Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(8)
“Her name is Marissa, bro,” I correct him. “And I have no idea why you’re under the insane impression that I’m dating her, but I’m not.”
“Kelly says it’s been all over the gossip mags lately.”
“Yeah, well, you need to remind my lovely sister-in-law that those gossip mags are usually full of shit.”
“That’s half of the reason for this call with you,” Lance snorts. “The magazines tell the sordid details, and I’m the fact-checker. But don’t worry, I’ll let Kelly know she can stop getting excited over the prospect of seeing you finally settle down.”
I laugh at that. “That sounds like a good idea. You can tell her not to be too hopeful about it happening anytime soon either.”
“Great. Can’t wait to tell her,” he mutters sarcastically. “I better stop and pick up ice cream on the way home.”
“Why in the hell is your wife so invested in my love life?”
“I don’t know, bro. Maybe because she loves you and wants to see you happy?”
“I am happy,” I contest. “So, she can relax.”
He sighs heavily, but he also drops it. I’m thankful because I really don’t feel like defending myself and my decisions anymore. They mean well, obviously, but it’s really none of their business who I fuck and whether or not I choose to do it more than once.
“So, we’ll be seeing you soon?” he questions, and I nod.
“Yep. I’ll let you know once my schedule is finalized.”
“What’s it called, by the way?”
“What’s what called?”
“The fucking movie,” he replies, and I grin.
“Grass Roots. Go ahead and prepare yourself to get tired of hearing about it. It’s all the rage in Hollywood right now.”
“It’s all the rage, and they decided to cast you as the lead?” he questions, his tone heavily laden with brotherly sarcasm. “Man, Hollywood sure isn’t what it used to be.”
“That’s cute, sweetheart,” I tease back. “Medicine is clearly on the decline as well. I didn’t think they gave degrees to guys who store sticks up their asses.”
“Why don’t you stop trying to act like your dick is bigger than it is and buy a car that doesn’t look like Vin Diesel should be behind the wheel?”
“This is a 911 Turbo S,” I retort. “Not a car from Fast and Furious.”
He grins. “It’s fucking yellow.”
“Well, I also have one in white if you prefer that,” I say with a cheeky grin and add, “And I think we both know my dick is plenty big.”
“Yeah, sure. If by big, you mean the runt of our gene pool.”
I flip him off, and he returns the favor.
I can’t help but chuckle. Just two brothers simultaneously throwing multiple birds via FaceTime call.
“I’m gonna go do something meaningful with my life,” he says through a smile. “Have fun playing dress-up and getting your makeup done for the camera.”
I wink. “I’ll be sure to put on a little extra lipstick just for you.”
“Let me know when you’re going to be in town, you prick.”
“Will do. See ya later, Dr. Dickwad.”
Lance’s middle finger is the last thing I see on the screen before I hit end on the call.
Without wasting any time, I hop out of the car and head through the back doors of the Capo Brothers Studios. Just before I slip my phone and keys into the pocket of my jeans, my phone pings with a text.
Luca: Be nice to my future sister-in-law, or I’ll murder you.
I stare down at the screen and tilt my head to the side as I read the message.
What is he talking about? I’ve never even met Luca’s sister-in-law. Have I?
Jesus. Please don’t tell me I boned her by accident. I generally try to avoid shitting where I live.
One of the first friends I made when I moved to LA all those years ago, Luca Weaver is still one of my best friends to this day. Even despite the fact that he took an eight-year sabbatical from all things Hollywood to live off the grid like a fucking lunatic in Alaska.
The last thing I want to do is piss him off.
I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about, but I can bullshit an appeasement with the best of them. I type out a quick message and hit send.
Me: Of course, bud. Wouldn’t dream of being any other way.
But that’s it. That’s all I have time for. I have a meeting to get to and a potential costar to meet.
Birdie
True to my name, I’m about to take fucking flight. At least, I would if I could.
In this moment, it really would have been helpful if my trainer hadn’t successfully eliminated all the extra flappy meat on my upper arms. Surely, if I got them going fast enough, the wind beneath those bat wings could have carried me up and through the ceiling of this place.
C’mon, you big baby, I coach myself. You can do this.
One cavernous breath into my lungs and then another and another, and eventually, just before my vision turns tunneled, I will my feet to move away from the door.
Gleaming marble floors, golden statues, and a freaking fountain in the center, the lobby of Capo Brothers Studios is everything I should have expected and more.