Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy Read online

  “Okay,” he says with a nod and slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Let’s get out of these costumes, grab some takeout, and we can practice lines together back at the hotel.”

  “Back at the hotel?” I quirk a brow. “As in, me and you, alone in a hotel room?”

  “Don’t be so stubborn about it,” he answers through a teasing smirk. “It’s not like I’m asking you to put on my underwear again. We’re just going to eat some dinner and roll through the scene a few times so you’re more comfortable in the morning.”

  I roll my eyes on an annoyed sigh. “Oh my God, enough about your stupid underwear.”

  “Speaking of my underwear, do you still have them, or are you planning to keep them?” he asks, playfulness evident in his voice. “Oh, wait, let me guess. You’re probably wearing them right now.”

  I flip him the middle finger, and his quiet chuckle fills my ears.

  “All right, enough about my awesome underwear and back to the important stuff like food and helping you run through your lines back at the hotel,” he steps forward and takes the script from my hands, rolls it up, and slides into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ve been in your shoes before, sweetheart. And trust me, a good meal and running through the scene with your costar will ensure that you don’t have a repeat on set tomorrow morning.”

  I sigh. I wish he weren’t right. But he is right.

  I need to eat. And I certainly could use a little help working past whatever mental block made today’s filming go sour.

  “Fine,” I agree. “But we’re going to my hotel room, and I get to choose the takeout.”

  He smirks. “Deal.”

  Andrew

  Uh oh… Someone is about to get sassy…

  “Ugh! What is wrong with me? Why can’t I get this right?” Birdie tosses her script down onto the table littered with containers of half-eaten takeout.

  This is our fourth run-through, and I can tell by the tight, exasperated look on her face that she’s growing more frustrated by the second. Her chest moves up and down in a rough breath, and two frustrated hands tug at her long blond locks.

  “Why can’t I get this right?” she berates herself through a tense jaw.

  “You’re doing good, Birdie,” I reassure her. “Don’t give up now.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” She lets out a deep sigh and tosses her body down onto the hotel bed in dramatic fashion. “I’m doing awful!”

  A laugh jumps from my throat at her pathetic albeit adorable display on the mattress. “C’mon, drama queen. You are doing good. You almost got through the whole scene on this last run.”

  “I’m not a drama queen.” She glares at me, grabs a pillow to cover her face, and a muffled, frustrated groan into the cottony material follows.

  Even though I can no longer see her pretty face, I smirk down at her. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re basically throwing a temper tantrum, sweetheart.”

  “Shut up, Andy.” She groans into the pillow again. “Good God, I suck. And truthfully, even though I’m not much of a drinker, I could really use a big ole glass of wine right now to take the edge off.”

  “You want some wine?” I ask, and she peeks out from beneath the pillow covering her face.

  “Yes, please?”

  “Okay…” I pause and smile down at her, more than ready to negotiate with the cute temper-tantrum terrorist. “If I get you some wine, will you be able to get it together and finish working through this scene?”

  “Yes.” She nods, and I raise a questioning brow.

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes, but only if you promise to stop playing twenty-freaking-questions with me.” She tosses the pillow at my head, and I duck out of the way.

  “Jesus, woman,” I mutter through a laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was trying to run lines with Tawny Rose.”

  “Very funny, asshole.” She snags another pillow off the bed and tosses it even harder at me.

  I dodge it, laugh again, and head over to the nightstand to pick up the hotel phone. In a matter of seconds, I have room service on the line, and I’m instructing them on Birdie’s wine needs.

  “Yes, just a bottle,” I respond into the receiver.

  “And what kind of wine would you like, sir?”

  I look over at Birdie, who is now just staring up at the ceiling. “What kind of wine do you fancy?”

  “White wine! Very sweet white wine!”

  My attention back to the phone, I ask, “Do you have Moscato?”

  “We sure do,” the male voice on the phone responds. “Give me about ten minutes, and I will have a fresh bottle sent up to your room.”

