How to Date a Douchebag_The Coaching Hours

by Sara Ney

  Great. He obviously thinks I’m dead.

  Dad: Where the hell are you?

  Dad: Did you come home last night?

  Dad: Anabelle, answer me goddammit.

  Dad: You better be dead in a ditch somewhere.

  Dad: Anabelle Juliet Donnelly

  Dad: Young lady, answer your phone. You’re starting to worry Linda.

  Dad: Anabelle, if you don’t text me back within ten minutes, so help me God, I’m calling the campus police and the state patrol.

  Dad: Five minutes.

  Hastily, I tap out a reply: Sorry Dad, just woke up. I stayed at a friend’s house last night. Too much alcohol to make it home.

  He wastes no time asking questions.

  Dad: Which friend?

  Me: Daddy, does it matter?

  Dad: Daddy? Now I know you’re up to something.

  Are you trying to manipulate me by sweet-talking me? I smell bullshit. Who were you with last night? Was it a guy?

  Dad: Has your mother ever given you the sex talk? Do you know the number one disease on college campuses is syphilis? That’s not a rock band or a rash, it’s an STD and you get it by being foolish.

  Oh my God.

  My phone pings again.

  Dad: These college boys only want one thing, Anabelle Juliet.

  Okay, now he’s laying it on a little too thick with the middle name business. I’m approaching twenty-two years old for crying out loud. Talk about heavy-handed parenting.

  One more reason I need to move out, into my own place.

  Me: I’m sorry Dad, but I didn’t want to wake you last night. It was late and I was in no condition to even call for a cab.

  Dad: You’re telling me you were so drunk you couldn’t even text your father? What the hell is wrong with you? Have you gone and lost all your common sense?

  I take a deep breath and pray for patience.

  Me: Dad. I stayed with a friend. It was the best decision last night.

  Dad: You should have called me to come pick you up.

  I almost type It’s bad enough that I live with my parents but delete it, instead sending him a terse: I appreciate that Dad, but if I’m going to make friends and fit in here, I can’t be calling you to bail me out. I’m not a kid.

  A few moments go by before he replies.

  Dad: Fair enough.

  Dad: When can we expect you home? Linda is making potato salad for lunch and I have to be at the gym for a two-a-dayer.

  I sigh. He’s never going to get it.

  Me: Tell Linda not to wait, I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’m probably going to stick around town for lunch, grab a coffee. I’ll be back in a few hours, definitely for dinner.

  Elliot is watching me but pretending not to, his eyes roaming my face, interested in my expressions as I frantically reply to my dad’s text messages.

  I finally set the phone on the table, face down.

  Sigh.

  “I really should get going.”

  “You need a ride?”

  “Nah, I’ll catch an Uber.”

  “Anabelle, it’s no big deal.”

  I reach out, covering his hand with mine. Pull back when his skin sizzles. “I know, but you’ve done enough, gone above and beyond already.” I would die of mortification if he did me one more favor. “I appreciate you helping me, coming to my rescue. I probably won’t ever forget it.”

  He demurs. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I rise. “All right, well…thanks.” Palm my phone, scrolling through the few apps I have downloaded for transportation, choose one, and click for a ride. “There’s a car less than two minutes away. It’s supposed to be nice today, so I’ll wait outside if you don’t mind.”

  He nods as I smooth a hand down my frizzy hair self-consciously.

  “Bye Elliot.” I give him a wave, despite the fact that I haven’t left his kitchen. “See you around.”

  “See ya. Take care, Donnelly.”

  I grin, biting down on my bottom lip. “You, too, Saint Elliot.”

  Anabelle

  “Anabelle, hey.”

  I hear his voice before I see him, sitting at the table I’ve been occupying on the sixth floor, the one I apparently stole from him and have now happily surrendered as a thank you.

  “Hey to you, too, stranger.”

  I haven’t seen him since that morning in his kitchen, but I’ve thought of him every day. He’s a sight for sore eyes, spread out at that corner table, the entire surface a mess of books, laptop, and pens.

  “You just get here?” he asks politely.

  “Yeah. Thought I’d check to see if this spot was taken.”

  “Have a seat.”

  “Gosh no, I’d hate to interrupt. You were in the middle of something.”

  “Big deal. There’s plenty of room.” The chair across from him shoots out, his foot propped on the seat. “More than that shitty desk over there.”

  “Okay. All right.” I set my bag down on a different chair and he removes his feet, sitting up taller.

  “How have you been?”

  “Good. How ’bout you?”

  Elliot slides down in his seat, slouching against the back, legs spread. “Same shit, different day. You know how it is.”

  “That good, eh?”

  It doesn’t take long for me to settle in, for us to quietly begin working on our own tasks, comfortable with the companionship. It’s not necessary to fill the void with words or chatter; it’s nice being in his presence.

  Every so often we exchange glances—friendly smiles—but work in peaceful silence.

  My phone vibrates.

  Vibrates again.

  When I finally flip it over, I see it’s a text from my dad, asking if I plan on being around tonight to watch his favorite series on cable.

  My groan is louder than I intend.

  “I have got to get out of that house,” I mutter, plopping my phone face down with an irritated huff so I can’t see the screen light up again.

