone.”

“Wow, this is you being nice?” Over her shoulder, I watch Fuck Buddy and the other girl nudging their way through the crowd toward us. They stop when they reach Jameson’s side, both of them primping their long blonde hair with flirty, well-practiced flips.

Even with both of them at her side, Jameson resumes her teasing.

“Of course I’m being nice; you owe me two hundred and fifty dollars. Or have you already forgotten?”

“How could I possibly forget when you’re hell bent on reminding me? Instead of cash, why don’t we get creative?”

She lifts a well-manicured brow. “Creative?”

“Yeah. There are other ways I can pay you, starting on my knees with my tongue. Or if you’re not a fan of orgasms, I’ll let you—”

“Stop!” Jameson shouts in a rush, hands going up in the universal sign for time out. “Stop talking! Jesus. Okay, fine. How about you just pay me when they pay you?”

“You didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

“Trust me, I know where that was headed.”

Fuck Buddy’s mouth drops open.

“Uh, James—not to interrupt, but…why is Oz Osborne trying to pay you in sexual favors?” Her chest sticks out, tits on full display in a bright pink top with a scoop neck, her bleached blonde hair artfully curled and spilling down her back. She flips it over her shoulder again and smiles wide.

Nice. Very nice.

Very friendly, I’ll bet.

She’s so smoking hot it’s no wonder Parker fucks her on the regular.

If Jameson notices me noticing her friend, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she takes a healthy swig of beer, leaving another coating of foam on her top lip. I avert my eyes, removing them from her friend’s breasts, then watch as Jameson’s pale pink tongue slips out. Licks the foam. Laps more foam from the top of her red cup like it’s whipped cream.

Jameson collects herself, fanning her face before introducing her friends. “Uh, Oz, these are my friends, Allison and Hayley. Allison and Hay—well, you obviously already know who this is, and I’m assuming you didn’t have to google him.”

The girls glance between us, rusty wheels turning inside their beautiful blonde heads.

“Um…” the blonde in pink drags out. “What’s going on between the two of you?”

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