  “Thanks, buddy. I appreciate it.”

  Wine officially on its way, I hang up the phone and head over to the table with our takeout order from the little Italian restaurant up the street. My brilliant plan engaged, I seek out the piece of chocolate cake Birdie decided she couldn’t live without.

  Fork and container in hand, I walk over to the bed and set it down beside her. “Here, grumpy. While we wait on the wine, eat your chocolate cake.”

  I don’t have to tell her twice.

  In no time at all, the container is in her lap, the fork is in her hand, and a big bite of chocolate cake heads for her mouth. The instant it hits her taste buds, a soft, sexy-as-hell moan escapes her lips. “Oh yes, this chocolate cake was the best idea I’ve ever had.”

  Giving her that chocolate cake may be the worst idea I’ve ever had. That moan of hers is dangerously sexy, and I try like hell to ignore it, but it’s nearly impossible when she keeps moaning after each fucking bite.

  Christ.

  Déjà vu hits me hard, reminding me of a not-so-sober, naked Birdie in my bed.

  Heaven and hell, it was like finding a giant, shiny Christmas present but not being allowed to unwrap it.

  There are a lot of things I’d love to do to her to hear that moan. A lot of fucking things. But tonight is not the night for that. I came here to help her run lines, and while I downright love the idea of hearing her moan while she’s coming on my cock, I’m not the kind of bastard who would use this kind of situation to make it happen.

  Three soft raps grab my attention, and I head to the door to answer it.

  Once the nice man from room service slides in a small cart carrying a bottle of Moscato and two empty wineglasses, I tip him generously and see him back out.

  Two hearty glasses poured, I hand one to Birdie and take a sip from the glass in my hand. I scrunch up my face once the sugar overload hits my tongue. “Fuck, that’s sweet. Do you drink this shit a lot?”

  Birdie giggles. “You don’t like sweet wine?”

  I shake my head and set the glass back down. “I feel like I’m drinking fucking Pixy Stix. Is there even any alcohol inside it?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Don’t be such a wine snob. It’s delicious.”

  “Yeah, for a toddler, maybe.”

  Birdie hops off the bed and grabs my glass, holding it out to me. “Drink your wine, Andy.”

  “I’m not drinking that wine.”

  “C’mon, you big baby. Drink the wine.”

  “How about, if I finish this whole glass of sugar, you’ll roll through the scene again?”

  “You have a deal, Andy!”

  “Jesus,” I mutter and stare down at the glass. “You better nail it this time.”

  Birdie grins in amusement as she watches me lift the glass to my lips and chug the rest of the awful wine. Down the hatch, I take two large gulps of the sugary syrup and let it flow down my throat. Once every last drop is out of the glass, I set it back down on the cart and shake off the aftertaste.

  “Ugh. That’s awful.”

  “Now, who’s the drama queen?” Birdie laughs and points a finger in my direction. “Pretty sure that’s you.”

  “Drink up, sweetheart,” I quip. “It’s time to get back to work.”

  Following my lead, she finishes o
ff her wine in five quick gulps and sets the empty glass down beside mine.

  “Okay,” she says and starts shaking out her arms and legs like she’s preparing to run a marathon. “Let’s do this.”

  “You ready?”

  She nods, game face intact. “You bet your diva ass, I’m ready.” She makes a show of jogging in place for a few seconds and then stretching out her arms and legs. “I’m not even going to use the script this time.”

  A soft chuckle escapes my lips. “All right, Rocky Balboa. Let’s do it.”

  Birdie flashes a grin in my direction but quickly schools her face in preparation for the scene.

  One big breath in and out of her lungs and she dives right in.

  “Cal, this is crazy,” she says, staring down at her hands. “I can’t just leave Memphis and go on the road with you. What am I supposed to tell my uncle Joe? What am I supposed to tell my band?”

  With two gentle fingers, I reach down under her chin to lift her eyes back to mine. “Darlin’, it’s simple. Tell them you’re going to be a star.”

