Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(90)

I swear to God, this has never happened. Not once in my entire career.

Generally speaking, everything is filmed out of order and solely dependent on location and budget.

“You guys ready?” Howie asks.

I nod and look down at my costar. “You ready, Birdie?”

She grins. “Yep.”

“Are you sure, though?” I ask, a teasing hint to my voice, and she rolls her eyes, visibly remembering the past moments when I’d asked her just that with the sole purpose of riling her up. “I mean, I know sometimes it takes you a little while to find your stride.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Andy.” She narrows her eyes and pointedly scratches her cheek with her middle finger. “I’m ready.”

Fire and sass. I smile down at her and lean forward to whisper something into her ear.

This time, though, I don’t want to rile her up.

I just want to see her soar.

“I’m not worried, sweetheart. I know you got this.”

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flash with sweetness and a soft smile plays at her lips, but it doesn’t take long before she’s schooling her face in preparation. “Everyone, quiet on set!” Howie shouts and sits down in his director’s chair.

“Scene 102, Take 3!” a PA shouts. “Action!”

Instantly, the buzzing sounds of silence fill my ears.

And Birdie morphs into Arizona Lee.

She’s dressed in this sexy little dress with her favorite cowgirl boots, and her lips are turned down at the corners. She just finished a show. Her biggest show. And she just found out that Cal was in the audience.

It’s been a few months since she’s last seen Cal. A tragic breakup led to Arizona leaving him behind in Memphis, and ever since then, even though it’s where her uncle Joe’s bar is located, she’s refused to step foot in the city where her tumultuous love story with Cal started.

Too many memories. Too much sadness. The wounds still too raw.

Until tonight.

When her record-breaking album and a sold-out arena brought her back.

“It’s been a while, darlin’,” I say, and she stares up at me with those big brown eyes of hers. “Too fucking long, if you ask me.”

She scoffs. “Why are you here, Cal?”

I could respond with a million different things, a thousand different reasons, but the truth is simple.

“I miss you.”

My words force her body to take a step back, the outside lights and the tall cement structure and the dark alley playing together and casting shadows over her pretty face.

“Don’t bullshit me,” she whispers, and I shake my head and step toward her.

“I miss you something fierce, Ari,” I repeat and reach out with my hand to brush a lock of her long hair behind her ear. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night you walked out on me.”

She starts to open her mouth, but I shake my head, already refuting whatever sassy, defensive response she’s going to try to toss my way.

“Look, I know I fucked up. I know I fucked up real bad and tried to control things that weren’t mine to control. I let jealousy get the best of me. But, see, what you don’t realize is that I’m just a man, and sometimes, men say all the wrong things in the name of protecting something that means a fuck of a lot to them. Sometimes we make mistakes because of the woman we love. Because we need her. Because we want her. Because we can’t live without her. Doesn’t make it right, but it’s the truth.”

She searches my eyes.

“I love you, darlin’. You hold my fucking heart in both of your small hands.”

Her breath catches in her throat, and I step even closer, pressing my lips to her forehead.

“I just want you. Only you. All day, every day,” I whisper against her skin. “And, fuck, I’m so proud of you. Tonight, seeing you on that stage, watching you with that crowd, hearing you sing your songs, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.”

I look down at her, and she stares up into my steady gaze.

“You love me?”

“More than anything.”

Silence stretches between us, and it takes all my goddamn willpower not to pull her into my arms and press my lips to hers, but I stay strong.

I wait.

I give her time.

Because this is her decision. Not mine.

“I’ve missed you too, you know,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah?”

She nods. “And I love you too, you cranky bastard.”

A raspy laugh jumps from my lungs, and I let myself give in to the urge to pull her into my arms and kiss her.

My lips to hers, I show her just how much I’ve missed her.

Just how much I love her.

Just how much she means to me.

She moans against my mouth, and I feel it to my fucking bones.

“Cut!” