Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(65)
Me: I couldn’t agree more.
The sounds of Birdie’s flip-flops moving down the hall and into the kitchen fill my ears, and I look up to find her fully dressed in Kelly’s sweatpants and flip-flops and my T-shirt. Her blond hair is long and wavy and rests halfway down her back. And while her soft brown eyes look tired, she still manages to look pretty damn stunning.
“Hungry for something to eat?” I ask, and her fingers fidget with the material of my T-shirt that makes her body look incredibly tiny beneath the cotton.
“Actually, I’m supposed to be at lunch with my sister and Rocky right now…” She pauses. “I’m already ten minutes late.”
“I can drive you. Where are you meeting them?”
“No, no, that’s okay,” she says and waves me off with a nonchalant hand. “I’ll call an Uber.”
“Birdie, don’t be ridiculous. Just tell me where I need to take you.”
“Frankie’s,” she updates. “It’s a little diner—”
“I know where it is,” I chime in and snag my keys and wallet off the island. “Do you have all your stuff?”
“Are you sure?” she questions. “You don’t have anything you need to do today?”
“Positive. My Sunday is all clear.”
“Okay. Thanks. I really appreciate it.” She holds up her dress and stilettos and tiny purse. “You wouldn’t happen to have a bag I could borrow, would you?”
“I’ll only give you a bag if you agree to let me join you guys for lunch.” Now that I know where the penis soldier reference came from, I have the sudden urge to see Rocky again. It’ll never happen, but it feels good to threaten her with it.
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“I said, I’ll only give you a bag if—”
“I know what you said,” she cuts me off. “I’m just trying to figure out if you’re screwing with me or being serious.”
An amused grin slides over my mouth, and I shrug. “Sorry, sweetheart. Sometimes, old habits die hard, you know.” I turn on my heel and snag a brown paper grocery bag from a cabinet underneath the sink. “Will this work?”
“Yeah, you big jerk,” she responds and rolls her eyes. “That’ll work just fine.”
“Man, Birdie, I take care of you all night and even offer to make you something to eat this morning, and you don’t even feel obliged to invite me to lunch… I think it’s safe to say I’m the nicer one out of the two of us.”
She snorts at that. “Get real, Andrew. The last time we had lunch together, I ended up accidentally breaking your nose and having to drive you to the ER. I think we both know it’s for the best.”
“Whatever makes you feel better about being so mean, sweetheart,” I respond and head toward the door that leads into my garage. But when I glance over my shoulder, I find her still standing in my kitchen. “You coming?”
“I’m not mean,” she says, her feet firmly planted on my hardwood floor.
“You’re right, Birdie. You’re not mean. You’re incredibly sweet. Especially when you send me flowers and heartfelt apology notes.”
“Oh my God. Not this again.” She sighs. “You know I didn’t send those.”
“I only know that your name was on the note.” I shrug and open the door to the garage. “Now, I think you better get a move on it if you want to get to Frankie’s sooner rather than later. Surely, your sister isn’t too thrilled about waiting on your tardy ass.”
Birdie rolls her eyes but follows me into the garage anyway.
And she doesn’t say another word until we’re both in my car and I’m pulling out of my driveway and onto the main road.
“Even though you’re super-flipping annoying and seem to enjoy getting a rise out of me all the damn time, thank you for doing this.”
“My pleasure, sweetheart,” I respond and glance out of my periphery to take in the view that is Birdie Harris sitting shotgun in my car.
Even slightly hungover and in sweatpants and flip-flops, she looks damn good.
And I can’t deny my gaze steals another quick once-over, moving from the top of her pretty blond hair all the way to her cute yellow-painted toes, before focusing back on the road.
I also can’t deny my mind starts to wonder if she’s wearing all of the clothes I gave her.
“Did the clothes work out okay for you?” I ask, and she hums out a response.
“Mmmhmm.”
“The sweatpants fit okay?”
“Yep.”
“The sandals?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And my boxer briefs?”
Instantly, she snaps her eyes to my face. “What are you trying to get at?”
“Nothing.” I shrug and flash a grin in her direction. “Just making sure you’re comfortable.”
“Are you seriously thinking about me wearing your freaking underwear right now?” she questions, and her eyes narrow.
Yep. That’s exactly what I’m thinking about.
And hot damn, what a sight that probably is…
“I’m just making sure you’re comfortable. That’s all,” I lie. “I can’t help that it includes me asking about my boxer briefs. Which, I’m assuming you’re currently wearing…”