Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(60)

“That’s…uh…certainly a long time, sweetheart.”

“I know.” That little pout of hers is still there. “Billie said she’s going to start a prayer chain for my poor pussy.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, it just keeps getting worse and worse. Frankly, it should be illegal for her to use words like pussy and sex while sporting the sexiest birthday suit I’ve ever seen in my life.

I open my mouth to respond, but I shut it closed when I realize I have nothing appropriate to say.

But, unfortunately, she has no issues with continuing this mindfuck of a conversation.

“I want to have sex,” she says. “I want to have sex again soon. Not the stupid scripted sex we did on set. But, like, real, hot, wild sex.”

Help me. Someone help me.

“Isn’t that the best kind of sex, Andy? Rocky says your soldier penis has been all over the world slaying hearts and killing people or something. I bet he would kill my pussy too, wouldn’t he?”

Jesus fucking Christ. The good news is, I kind of understand now where all the random military-themed comments have come from. The bad news is, my balls are so blue I can feel the ache in my throat.

“I…uh…know how to have…fun,” I say, in so much pain I’m pretty sure I’m on the brink of death. “But you know what’s really fun? Pizza and sleep.”

“Heh.” She just shrugs her shoulders. “I guess those are pretty fun, too.”

I don’t know what to do with myself other than stand there like a moron, watching her fight to keep her eyes open.

“Let’s have a pizza party in bed, Andy,” she eventually says through a yawn, then yawns again. Her full, perfect breasts still peek above the covers, and her eyes are growing heavier with each blink. “Yes. Yes, a pizza party. That’s perfect. I’m so excited.” Her voice doesn’t match her words. It’s all sleepy and tired, and before I know it, with her head pressed into the pillow, her eyelids make one final descent and stay shut.

“Birdie?” I quietly call toward her.

No answer.

“Uh…Birdie?” I say her name again, moving toward her until I’m right beside the bed.

Still no answer.

When her chest begins to rise and fall with soft, deep breaths, I realize she’s passed the fuck out.

A naked Birdie Harris is asleep. In my bed. Right now.

This is something I’ve fantasized about a million fucking times, but I can assure you, it didn’t involve pot brownies and requests for pizza parties. Not to mention, her little admission of it being over a year since she’s had sex has my mind dreaming up all sorts of hot and dirty scenarios.

Christ. I let out a deep sigh, and carefully, without touching her skin, reach down to lift the comforter up with my fingertips and cover her gorgeous breasts from view. While I’m not opposed to the idea of seeing Birdie’s glorious tits, I am opposed to seeing them without her consent.

Once I make sure she’s all settled in, I head out of my bedroom and back into the kitchen. The pizza still has another five or so minutes to bake, so I grab my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans and shoot off a text to my brother Lance.



Me: You working tonight?



Lance: Yep. Why?



Me: I have a quick medical question for you. Are pot brownies dangerous?



He responds a minute later.



Lance: What the hell kind of question is that?



Me: I have a friend who accidentally consumed a pot brownie, and she, well, got really fucking high and is now passed out in my bed.



Lance: Good Lord, the situations you get yourself into. No wonder I’m Mom and Dad’s favorite.



Me: C’mon, dude. Get serious. I made sure she drank some water and she downed like half a bag of Doritos before she passed out, but is there anything else I need to do for her? She’s going to be okay, right?



Lance: Pretty sure you’ve had pot brownies before. Among a lot of other fucking things. Shouldn’t you know how to deal with it?



Yeah, I was a bit wild in my early twenties, so shoot me. But that’s beside the fucking point right now.



Me: Lance. Stop fucking around and tell me if there’s something else I should do for her.



Lance: Was it just one brownie?



Me: Yeah, I’m pretty sure.



Lance: Did she consume anything else? Alcohol? Other drugs?



Me: Just a few glasses of champagne, I think, but I can’t be sure. Definitely no other drugs, though. She’s not that kind of girl.



Lance: She should be fine. I’d let her sleep it off and just keep an eye out that she doesn’t get a second wind and decide to go do something crazy like drive a car.



The oven timer dings, and I shoot my brother one last text before heading back toward the oven.



Me: Okay. Thanks, bro.



Once I have the hot pizza out on the counter and the oven turned off, I head back into my bedroom to check on the little pot brownie consumer. Thankfully, she’s just as I left her, sound asleep in my bed and the blankets still covering all her glorious goods.

I stand at the threshold of my bedroom door, just taking in the view that is a passed-out Birdie. I’ll be honest, when I imagined Birdie in my bed, this situation was not a part of those dirty fantasies. Her naked? Fuck yes. But high out of her mind and rambling about fucking pizza parties and wild sex? Nope.