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 a pulse. He will reciprakate with oral. 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.
KOBO
MY REVIEW!!!
5 STARS!!
5 STARS!!
| I really loved and enjoyed this one. Really an awesome story line. Loved both of the characters especially the male one. He was just your average guy who din't have a lot of experience and wasn't sure what to do with his lady. I could not get enough of this book. Super funny and just a great story. Cant wait to read more by the author. |
EXCERT:
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...
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...
Sara Ney is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the How to Date a Douchebag series, and is
best known for her sexy, laugh-out- loud New Adult romances. Among her favorite vices, she
includes: iced latte's, historical architecture and well-placed sarcasm. She lives colorfully,
collects vintage books, art, loves flea markets, and fancies herself British.
She lives with her husband, children, and her ridiculously large dog.
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