  She searches my eyes for a good ten seconds. “You really think I have what it takes?”

  My response doesn’t require any thought. “I don’t think, Arizona. I know.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” she retorts on a shocked laugh. “And yet you’re so damn confident I can make it.”

  “Darlin’, trust me. I know,” I respond, and a soft smile crests my lips. “It’s a miracle you’ve been able to hide that talent of yours inside this fucking dive bar. You don’t belong here anymore. You belong out there, on the road, with me. You belong onstage. Big stages. With big crowds. It’s high time you realize you have what it takes. It’s time for you to get out there and take what’s rightfully yours.”

  “You act like it’s so damn easy.” She shuts her eyes and leans her head back on a sigh.

  “Because it is that easy, Arizona.” I step closer to her. “All you need to do is say yes.”

  She stays quiet for a long moment, but eventually, those big brown eyes of hers are staring back into mine. “Yes.”

  “You’re coming with me?” I ask, and mentally, I start to cheer Birdie on. She’s getting so close. So damn close to making it through this entire scene.

  C’mon, sweetheart, keep going.

  “I’m coming with you,” she says, her voice the exact right softness for this moment.

  “Thank fuck.” I let out a relieved breath and smile down at her. “Darlin’, you’re not going to regret this.”

  “You promise?”

  “You have my word.”

  This is your last line, Birdie. The last fucking line. You got this.

  “Your word better be made of steel because I feel like I’m putting everything on the line right now.”

  Thank fuck!

  I bring the scene on home with the very last line. “Look out, world. Here comes Arizona Lee.”

  And the instant the last word leaves my lips, Birdie’s eyes brighten with victory.

  “Holy shit,” she says, her voice quiet at first, until her excitement has the chance to completely take over. “Hallelujah! I finally did it! I finally freaking did it!”

  “You did it,” I say, grinning down at her. “And you fucking nailed it.”

  Her enthusiasm spurs her to jump into my arms and hug me tightly. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. That was all you.” I chuckle and hug her back.

  Her giddy giggle vibrates her chest against mine. “Thank everything! I’m not a total failure!”

  “Proud of you, Birdie.”

  “You know…” She leans back and looks into my eyes. “I think you were right.”

  “Right about what?” I quirk a brow. “That you would eventually nail the scene?”

  “No.” She shakes her head, and her pretty brown eyes turn serious. “That you’re not as big of an asshole as I thought you were. Thank you for helping me tonight. I’m starting to feel like that’s becoming a recurring theme with you.”

  “Is that right?” I ask, and I can’t stop my gaze from drifting to her lips.

  “Uh-huh,” she whispers back, but she makes no move to disentangle her body from mine. “You’re actually incredibly sweet when you want to be.”

  Her words take me by surprise. Honestly, I don’t know what’s changed, but for some reason, I’m finding it hard to be anything but nice to Birdie.

  I don’t want to see her mad or angry or frustrated.

  I loathe seeing her embarrassed or vulnerable.

  I just want to make her smile. And laugh. And happy.

  Her gaze flits down to my lips and back to my eyes before making the circuit two more times.

  And, fuck, I want to kiss her.

  I want to find out what Moscato tastes like from her mouth. I want to feel her soft lips melding against mine. I want to hear that sexy moan falling off her tongue because I’m making her feel good.

  I want to do a lot of things right now, but I hesitate, shut my eyes tight, and stop myself from making a move.

  But she does the exact opposite.

  Her lips to mine, Birdie kisses me.

  She. Is. Fucking. Kissing. Me.

  Soft at first, until we both deepen it further. Her tongue slips into my mouth and dances with mine. She is sweet like sugar, and I’m certain I could drink Moscato for the rest of my damn life if it meant tasting it like this.

  Don’t stop, Birdie. Don’t fucking stop.

  She doesn’t stop. She keeps on kissing me and wraps her legs around my waist, her entire body surrounding mine. She grinds her hips against me, and a groan escapes my throat.

