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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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…

 
3.75 Stars

Rhett has all the makings of a true southern gentleman. Kind, respectful and an accent that can make you melt. In trying to better his life, Rhett keeps getting handed a bad deal on every hand. Yet with all the crap he deals with he remains respectful and surprised me on many levels. Rhett doesn’t have a single clue as to how good of a man he is. That is one of many thing that made me very much like Rhett. 

Laurel took a bit to grow on me. Beautiful, confident and not to be judged by her cover. At first she came off as a bit conceded. As I got to know Laurel I realized there is a side of her I didn’t foresee. She is kind and caring in a way I didn’t realize she had in her. Laurel is not my favorite but I don’t dislike her. 

The Learning Years was a surprise of a listen. Sara Ney has some solid writing skills. I’m not much of a NA reader but this one I found very entertaining. Rhett is worth the read alone. The amount of sexual tension between Laurel and Rhett is pretty amazing. A slow burn, truly get to know each other kind of slow burn build up. There are some events of the book that run close to a line of this I don’t tolerate in my reading but I will say I loved how the hero of this tale showed what a true man can be. 

The dual narration of Josh Goodman and Muffy Newtown is amazing. I truly believe together they have given a depth to The Learning Years that I feel I would have not gotten had I read the book instead of listening! Josh and Muffy made me feel what was going on within The Learning Years. 

A copy of this title was provided for an honest review. 


 

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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