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.
Act casual, I remind myself, he is just a guy… an insensitive guy. Intimidating. Cold. Callous. Complicated. The moodiest, broodiest, douchbaggiest guy I have ever met.
To add another log onto the let’s roast Zeke fire, his coach makes him do volunteer work as a Big Brother. The kid he gets is okay, but what is he supposed to do with him? Violet babysits a little girl named Summer and seems to love doing it. And the kid loves spending time with her. Zeke starts to look to Violet for some direction with Kyle, the kid he is assigned.
Zeke needs Violet’s help but then he screws up in front of his roommates-Oz, Elliott and Oz’s girl Jameson (this couple was featured in How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours ( that book is a hoot!) Doesn’t take too long for Jameson to call Zeke on his shit. So maybe he could have reacted better to the situation. Violet hasn’t had an easy time of it, and that’s putting it mildly.
“I predict you lie in bed tonight once your little buddy there is gone, and for once in your life, you’re going to feel shitty about the way you treated someone."
The two of them both drew the short straw for their childhoods While Violet is determined not to let hers dictate her future, Zeke wallows in putting up walls to keep everyone else out. How far can Violet scale that wall? Would she even want to? Make no mistake Zeke is a real dick-he has a marshmallow center but its incased in 3 or 4 inches of pure ice.
She has long term commitment stamped in the center of her goddamn forehead. My taste in women is simple: one night stands. Not someone you bring home to your parents.
I am loving this series. These characters frustrate me. Sometimes I love them, sometimes I hate them, and sometimes I want to give them a big old push off a cliff. Now that’s the sign of good writing!
4 stars
Review by Lisa Kane
Violet is supposed to tutor Zeke Daniels as part of her library duties. But he’s scary and big and intimidating. Zeke needs to get his bio grade up or things may not go so well on the wrestling team. When he realizes that Violet played him he makes sure to get in all his digs. Tutoring him isn’t as bad as she thinks. Zeke’s arrogant, and cold and has no filter. He doesn’t want or need friendships, he’s quite content with superficial relationships. The girls he has sex with want to screw the athlete, but they aren’t any more interested in him than he is in them.
Act casual, I remind myself, he is just a guy… an insensitive guy. Intimidating. Cold. Callous. Complicated. The moodiest, broodiest, douchbaggiest guy I have ever met.
To add another log onto the let’s roast Zeke fire, his coach makes him do volunteer work as a Big Brother. The kid he gets is okay, but what is he supposed to do with him? Violet babysits a little girl named Summer and seems to love doing it. And the kid loves spending time with her. Zeke starts to look to Violet for some direction with Kyle, the kid he is assigned.
Zeke needs Violet’s help but then he screws up in front of his roommates-Oz, Elliott and Oz’s girl Jameson (this couple was featured in How to Date a Douchebag: The Studying Hours ( that book is a hoot!) Doesn’t take too long for Jameson to call Zeke on his shit. So maybe he could have reacted better to the situation. Violet hasn’t had an easy time of it, and that’s putting it mildly.
“I predict you lie in bed tonight once your little buddy there is gone, and for once in your life, you’re going to feel shitty about the way you treated someone."
The two of them both drew the short straw for their childhoods While Violet is determined not to let hers dictate her future, Zeke wallows in putting up walls to keep everyone else out. How far can Violet scale that wall? Would she even want to? Make no mistake Zeke is a real dick-he has a marshmallow center but its incased in 3 or 4 inches of pure ice.
She has long term commitment stamped in the center of her goddamn forehead. My taste in women is simple: one night stands. Not someone you bring home to your parents.
I am loving this series. These characters frustrate me. Sometimes I love them, sometimes I hate them, and sometimes I want to give them a big old push off a cliff. Now that’s the sign of good writing!
"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.
Unapproachable.
Daunting.
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.
Turns.
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.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Eight.
Three.
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.
Ding.
The tip of his forefinger presses down on the small bell.
Ding.
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.
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