  Fuck, I want her. Right now.

  Birdie

  A little voice inside my head warns me.

  But the damn thing is easily drowned out by the loudest voice in my head, the one that’s telling me to give in to this. To feel all the things I want to feel with him. To let go and live in the moment and just have some damn fun.

  To rent An Officer and a Gentleman and try to get over the fact that I’ve sworn off military penises. Soldiers are good. They’re dependable. They’re courageous. Would it be so bad to be pro Staff Sergeant Dick Richardson?

  No. It wouldn’t.

  It can’t be anymore. Holding back is driving me crazy.

  I feel like we’ve been playing with fire for the past several weeks. Every kissing and intimate scene we filmed only building this undeniable sexual tension between us, and we’ve officially reached the point where we can no longer ignore it.

  And I know there are probably a hundred reasons why I should stop this, but hell’s bells, I can’t. I want to keep doing this—kissing him, tasting him, feeling his body against mine.

  Andrew deepens the kiss, and I moan against his mouth. My hips move of their own accord, completely out of control and seeking the little jolts of pleasure that occur whenever I feel his thick arousal brush against me.

  We are both so caught up in the moment, and, for once, there is no confusion. No cameras rolling or script to follow. There’s no Arizona or Cal.

  It’s just me and him. Birdie and Andrew.

  “Fuck, sweetheart.” He groans against my lips. “I have no idea what is happening right now.”

  “Me either, but I don’t think I want it to stop,” I whisper and smash my lips against his, spurring another groan from his throat. I slide my fingers down his chest to his abdomen and stop when I reach the button of his jeans.

  “Shit, Birdie,” he mutters, leaning away from our kiss to meet my heady gaze. “Are you sure?”

  Am I sure?

  Am I really sure?

  The aching throb between my thighs answers the question for me.

  I nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to walk us toward the bed and lay me down on the mattress.

  “God, I can’t think about anything else but putting my mouth on you right now.”

  “I could say the same thing, you know.” My hands s
hake with anticipation as I rest on my elbows and reach forward to grip the waistband of his jeans. The button pops with surprising ease, and I undo the zipper in record time.

  My head is filled with crazy thoughts. Most of them horny, sex-fueled desires, but a few of them are all, like, “What in the hell am I doing? Am I really going to have sex with Andrew Watson?”

  But before I can even think, with my help, Andrew’s jeans and boxer briefs are a distant memory on the floor. And he stands there before me, his hard, thick cock jutting out from his body impressively.

  Holy huge penis. Size thirteen definitely makes a whole lot of sense right now.

  “You’re absolutely certain, Birdie?” he asks, one final confirmation that I’m giving him permission to do all sorts of dirty, sexy things to me.

  Holy huge penis and hot body, yes. I want all the sexy things.

  “Uh-huh.” I nod and bite my lip, my gaze hungrily flitting between his mesmerizing eyes and his full lips and his thick arousal. I sit up and take off my shirt and bra just to punctuate my willingness.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, his eyes raking over my breasts, and I shiver.

  He kneels before me, his hands reaching up to undo the button of my jeans and slide them down my thighs. My panties are next. And then, I’m completely naked.

  We’re completely naked.

  My breaths come out in short pants as he lifts my thighs to rest over his shoulders, and he gazes hungrily between my thighs.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

  In that split second, before he presses his mouth against me, every nerve in my body and brain is electrified. The anticipation is almost too much to bear, but he takes his sweet time. Just raking his eyes over me and gently running his fingers up and down my inner thighs. And, fuck, his fingertips must be electric because wherever they brush against me, my skin tingles in a frenzy of static.

  When his lips finally meet the one place where I downright ache for him, my spine arches and a panting moan escapes my lips. He is relentless in the way he works me over, his tongue swirling around all the right spots, his mouth sucking and eating at me with the kind of intensity that has my hands gripping the sheets of the bed.