Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(40)

“Cut! Cut!” Howie yells, and instantly, the rain is shut off. I turn around to find him standing up from his chair and looking at me in confusion. “What’s going on? I have three minutes of wasted film of you just standing there. You mind, maybe, you know, acting the scene out? Saying a few lines from the script?”

I smirk. “I think you need to ask my costar that question.”

Howie’s eyes pull together.

“She’s too nervous, man,” I explain. “She’s not ready to dive into this scene. If I move forward, we’re going to end up with thirty-seven takes before we even get close to something that resembles what this film should be.”

“Hey, Andrew,” Howie says. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you just fucking act, and I’ll handle the directing part? Sound good?”

“Anything for you, bud,” I reply with a wink.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself. “This is why you shouldn’t put your bastard friends in your movie.”

“I can hear you,” I say through a laugh, and he just flips me the middle finger.

“Trust me, I wanted you to hear me,” he grumbles and sits back down beside Serena. “Well, I guess since we’ve already taken a short break from filming, let’s play back the footage and see if we need to make any camera or lighting adjustments.”

I move my eyes away from my asshole best friend/director, and I find Birdie glaring at me.

“Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure the laser beams you’re shooting out of your eyes and into my face indicate you’re pissed at me.”

“It shouldn’t be anything new,” she answers through gritted teeth. “I mean, you are the world’s biggest asshole.”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me for stating the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

“You weren’t ready.”

“I was ready.”

I snort. “Sweetheart, you were a deer in fucking headlights.”

“Don’t patronize me with the sweetheart bullshit,” she snaps back. “And I was ready.”

“If that’s what you call ready, they’re going to have to add about a hundred more months on to our shooting schedule.”

“God, you’re so freaking irritating. How is it possible for one person to make me feel this much rage?”

“May I suggest you channel that rage into the reason they’re paying you a boatload of money to be here?”

“Oh my God,” she mutters and inhales a deep breath. “And, no,” she adds. “You can take your suggestions and shove them straight up your egotistical ass.”

“Like, all of my suggestions? Or just this suggestion?” I ask, her feisty little attitude only spurring me further into playing the role of instigator. “Because, you know, sometimes I have really good suggestions.”

Her fists clench at her sides, and her chest moves up and down in fast, frustrated breaths. Damn, she’s mad. If her eyes could set me on fire, she’d go full-on Stephen King Firestarter on my ass right now.

“All right.” Howie’s voice commands the attention of the room. “Everything is looking good. How about we add some actual lines into the footage, yeah?” he questions, his voice half teasing, half you better fucking act, Andrew, or I will shove my boot up your ass. “Andrew? Birdie? You guys ready?”

“I’m ready,” I say, and I grin down at Birdie. “You ready, sweetheart?”

“Yep.” Her response is one word, but the whiplike way in which she yields it toward me says everything I need to know.

She’s ready. About fucking time.

“Quiet on set!” Howie’s assistant shouts. “Grass Roots. Scene 32. Take 2. Action!”

Silence fills my ears, and the rain starts up again.

I look up toward the sky and then down at my feet, and Arizona takes a few steps away from me before turning around and crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes are fire and ice and everything that makes my chest grow tight with need and want and desire.

“Somethin’ you need to get off your chest, darlin’?”

“Are you kidding me right now, Cal?” Ari huffs out an exasperated sigh and tosses her hands into the air. “Get something off my chest? How about, why do you feel the need to bang your fists against your chest like a caveman anytime Jude even whispers a word in my direction?”

“Jude is an asshole.”

“He’s your best fucking friend!”

“He’s a bastard.”

“No,” she responds, an incredulous laugh escaping her pretty lips. “You’re the bastard, Cal. The biggest bastard I’ve ever met.”

I step toward her. “The only thing I am is a man going insane.”

She quirks a brow, and I step even closer, putting the two of us mere inches from each other.

“You drive me crazy, Ari,” I say, her name growing soft on my lips. “One day, you’re yelling at me, and the next, you’re still yelling at me, fucking slapping me, and then kissing the hell out of me before walking the fuck away.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one who kissed me the other night, Cal.”

I shake my head. “Nah, darlin’. That was all you.”