Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(63)

“Um… What exactly did I do last night?”

“You were high, Birdie,” he retorts. “I think we can both agree that whatever you were doing or saying was because of that. No need to rehash it all.”

My eyes go wide. That explanation certainly doesn’t make me feel better.

“Andrew,” I say through a sigh. “Just tell me what I was doing that made you feel like you had to bring me back to your house. Truthfully, a good place to start would be letting me know how I ended up naked and in your freaking bed.”

“You really want to get into all this?”

“Yes. I have to. Not knowing will drive me crazy.”

“Fine.” He sighs again and proceeds to give me the details on how the night went. He tells me about how he found me standing in one of Howie’s hallways staring at a painting on the wall and how I tried to sleep on the damn floor. And how he’d planned on taking me back to my rental, but I started to get too boisterous in the car, so he diverted to his house because it was closer.

“When we got back to my place,” he continues, “you spent the first twenty minutes rummaging through my cabinets for food. And then, you took it upon yourself to take your clothes off and get in my bed,” he explains, and I wish I could burrow myself into his damn mattress and never come out. “I did my best to make sure you were…covered up…and then I let you sleep it off.”

“Oh my God.” A deep sigh escapes my lungs, and I run a hand through my hair.

“Birdie, it’s no big deal. Nothing to be embarrassed about. You weren’t in your right mind.”

An incredulous laugh jumps from my lungs. “Too late for that.”

“Sweetheart, we’ve all been there before. Don’t lose any sleep over it.”

“Uh, nope, I haven’t been there before. I’ve never gotten high in my whole darn life.” My stomach twists and turns as I think about all the people at that party. “Oh God,” I mutter and put a hand to my lips. “Tell me I didn’t say or do anything crazy in the middle of Howie’s party.” My voice rises in uncertainty. “There were so many people there and—”

“Birdie,” he cuts me off, his voice so soft and genuine that it catches me off guard. “Besides How’s nephew Larry and his loser friend Carl, I’m literally the only one who saw you all fucked up. Almost everyone at the party had already left before you accidentally got high. Don’t sweat it. It’s all good.”

Never in my life did I think Andrew Watson of all people would be reassuring me about my apparent outrageous behavior. If anything, I would’ve expected him to tease me mercilessly.

I search his eyes, and he sighs.

“Now, what are you freaking out about?”

“I’m not freaking out,” I retort, but he quirks a knowing brow. “Okay, fine, I am freaking out, but I’m also wondering why you of all people are being so nice to me right now.”

“Seriously, Birdie?” He shrugs. “I’m an asshole. I admit it. I like to poke fun and tease and banter with the best of them, but I’m not a fucking shitbag. I don’t take advantage of women, and I don’t condone anyone else doing it either.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

But he doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Give me a minute to grab you some clothes, and then I’ll give you some privacy to get dressed,” he says, heading out of his bedroom and down the hall.

Only a few minutes pass before he’s back with an armful of clothes that are definitely not mine.

“Since you managed to rip a hole in that dress of yours and you spent a large part of our drive home bitching about your shoes, here’s some clean clothes and sandals you can wear.” He tosses them down onto the bed beside me. A T-shirt, boxer briefs, sweatpants, even a pair of flip-flops, I finger through them briefly to find that some appear to be female-sized.

Where in the heck did he get girl flip-flops?

And he might be willing to sport a blond mullet, but I have a hard time believing he’d don these Victoria’s Secret Pink sweatpants.

“Uh…I get the whole ‘beggars can’t be choosers’ thing going on right now, but mind telling me who these clothes belong to? Besides the boxer briefs and T-shirt, no way these flip-flops and sweatpants are yours.”

I swear to God, if he’s giving me leftover clothes from one of his fuck buddies, I’ll put my damn dress and stilettos back on.

“My brother Lance and his wife Kelly came to visit me last summer, and my sister-in-law left a few things behind.”

“Oh,” I respond, and then find myself asking, “You have a brother?”

“Yeah, I do.” He tilts his head to the side, and an amused grin crests the corners of his lips. “Is it weird for you that I have a sibling?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I just never pictured you having a sibling, I guess.”

Truthfully, besides thinking of him as a pompous asshole who goes through women quicker than I go through a bag of Doritos, I haven’t really thought about his life outside of Hollywood.

“Man, well, get ready for some more surprises because I also have a mom and dad,” he adds with a little grin. “Shocking, I know, but it’s the truth.”

“I thought Satan’s conception was immaculate?” I ask, a teasing hint to my voice, and a soft laugh escapes his lips.