Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(86)

Andrew



First rule of Crazy House, ignore the guy named Tim.

“Seriously, Andy. Where in the heck are we going?” Birdie asks as I drive us farther into the suburbs just outside of Memphis.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and take a right at a green traffic light and onto a road I’ve driven across a thousand times. This is my hometown, my old stomping grounds, and in about five minutes, it’ll be the location of Birdie’s birthday surprise.

“Almost there, sweetheart,” I update her, and she just rolls her eyes.

“You’ve been saying that for the past forty-five minutes.”

“Which means we must be really close, then.”

“Uh-huh, sure we are.” An annoyed sigh escapes her lungs. “For all I know, you’re probably just going to drive me around for two hours then bring me back to the hotel.”

I laugh, take a left onto Oak Street, and after I pass three houses, I pull the rental into the driveway of a home I’ve known since I was a kid.

My parents’ house.

I spot Lance and Kelly’s SUV in the driveway, parked right behind my dad’s pickup truck, and nestled beside my mom’s Honda Accord is Uncle Tim’s Jeep.

Looks like the gang’s all here.

I pull my rental to a stop and cut the engine, and when I look over at Birdie, I find her staring at my parents’ quaint two-story house in utter confusion.

“Uh…I really hope you know the people who live here.”

“I know them…sort of.” I wink, and she reaches out to slap a hard palm against my chest.

“Andrew! I swear to God, you need to tell me what in the heck we’re doing right flipping now.”

“Or else what?”

She raises a defiant brow. “Or else I’m not getting out of this car.”

I smirk at that, knowing full well I wouldn’t have any issues with carrying her into the house myself, but in the spirit of keeping Birdie on her toes, I come up with a white lie on the spot.

“Fine,” I say, feigning acquiescence. “My publicist set this up a few months back, and I couldn’t back out of it.”

“Your publicist?” She narrows her pretty brown eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“See, there was this giveaway. For fans. And to make a long, boring story short, a woman named Mary Lou—” I nod toward the house “—who lives here, won.”

“Won what?”

“A private meet-and-greet with me,” I add. “And, well, now you, too.”

“You’re joking, right?”

I shake my head. “I don’t joke about my biggest fans.”

Technically, I’m not lying. I mean, my mom is my biggest fan.

“And she’s super excited about Grass Roots,” I continue. “And you being in Grass Roots, and I just figured it would be an incredible surprise if I wasn’t the only one who showed up at her house today.”

“This is my birthday surprise?” she questions. “A meet-and-greet with one of your biggest fans?”

“Isn’t it great?” I question, acting completely clueless as to just how weird this surprise would be for anyone. I mean, meeting someone else’s biggest fan on your birthday? That’s some seriously fucked-up shit.

Good thing that’s not actually her surprise…

I fight the urge to laugh and hop out of the driver’s seat. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go say hello to Mary Lou.” I walk around the hood of the car and open her passenger door. “Man, I’m excited,” I say as she hesitantly steps out. “I’m sure you’re excited too.”

“Oh, I’m something,” she mutters, and I have to swallow another laugh as I reach out to grasp her hand in mine, leading her up the driveway and toward the front door.

When I don’t bother knocking and reach out to turn the knob, Birdie starts to freak the fuck out.

“Andrew!” she exclaims on a harsh whisper. “What in the hell are you doing? We can’t just walk into this woman’s house!”

“Don’t worry about it,” I refute. “Mary Lou knows we’re coming.”

“Oh my God!” she whispers harshly again and tries to tug her hand out of my grasp. “If I end up in jail on my birthday, I will break your nose on purpose this time!”

But Birdie is no match for me, and as gently as I possibly can, I drag her into my parents’ house, and it only takes a few seconds before the real birthday surprise occurs.

Five human versions of jack-in-the-boxes jump out into the entry hallway with ridiculous birthday hats on their heads.

“Surprise!” my dad and Lance and Kelly shout at the top of their lungs.

“Ahhhhhhh!” my uncle Tim screams for no fucking reason, adding jazz hands and an awkward tap-dance of his sneaker-covered feet.

“Happy Birthday, Birdie!” my mom exclaims with a smile after she smacks my uncle Tim across the back of his head.

My family’s outrageous presence is punctuated by cheesy-looking birthday decorations put up all throughout the house. Streamers and balloons and a giant happy birthday poster with Birdie’s face photoshopped in—you name it and my mom has managed to pull it off.