How to Date a Douchebag:The Studying Hours(8)

By: Sara Ney

Her eyes take a joy ride up and down my thick arms folded over the chair, the full sleeve of tattoos. “See that woman over there with the gray bun and cardigan cataloging the dictionaries? That’s the librarian.”

Now I roll my eyes. “No shit, she looks like one—but if we’re comparing, all you’re missing is the gray hair, bitter expression, and nerdy glasses.” Her hands touch the frames surrounding her blue eyes. “Never mind, you hit two of the three. A trifecta of sexual repression.”

“I’m not sexually repressed.”

At the base of my thick neck, I pretend to have a necklace around my throat and finger an imaginary pearl. “Could have fooled me.”

Her eyes narrow. “If this is your way of trying to be charming, you’re failing miserably. I thought you were trying to kiss me.”

“Does this mean you’re thinking about it?”

She pauses for a heartbeat, picking up her pen and drawing little circles in her notebook. “It would surprise you if I said yes, wouldn’t it?”

I chuckle. “Yes.”

“Hold on—I want to remember this moment when I say the words.” She squints at me like she’s taking a picture in her mind, then slowly says, “Yes. I’m thinking about it.”

Not. What. I. Was. Expecting.

Is this chick for real?

“Seriously?” I blurt out, brows planted in my hairline. “You’re not just fucking with me?”

Her shoulders rise into a shrug. “Sure, why not? I could use three hundred dollars.

People don’t surprise me very often, but Sexy Librarian…she just shocked the shit out of me. “Three hundred dollars?”

What the fuck!

“No offense, but I’m not giving you more than half the money; that’s not part of the deal.”

She lifts her earbuds, placing one back in her ear, then the other with a smug, satisfied smile. “See you around then, Oz.”

I catch her eyes rolling again before her neck bends, pen flying into motion as she goes back to studying.

I sigh. “Fine. Fifty bucks.”

“Two fifty.”

She never lifts her head.

What the hell? “This is bullshit. You seriously won’t kiss me for free?”

“Absolutely not.” She looks up and down my chiseled torso, eyes taking in my dense biceps and tattoos with only mild interest. An eyebrow cocks. “You’re not exactly my type.”


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


“Please don’t ever call anyone kitten. It’s worse than sweetheart. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.” Then she boxes out, adjusting her entire body, rearranging herself away from me. Head bowing over her notebook, her shoulders slump a fraction before she raises her head to look me directly in the eye. “Know what else? That was a shitty thing to say to someone.”

“What! You just said the same freaking thing to me!”

Even so, when her mask of uncertainty gazes back at me,

I’m not gonna to lie—I feel like a total dickwad for having said it back.

Kind of.

Sort of.

Fine. Not really.

Nonetheless, I let out a long, drawn-out sigh, like I’m about to do her a huge favor to make up for it. “Okay. I’ll give you half the money.”

Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “That’s your apology? Pity money?”

I refuse to say I’m sorry. “Take it or leave it.”

“Fine. I’ll kiss you, but only because you wore me down.”

“You just fleeced me out of two hundred dollars!”

“Two hundred and fifty.”

We size each other up under the dim lights of the library, the table lamps casting a warm glow over her smooth skin and heart-shaped face. Shadows dance when she cocks her head in my direction, waiting for me to say something.

I try to look her up and down to mentally catalog her tits, hips, and ass, but it’s impossible with her sitting down.

“Can you do me one favor?” I grumble. “I think this would be less awkward for me if you stood up.”

She sniffs indignantly. “Less awkward for you? I’m about to put my lips on a complete stranger, and now you’re getting picky. Keep piling up those favors.”