The Learning Hours
by Sara Ney
How to Date a Douchebag Series #3
He’s not a douchebag;
but that doesn’t stop his friends from
turning him into one.
MY FRIENDS WANT ME TO GET LAID.
So much so that they plastered my ugly
mug all over campus, in bold printed letters:
Are you the lucky lady who’s going to
break our roommate’s cherry?
Him: socially awkward man with
average-sized penis looking for willing sexual partner. You: must have pulse.
Text him at: 555-254-5551
The morons can’t even spell. And the
texts I’ve been receiving are what wet dreams are made of. But I’m not like
these douchebags, no matter how hard they try to turn me into one.
THIS ISN’T THE KIND OF ATTENTION I WANT.
One text stands out from hundreds. One
number I can’t bring myself to block. She seems different. Hotter, even in
black and white.
However, after seeing her in person, I
know she’s not the girl for me. But my friends won’t let up—they just don't get
it. Douchebags or not, there's one thing they'll never understand: GIRLS DON’T WANT ME.
Especially her.
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Excerpt:
He’s
seated at a table in the far corner when I spot him from the door. He’s not
hard to miss—not with his purple t-shirt in a sea of black and yellow, and wavy
mussed hair.
He’s
slouching, hunched over his table.
Defeated.
Tired.
My
stomach rolls with nerves, nerves that have me rooted to the spot in the
doorway, watching him.
Just watching.
For
the entire four minutes I stand here, he sits immobile, studying his laptop,
eyes moving along the screen, completely transfixed by whatever he’s reading.
Learning.
“Just
go over there,” I whisper to myself, blowing out a puff of pent-up air.
I
put one foot in front of the other and begin toward him, spine ramrod straight,
steeling myself, prepared for another argument.
Twenty
feet.
Fifteen.
Eight.
Two.
“Hi.”
No
reply.
“Do
you mind if I sit here?” I lay my hand on the back of the wooden chair across
from him, intending to pull it out.
He
stiffens but doesn’t lift his head. “Yes I mind.”
“Would
you mind if I sat at the table next to you?” I’m pushing his buttons, looking
for a reaction, but he only spares me a brief glance.
Shrugs.
“Free country.”
I bite my lip to
hide a smile, glad he didn’t tell me to take a hike...
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