Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(38)

Me: Well, now you have.



He meets my eyes and bites his lip. My gaze flees the trap immediately. I will not get lost in fantasies about Andrew Watson’s lips, goddammit.



Andrew: So, I’m a shitbag jerkface?



It’s my turn to shrug my shoulders.



Me: If the shoe fits.



Andrew: Is shitbag jerkface a size 13?



Me: What?



Andrew: I’m a size 13, sweetheart. I’ll only wear the shoe if it doesn’t crunch up my toes. I really hate that.



No. Don’t do it, I chastise myself. Do not think about what a big shoe size can possibly mean for a man. Do. Not. Do. It.



Me: Wow. Congratulations on your giant clown feet.



Andrew: Thank you. I appreciate the compliment.



Me: It wasn’t a compliment.



Andrew: I’m pretty sure it was. Sounds like you like a man with big feet. Probably because it means he’s big…in other places.



I lift my gaze from my phone to narrow my eyes at him, and my hands vibrate with another text.



Andrew: Like, good fortune and intelligence and fun. Did you think I meant something else, sweetheart?



Uh-huh…sure that’s what you meant, you bastard.

I roll my eyes and type out a final message.



Me: Goodbye, Andrew.



But, of course, Chatty Cathy has to send me one more message.



Andrew: All right. I get it. You want to focus. I admire your dedication to your newly found craft. See you in a few hours for our first scene together. Scene 32, I believe it is. Great fucking scene, in my opinion.



Scene 32? I’m pretty sure I know what scene that is, and I’m praying and hoping and wishing on every-damn-thing that I’m wrong. But when I quickly scan through my script and come to it, I realize I am not wrong. Not wrong at all.

Scene 32 is like Scene 25, the one I had to read during my audition. The only difference, though, is that this Arizona and Cal passionate kiss scene leads to Scene 33, which is an Arizona and Cal sex scene.

Oh, sweet Jesus, that can’t be the first scene we’re shooting.

If Howie wants us to shoot both of those scenes today, I don’t know what I’ll do. I mean, that would be insanity…right? Shooting a kissing scene and a sex scene on my first freaking day?!

The urge to hyperventilate is strong, and I do my best to get my almost ragged breaths under control.

Just calm down, Birdie, I mentally coach myself off the ledge. Just take a few breaths and calm down. It’s all going to be okay.

I choose to tell myself Andrew is just being the annoying prick he is so damn good at being and settle myself back into the first few pages of the script to prepare for the read-through, while the rest of the room around me chats among themselves.

My knee bounces beneath the table as I scan through page after page of the script.

Ten or fifteen minutes later, Howie comes striding back into the room.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes and sits down. “Now, I want to be done by lunch so everyone can take a long break before we start shooting Scene 32.”

Brakes screech to a halt inside my head, and my eyes go wide. Oh shit.

“Any questions before we get started?”

“Uh…” I can’t stop myself from mumbling aloud, and Howie’s eyes meet mine.

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“Which scene did you say we’re shooting today?”

“Scene 32,” he answers like it’s no big deal. No big deal that my first-ever scene, in my first-ever film, is a crazy-hot, passionate kissing scene that leads to a freaking sex scene.

A sex scene with Andrew Watson and his size thirteen penis.

Oh, sweet baby kittens in holiday sweaters.

I am so tempted to ask him if Scene 32 is all we’re shooting today, but I bite my tongue so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if it bleeds.

Andrew’s eyes find mine without permission, and I can smell the gloating rolling off of him from all the way across the room.

Oh, sweet mother of pearl, please let me make it out of this day alive.





Andrew



Another day, another dollar, another brand-new challenge in the form of a tempting little treat standing right in front of me.

Today is the big day.

The first day on set with my brand-new costar who has never acted a day in her life.

Birdie’s fingers fidget nervously at her costume—a simple pair of cutoff jean shorts that show off a delicious amount of her sexy legs, cowgirl boots, and a top that hints at perky, full breasts beneath the flowy fabric—and a rush of déjà vu consumes my mind.

Birdie and me standing in William Capo’s office, getting ready to run through a scene.

She was nervous as hell then, and it shouldn’t be a surprise she’s nervous as hell now.

I can’t blame her, though. On my first big acting gig, I nearly puked when the director yelled “Action!” A twenty-one-year-old nobody who had somehow managed to convince a casting director he was the next big thing. That movie, Hallowed Ground, ended up being my big breakout role and catapulted my career into what it is today.