Title: How To Date A Douchebag: The Failing Hours
Author: Sara Ney
Genre: New Adult, Sports Romance, College Romance
Zeke Daniels isn’t just a douchebag; he’s an asshole.
A total and complete jerk, Zeke keeps people at a distance. He has no interest in relationships—most assholes don’t.
Dating? Being part of a couple? Nope. Not for him.
He’s never given any thought to what he wants in a girlfriend, because he’s never had any intention of having one.
Shit, he barely has a relationship with his family, and they’re related; his own friends don’t even like him.
So why does he keep thinking about Violet DeLuca?
Sweet, quiet Violet—his opposite in every sense of the word.
The light to his dark, even her damn name sounds like rays of sunshine and happiness and shit.
And that pisses him off, too.
What I thought
Ok, so, a girl has to be honest when it comes to doing reviews. Anyone that knows me or reads this blog with any kind of consistency knows that I don’t do well with ‘funny’. Sarcasm – i’m really good with but funny books are altogether different. M.E Carter (if you havne’t read her books then you really should) introduced me to Sara Ney. I have to say I was a but apprehensive but when an author I trust sends me in the direction of another I take note. So a couple of months ago I read How To Date a Douchebag and I absolutely loved it. When I had the opportunity for an early read of #2 The Failing Hours, well that was a no brainer.
When I started reading it I was a little concerned, the very beginning was very familiar. It was similar to the first book. Thank God though I was worried for nothing. The Failing Hours was a really enjoyable read and absolutely on its own merits. It made me laugh several times because while i’m not good with funny books i felt that it all flowed so naturally. Sara Ney nailed it and it didn’t come across as trying too hard. Of course then it had depth that wasn’t necessarily expected. Zeke is a bit of an onion – peel back a layer and there is another one, be careful too because he may well make your eyes water too! And Violet – let us not forget her. Such a strong powerful woman. She has been through more than anyone should at her age. Just the perfect person to sort out our favourite douchebag.
SO in all, I loved it. I flew through reading it because it was just such an addictive read. I was wondering just what he was going to do to self sabotage himself and how the hell he was going to fix it. Just like car crash TV, I couldn’t look away! I cant wait to hear what you think of it!
“Best Read of 2017! A one click must for any lover of hot, sexy romance done RIGHT ! [This] story is the quintessential slow burn effect…Zeke will come to own your body and soul–I am OBSESSED with this series and The Failing Hours has just shot to my ‘Best of All Time’ list. Be prepared to fall in love with a douche bag and the woman who sets him straight. ” – Books and Boys Book Blog
“That was EVERYTHING I expected, wanted, dreamed of. . . this is a MUST FREAKING READ. UNFORGETTABLE goodness. NA romance at it’s best.” – Angie’s Dreamy Reads
“Sara Ney has delivered a sexy, jerkwad douchebag with soul-deep feelings and the sweet, kind, unassuming girl to reach his hidden heart in one of the best NA romantic comedies I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading. Ney’s impeccable writing, fresh characters, and feel-good story will stick with you forever.” – Bestselling Author Staci Hart
“I took so much pleasure in Zeke’s looming destruction (insert evil laugh)….” – The Reading Belles
The clock on the wall counts the seconds, steady as the rhythm of my beating heart, which thumps wildly within my chest until the glass door to the library opens, propelled by a gust of wind.
Some new fallen leaves flutter in, the heavy doors slamming from the draft.
Along with them? Zeke Daniels.
He shuffles in, dark gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, black Iowa Wrestling hoodie pulled up over his head, the university’s bright yellow mascot screen-printed across the chest. Backpack slung over one shoulder, black athletic flip-flops, and a pair of black sunglasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose complete the overall ensemble.
He is utterly…ridiculous.
His arrogance knows no bounds; I can see it in his loose gait, the exaggerated swagger, and the too-casual way he’s dragging his flip-flops across the cold, marble tile floor. It’s noisy, irritating, and completely uncalled for.
In the moment, my mind drifts to his personal life, and I theorize that he listens to heavy metal music to sooth his foul temperament, drinks his coffee black—as black as his soul—and his liquor straight up. I imagine once he’s had sex with someone, they’re never invited back. I go one step further and theorize that they’re never invited to spend the night at his place, either.
Zeke Daniels makes his way to a table at the far end of the room, near the periodicals, one out of the way with plenty of privacy.
Sets his bag down in one of the four wooden chairs. Flicks on the small study lamp. Plugs his laptop cord into the base and stands.
Our eyes would have met then were it not for those ludicrous sunglasses. I choose the exact moment he lifts his gaze to look down at the ground. Busy myself with shuffling papers on the counter. Count to ten instead of chanting, Please don’t come over, please don’t come over, please don’t come over…
But luck isn’t on my side because he most decidedly does.
Makes his way over like a predator at a pace so deliberate, I’m convinced he’s doing it on purpose. As if he suspects I’m watching from under my long lashes, dreading his imminent arrival.
He basks in my discomfort.
The distance between us closes, his strides purposeful.
His large hand reaches up, pushing down the hood of his sweatshirt, his fingertips pinching the earpiece of his sunglasses and pulling them off his face. My eyes follow the movements as he folds them closed, hanging them on the neckline of his hoodie.
His gaze lingers—those clear gray eyes famous around campus—and finds the shiny silver bellhop bell perched on the counter with the sign next to it that reads, Ring for help.
The tip of his forefinger presses down on the small bell.
He hits it again, despite me standing not three feet in front of him.
What an ass.
Purveyor of all things witty & romantic, I love: iced latte’s, traveling, and bright, bold colors. On any given day, you can find me in my office, lovingly gazing at my bookshelf or shuffling my Bic felt-tip pen collection. I love hand writing letters, and sarcasm.
I live in the midwest, but “Will Write for Travel,” and believe everyone should follow their dreams, no matter how big or small. My favorite authors include Cindy Miles, S Walden, Suzanne Enoch, Tessa Dare (to name a few). I am a glutton for Historical, RomCom, Sports and MC romance.
One husband. Two daughters. Plenty of chaos.