Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(20)

“Suit yourself,” I say and head back to my seat at the bottom of the platform. “You can try on a hundred more for all I care, but you better end up wearing this one at your wedding.”

She rolls her eyes and heads back toward the dressing room. “Just keep an open mind, okay?” she asks just before stepping behind the white curtain. “I know you love this one and I also know you can be stubborn as a damn bull, but actually look at other ones too, okay?”

“You got it,” I say and add a little nod for reassurance.

Truthfully, though, I don’t need an open mind. I know that no other dress is going to compare to that one.

While I wait for her to try on a dress that’s not going to matter, I scroll through emails on my phone.

One from my manager Neil about the shooting schedule for Grass Roots.

One from my agent Marnie with my publicist Candy cc’d about an endorsement deal with a makeup company.

And three from my assistant Samantha that revolve around my schedule in Nashville when I get back.

But before I even get a chance to respond to any of them, my sister’s voice claws through the curtain with desperation.

“Birdie!” she whisper-yells. “Birdie!”

“What?” I ask, my voice at normal volume.

“Just come over here. But be quiet,” she continues to whisper as she peeks her head out from behind the curtain. “Don’t let Colleen see you coming over here.”

I narrow my eyes and move closer to her. “What are you doing that Colleen can’t see? Are you planning a bridal heist?”

Instead of answering, she grabs me by the wrist and yanks me inside the dressing room. My phone falls from my hand and onto the lush carpeted floor. “What the hell?” I question, but when I take in her current state, a laugh jumps from my throat. “Oh my God, Billie!”

“Shut up!” she whisper-yells again. “Just shut up and help me get out of this dress.”

“Help you get out of the dress?” I question, another soft laugh jumping from my lips. “Honey, I think we’re going to need a doctor to surgically remove you from this thing.”

What should be a wedding dress, with a gorgeous display of complicated straps moving from the top of her ass all the way up her back, has become some kind of torture device that’s strangling her boobs and neck. If she’s going for a BDSM-themed wedding, I think she’s found a winner.

“Did you put this thing on backward?”

“I don’t know what I did!” she exclaims in her library-quiet voice. “But I’m freaking stuck in this thing, and I can’t get out!”

“Where is the zipper?”

“I don’t know! I never found one!”

Laughter bursts from my lips. I can’t help it.

“Stop laughing, you asshole, and help me!” she half-shouts.

“I can’t help it. You look ridiculous. Don’t tell me details, just shake your head yes or no. Does Luca go by Master Luca when you guys are boning?”

She glares—hard. “Your commentary is really helpful right now.”

“How are you doing in there, Billie?” Colleen asks from the other side of the curtain, and Billie’s eyes go wide.

“Great!” she exclaims, her voice all weird and strangled. Probably from the straps. “Just great!”

“Do you need any help with the zipper?”

“Don’t come in here!” she shouts and then realizes how insane she sounds. “I mean, I don’t need any help. My sister is in here with me.”

“Oh, okay,” Colleen responds, but even I can tell she’s a little skeptical. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Maybe you should ask her for some scissors,” I whisper, but Colleen is quick on the trigger.

“What was that?”

Shit!

Billie slaps me hard on the arm, and I laugh.

“Ow, shit,” I mutter.

“Everything okay in there?” Colleen asks, her ears no doubt perking like those of a dog.

Billie glares at me, then she clears her throat. “Everything is peachy keen jelly bean.”

Peachy keen jelly bean? Holy hell. I have to put my hand over my mouth to fight the cackles that want to bubble up from my throat.

And Billie slaps me three more times on the arm. “Dear God,” I mutter quietly. “I thought I was going wedding dress shopping, not entering the ring at fight night. That’s gonna bruise.”

Billie hits me again in response before raising her voice to talk through the curtain again. “Everything is great, Colleen, but we’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“Oh, okay,” Colleen says, clearly worried about what we’re doing in here. Which she probably should be.

Billie points an index finger in my face, a silent, angry gesture of “Don’t say a fucking word until she is gone.”

I grin. But I also stay quiet as my sister awkwardly leans over to watch for Colleen’s nude pumps to move away from her dressing room.

Once the coast is apparently clear, she sighs. “Okay. Now stop being such a dick and help me.”

Knowing my sister well enough to understand how close to the brink of a breakdown she is, I inspect the maze of straps with my fingers and search for an escape route. “You know,” I say when I spot the zipper she should’ve used in the first place. “I don’t want to be the one to say I told you so, but if you would’ve listened to me, you would already be buying the first dress, instead of trapped inside this one.”