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  “Yes. My father is driving me nuts.”

  Elliot’s brow rises.

  “I don’t know if I told you this, but since I transferred, I’ve been living with my dad and stepmom. They’re both great, but…”

  “But you’re living with your dad and stepmom?”

  I laugh. “Exactly.” Sigh. “I love them to death, obviously, but they’ve completely forgotten that I’m twenty-one years old and not fifteen.”

  “When I go home to visit my folks, my mom still tells me to hit the sack at ten o’clock. Then she’ll come in my room to turn off my light if I’m up reading too late. It’s so obnoxious.”

  “That is my life. Every. Single. Day.” I want to bang my head on the table repeatedly.

  “Dude, that would suck so hard.”

  “It does suck, harder than you know.”

  “No comment.” He laughs, tipping his head back. “What’s your plan? I mean, are you going to stay with them all year or what?”

  It hasn’t been very long, and I won’t last much longer without losing my mind.

  My fingers shred the end of a sheet of paper as I mull over his question. “I don’t know if I have a choice. I’m keen on living with a roommate, but it’s second semester and everyone is settled, so finding one has been impossible.”

  Someone needs to take pity on me.

  Soon.

  “Yeah, the timing kind of blows.”

  Blows hard.

  I blush, dipping my head so he won’t see it.

  As soon as he says the word blow with those gorgeous lips, my mind wanders south on his body. All the way south.

  I clear my throat. “I think at this point, my best option might be to rent an apartment, which I was hoping would be a last resort. I don’t want to pay the full rent on a place.”

  The last thing I want is my dad shelling out money for me to live on my own.

  Elliot agrees, nodding his head. “That part of having a roo
mmate is nice. I kind of miss having someone else around, you know? Coming home to an empty house sucks sometimes.”

  “How so? Because right now, it sounds like it would be paradise.”

  “Well…” He tips back in his chair, balancing on the back legs, hands braced on the table. “For example, my last two roommates were kind of assholes. The walls of the house were really thin, you know, and they’d barge in on me sometimes—”

  I raise my brows, and now we’re both blushing.

  “That’s…no. I didn’t mean it like…Jesus, I just meant they constantly went where they weren’t supposed to, and brought girls home when they were single, and had one too many parties.”

  That doesn’t actually sound all that terrible, but I scrunch up my face anyway and make the appropriate sympathetic noises.

  “But you kind of miss having someone around?”

  “I totally do.”

  I’m suddenly very interested in the tabletop and worry my bottom lip, an idea taking root, one I’m afraid to voice out loud.

  What if…

  “Hey, Elliot?”

  I still can’t look at him.

  “Yeah?”

  “What, uh, what are you doing with that extra bedroom in your house?”

  “What extra bedroom?”

  “The one across the hall from yours, with the desk and bookshelves in it.”

  “Oh, it’s not technically a bedroom because it doesn’t have a closet. I’ve been using it as an office and a place to store my shit.”

  “Do you think a twin bed could fit in it?”

  “Not with all that stuff in there.”

  I roll my eyes. “What if we took it all out?”

  “We?”

  “Yeah. What if you turned it into a bedroom?” I hold my breath.

  “My storage room?”

  It’s taking every ounce of my self-control not to blurt out my thoughts. “What would half your rent be?”

  “Three hundred something.”

  Just three hundred dollars a month for my own space?

  Sign me up!

  The wheels in my head start spinning, my heart rate getting faster. “Would you hate the idea of having someone move in with you?”

  Elliot shrugs, non-committal. “Meh, it’s been nice living alone, but I guess I wouldn’t care if I had a new roommate. Covering the entire rent sucks up most of my savings during the year.”

  “Right.” I brace myself, holding a breath. “Would you object to having a female roommate? Say, if someone female wanted to rent the room?”

  “A girl? I can’t see how that would matter.” He seems to scoff at the notion. “How different could it be than living with a dude?”

  “What about living with me, specifically?” I suck in another breath, waiting. “I know the last few times you saw me I was a hot mess, but I promise you Elliot, I am not that girl. I swear, that was one bad decision, one I regret and thank God you were there.” I hate that he saw me drunk, hung-over.

  I hate that he might have gotten a terrible first and second impression of me, ones I can’t erase from his mind.

  “But I’m other things, too. I’m really tidy, and I bake the most ah-mazing French butter cookies—and nothing unhealthy for dinner, promise. I’ll be so good for your diet.”

  I beam at him, hopeful, trying not to look like the kind of girl who cries in the library and passes out drunk on a regular basis. Normal. Rational. Calm.

  The perfect roommate.

  “Hmm.” Elliot taps his pen on the table, thoughtful. “You serious? Because I really don’t care if you’re a girl or not, I’d just like someone who’s going to pick up their shit and pay half the utilities—on time.”

  “I’m really tidy, I swear, and I only brought clothes and school supplies from Massachusetts. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  “You moved here with just clothes? How is that even possible?”

  “I have almost no worldly possessions.” Annnd now I sound like a hobo. “The last two places I lived were furnished, which was awesome, but it means I have nothing to my name. Blessing and a curse.”

