Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(61)

I think it’s safe to say she’s going to be pissed tomorrow when she finds out the shenanigans she took part in.

Probably pissed and embarrassed and neither one of them makes me feel good.

Now irritated with the situation Howie’s dickhead nephew put her in, I pull my cell out of my pocket again and shoot him a quick message.



Me: I swear to God, I’m going to kill Larry. The bastard and his buddy Carl gave Birdie a pot brownie, but I’m pretty sure they didn’t tell her it was a fucking pot brownie.



Surprisingly, he responds in record time for it being past three in the morning.



Howie: What the fuck? Are you sure?



Me: So sure that you’re probably going to have to find a way to hide Larry’s body once I kill him.



Howie: Fuck. Is she okay?



Me: Yeah, I brought her back to my place, and now she’s sleeping it off.



Howie: Shit. Is there anything I can do?



Me: Keep this between us, because I’m sure she doesn’t want anyone finding out about it, and finally kick Larry out of your fucking house.



Howie: Damn, you’re really pissed about this, aren’t you?



Me: Are you kidding me? If Birdie weren’t here, I’d be back at your house already.



Howie: I’ve never seen you get this mad about anything.



Me: Yeah, well, I guess I draw a hard line at getting someone high without their permission.



Howie: I’ll talk to Larry.



Me: I hope by talk to you mean you’re going to kick his fucking ass.



Howie: Trust me, I’ll handle it.



He better fucking handle it, or else I will.

Anger still flooding my veins, I’m just about to type out that very message, but when the sounds of a ringing phone fill my ears, I pause and look around the room in confusion.

Then it dawns on me. Birdie’s phone.

Turning on my heel, I head back down the hallway and into the living room where her purse and shoes sit on my coffee table. Her ringing phone sits nestled inside, and once I pull it out, I spot Incoming Call Samantha flashing on the screen.

Pretty sure that’s her assistant…

In the name of privacy, I’m about to ignore the call, but I decide I probably need to let Birdie’s assistant know she’s safe.

With one tap to the screen, I answer it by the fourth or fifth ring.

“Hey, Samantha. It’s Andrew.”

“Um…hi?” she responds, confusion evident in her voice. “Why are you answering Birdie’s phone?”

“Well…it’s a funny story…” I pause, uncertain of how to break the news to her, but she’s quick to cut into my silence with a demand for information.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Well…Birdie might have inadvertently gotten a little high tonight, so in the name of keeping her safe, I brought her back to my place so she could sleep it off.”

“Birdie got high tonight?” she shrieks. “What are you talking about? There’s no way Birdie Harris, the woman I had to shove off to that party kicking and screaming, knowingly chose to do drugs.”

“Someone at the party gave her a brownie that happened to contain marijuana.”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“She’s fine,” I say, trying to bring some calm into the conversation. “Just sleeping it off now.”

“And you took it upon yourself to bring her back to your place instead of letting her driver take her home?” she questions, her hackles seemingly rising to new heights.

“Samantha, I swear to God, I’ve been nothing but a gentleman. If you would’ve seen just how fucked up she was, you wouldn’t have felt comfortable putting her into a car with some random driver.”

“And I swear to God, if anything happens to her, if you do anything to her, I will murder you,” she threatens. “Trust me, bucko, it won’t be a one-shot kill either. I will stretch out the pain for as long as I possibly can. Waterboarding will sound like a vacation, you understand me?”

“You have my word that nothing will happen to her.”

“Oh my God, she’s going to be so pissed tomorrow.”

“I know.” I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. “Trust me, I know.”

Yeah, I have a feeling I’m in for one hell of a morning tomorrow when Birdie wakes up…





Birdie



Waking up in an unfamiliar place and wondering how you ended up naked is generally not a good start to the day.

Seriously. What in the heck is happening right now?

I’m naked.

I’m in a bed I don’t recognize.

And, holy hell, my brain is trying to hack its way out of my skull. Who the heck gave that thing a machete?

I blink my eyes several times, sit up farther into the white pillows and bed frame behind me, and try like hell to figure out what happened last night. Glancing down at my bare boobs, I sigh heavily and proceed to look around the spacious bedroom that is most certainly not mine.

Holy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Did I have sex last night? Did I take Sam and Billie’s advice to heart and go home with some random guy from Howie’s party? Mother. Flipping. Flapjacks. Tell me I didn’t engage in a one-night stand I can’t even remember.