Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(77)

“A little after five.”

She groans again. “It’s so early.”

“Yeah.” I grin down at her and reach out to slide a piece of her blond hair from her cheek. “But we need to be back on set in less than two hours.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Which means we probably could’ve slept another hour, Andy.”

Andy. Fucking hell. I’m finding when she’s grumpy or pissed at me or just wants to bust my balls a bit, Andy is her nickname of choice.

“Do you always get up this early on shooting days?” she asks, and a yawn escapes her lips.

“It’s the only way I can fit in a workout.”

Her nose crinkles up, and her pretty face turns outright cranky. “That’s horrible. You need to stop torturing yourself like that.”

I laugh at that and turn onto my back to look up at the ceiling.

“So…” Her voice is still soft and sleepy but loud enough in the quiet of her hotel bedroom to snag my attention. “We had sex last night.”

I glance over at her. “We sure did, sweetheart.”

Silence spreads between us, and I search her eyes, trying to figure out what she’s thinking and feeling. Trying to determine if she regrets last night.

“You know,” she whispers, and I tilt my head to the side, surprised by the otherwise neutral tone of her voice. “It had been a while for me,” she updates on something I’ve already heard before.

“Over a year,” I confirm, and her eyes narrow in confusion.

“How…?”

“You might’ve mentioned it when you were on your cosmic brownie trip.”

“Jesus,” she mutters, stares up at the ceiling, and a sigh escapes her lips. “I had a feeling I said all kinds of crazy shit to you that night.” Birdie sits up on the bed, the sheets falling gloriously off her breasts and firm belly, and redirects her gaze to mine. “What else did I say that night?”

“Sweetheart, a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

“What?” Her eyes go wide, and she slaps a palm down on my chest. “I freaking kissed you that night?”

“Ow, shit,” I mutter through a laugh. “What is it with you and slapping me?”

“A lady never slaps and tells.” She smirks like the devil, and I reach out to tickle my hand against her rib cage. “Ah! Stop that!” She squeals and jolts away from my touch. “It’s too early for that shit, Andy!”

“Kind of like how it’s too early for you to start slapping the shit out of me?” I attempt to tickle her some more, but she dodges away from my hands like she’s fucking Neo from the Matrix.

“Okay! Okay!” She waves the white flag. “I give up! Stop flipping tickling me, you lunatic!”

“Fine.” I chuckle and make a show of putting my hands on my stomach. “And you didn’t kiss me that night.”

“You lying bastard!” Birdie slaps me again and sighs a frustrated breath, brushing her hair away from her face with her hands. “And now, I’m demanding you tell me what else I actually did and said when I got accidentally high off a freaking brownie.”

“You really want to go down this conversational path?”

“Yes.” She nods and steers a pointed look in my direction. “And you’re going to tell me.”

“Well…” I pause, unsure if I should really give her all the dirty details of how she’d tried to get me into bed with her. Taking into consideration that she’s only slapped me once, I’d say this morning is going pretty fucking well. Frankly, I’d prefer for us to continue heading down the good-morning path with another round of fantastic sex.

“Andy, spit it out already.”

“You were mostly just rambling about Taco Bell, and you begged me to put a frozen pizza in the oven. A pizza you fell asleep before eating, mind you.”

“This is shit you already told me.” She quirks a knowing brow. “When did the whole ‘I haven’t had sex in over a year’ thing come up? Surely, it wasn’t between tacos and pizza…”

“That came up after you decided to take off all your clothes in my hallway.”

Her eyes go wide, and her cheeks flush pink.

“See, that look is exactly why I don’t think we should rehash it all,” I mutter.

For whatever reason, seeing her embarrassed makes me uncomfortable.

Seeing her pissed and angry at me? Yeah, I dig that fire of hers.

But shame? Humiliation? I’m not a fan.

“It’s fine, Andrew,” she responds. “I think anyone would be a bit embarrassed if they were in my shoes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not a fan of seeing you feel that way.”

She searches my eyes for a long moment, my words spurring questions I can discern in her mind. But quickly, she schools her face and taps my abdomen with a persistent index finger. “Tell me the rest.”

I blow out a breath. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“After you got naked, you made yourself comfortable in my bed and started talking a whole lot about sex. How my bed was making you think about sex. And then, you tried your hand at convincing me to join you in bed.”