  Judging by the look on his face, he is not hating this idea.

  “Let’s say, hypothetically, I did move into your storage closet—what would I need?”

  “A bed?”

  “I could arrange that. Anything else?”

  Just then, Elliot’s phone begins playing a mariachi tune, vibrating enthusiastically across the study table. “Shit. Can we finish this conversation later? I have to go.”

  “Oh. Okay, yeah. Sure.” I pause. “Do you have a class?”

  “No, a pick-up soccer game. There’s a big group of us that plays a few nights a month whenever we can.”

  “Really?”

  He’s packing up his bag, shoving the laptop inside haphazardly, suddenly in a rush. “Yeah, down at Hadley Park.” Glances up at me. “You should come sometime and watch.”

  “I would love that. I actually play soccer.”

  He stops. Stares at me. “You do?”

  “Varsity, all through high school. I was a halfback.” I flash him a grin, running a hand along my long, sleek ponytail. “Man, was I fast.”

  Elliot studies me a few more moments. Quirks a brow. “You interested in playing? That’s what a pick-up game is—anyone can join.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, seriously. Are you interested?”

  “I…yeah. I mean, sure! Maybe I’ll come watch you play tonight then I can have my mom send my cleats? I’d have them by next week.”

  “Cool.” Elliot stares down at my bag as he hefts his onto his broad, sexy shoulders, nodding toward the exit. “You coming or what, Donnelly?”

  “Yes! Yes, I’m coming.”

  Elliot

  “St. Charles, you bringing dates to the games now or what?”

  “Huh?” I’m down on the ground, tying my cleats when my teammate Devin hovers over me, giving my shoulder a nudge with his knee.

  He’s wearing black shin guards and a shit-eating grin. “Bro, I asked you three times if you’re bringing a date to our games now. You’re not even paying attention.”

  “A date? Why would you ask me if she was my date?”

  “Because you brought a girl here and she’s been watching you the whole time?”

  I look up from my laces, gaze colliding with Anabelle’s. She shoots over a small wave.

  “Oh yeah, her—I should probably introduce you.”

  “You got a girlfriend you forgot to tell us about?”

  “Uh, no. I think that’s my new roommate?”

  “Roommate?” Devin Pierce takes his turn glancing over at Anabelle Donnelly, legs crossed on a lawn chair, watching us intently. “Her?”

  “We haven’t talked through all the details yet, but yeah, she’s probably going to move into my house.”

  “Her? You’re going to live with her?”

  My eyes narrow and I stand, pulling at my shin guards and adjusting my shorts. “Why are you saying it like that?”

  He stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Because, there is no fucking way you’re going to live in a house with her without wanting to, you know…”

  Dev takes his hand, makes the symbol for okay, and then takes the forefinger from his other hand and pokes it through, over and over. Immature asshole.

  I shake my head. “You are out of your fucking mind. Anabelle and I are just friends.”

  Sort of.

  “Men and women can’t be friends, yo, and they sure as shit can’t live together.”

  “Why not?”

  “Feelings and sex and shit.”

  “That’s not going to happen, but thanks for the warning.”

  “Hey man, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing! I just think you’re two reasonably attractive people with functioning downtown equipment. It’s going to happen.”

  “Have you always been this annoying?”

  “No. You’re just being sensitive becaus
e you know I’m right.” His eyes stray to the sidelines, hands propped on his waist. When he begins speaking, it’s as if he’s talking to Anabelle, but only I can hear him. “You totally dig him already, don’t you? Yup, yup, I see you watchin’ him, girl. He’s got real fine legs, don’t he?”

  “Shut the fuck up, would you?”

  He ignores me. “Stare a little harder, honey, he ain’t gonna notice. He’s got you planted firmly in the friend zone.”

  “Stop talking like that. She’s watching us, not staring—there’s a huge difference.”

  “You’re saying you haven’t had any dirty thoughts about her?”

  “No.”

  Dev laughs. “You will.”

  A whistle blows in the distance and our feet start moving, our forward facing our goalpost, kicking the ball back to me.

  I tap it still. Pause.

  Run, moving it up the field a few yards before a defender from the yellow team invades my space. Pass it left to our midfielder.

  Try to block out the image of Anabelle on the sidelines. She’s risen from her folding chair, clapping, hands around her mouth, shouting and calling my name.

  Cheering me on.

  The game is fast-paced and high energy and over before I know it, ninety minutes gone by in a flash.

  Anabelle is waiting when we’re done, long ponytail swaying back and forth as she walks toward me, holding out a water bottle.

  “You thirsty?”

  I brought my own bottle, but her gesture is sweet. I reach for it. “Thanks.”

  Chug.

  I stop walking in my tracks. Blurt out, “I think we should do it.”

  “Do it as in…”

  “Move in together.”

  She sucks in an excited breath, hands clasped under her chin. “You do?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  “Really?” she squeals, beginning a small hop that makes her boobs bounce. “Oh my gosh, Elliot, I could kiss you right now!” On her tippy toes, Anabelle folds me into an enthusiastic hug, squeezing the stuffing out of me, burying her face in my chest. “Thank you!”