Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(103)

Just a decent amount of people, standing around and chatting, eating apps and drinking cocktails. Truthfully, for an engagement party, I would’ve thought that Rocky and Harrison or Luca’s old friend Lou from Alaska would’ve been able to attend or that this would’ve been a slightly more elaborate affair, but I guess Billie just wanted to keep the celebration simple.

Frankly, I have no idea what is going on inside that head of hers, but in the spirit of keeping my sister happy, I try my best to put on a smile and act like I’m enjoying myself.

Honestly, though, I would rather be anywhere else but here.

When I arrived at their house an hour ago, I already knew I would see the one person I am simply not ready to see. His longtime friendship with Luca ensured he’d be here.

But I wasn’t prepared for how fucking painful it would feel to see his face for the first time since he walked out of my hotel room in Memphis.

The instant he steps into the living room, where I stand beside Howie, making small talk about how editing is going for Grass Roots, my body clenches like a vise. My lungs grow tight, my heart feels all wonky and out of rhythm, and a deep, aching pit opens inside my belly.

A handsome smile. Broad shoulders. Entrancing blue eyes.

Andrew looks good.

But he always looks good.

I try to focus on what Howie is saying, but I can’t stop my eyes from discreetly following Andrew around the room as he says hello to Billie and Luca and other people he recognizes.

Fuck, this might be more than your heart can handle.

Without being rude, I politely excuse myself from my conversation with Howie and make a beeline for the outside terrace where I don’t recognize a single familiar face.

Shit. Just act normal. Sip from your glass of wine and take in the view and act like you want to be out here.

I achieve semi-normalcy for a good five or so minutes before my sister finds me outside and demands that I come back inside to the kitchen to taste an appetizer that she won’t stop raving about.

“Seriously, Birdie, you have to try these mushroom caps,” she says, her voice weirdly overzealous about food. “You are going to love these things.”

“Okay. Let’s app it up,” I acquiesce and plaster a smile to my face.

Back inside the house and into the kitchen, she leads me directly to trays of food that sit right beside Andrew.

Christ.

“Here ya go!” Billie exclaims and puts two mushroom caps on a plate for me. “The best damn appetizer you’ll ever have in your whole life!”

Good God, sis. Chill out.

She shoves the plate into my hands and just stands there, watching me like a hawk.

I glance down toward her feet to find her dog Bailey doing the same damn thing. Although, I think his laser-sharp stare comes from purely selfish motives that involve him hoping I drop a few scraps onto the floor. When nothing falls off my plate, he grows too impatient to wait around, huffs out an annoyed breath and takes his opportunistic ass into the living room in search of someone a little clumsier.

“Lord Almighty, you are being so strange right now,” I mutter, but I take a bite before Billie starts trying to feed me herself. “Mmmm, delicious,” I say around a mouthful of mushroom, even though I haven’t even tasted anything yet. “Soooo good.”

She’s amped these fuckers up so much I feel obliged to act like they’re the best thing that’s ever been created.

“See?” she responds with a big, weird smile. “I knew you’d love them!”

Then she does the exact opposite of what I need her to do.

She grabs Andrew’s arm and yanks him into our little circle around the tray of mushrooms. “Try these,” she raves like a lunatic. “You are going to love them so much!”

This is the first time we’ve been face-to-face since Memphis, and the awkwardness is undeniable. It hovers over us like a freaking ominous thunderstorm. Our eyes meet, then flit away, then meet again, then flit away, and it takes my sister forcing a plate into his chest to break the cycle.

“Here ya go!” Billie says.

“Uh…” Andrew pauses and looks down at the plate.

“Take a bite,” my sister pushes and then looks over at me. “Tell him how good these mushrooms are, Birdie.”

I swear to God, if she says mushrooms one more time, I might lose it.

His eyes meet mine, his gaze a mix of confusion and uncertainty and other emotions I can’t discern.

“They’re pretty good,” I say, but I hate how damn uncomfortable my voice sounds.

“But how good? Like, tacos good?” he asks, and the slight teasing tone in his voice mixed with the memories that simple question spurs is too damn much for me to handle.

“Nothing is as good as tacos,” I respond in the name of not being rude, even though it feels like my chest might shatter into pieces. “And…um…if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait…Birdie…” My sister tries to stop me, but I can’t stand here any longer pretending I care about fucking mushroom caps—that really aren’t that great, by the way. Or try to make small talk with Andrew, when just being in the same room makes me feel like I can’t breathe. At the moment, it’s hard to pretend anything when my heart wants to nose-dive out of my damn chest and onto the white marble floor of Luca and Billie’s kitchen.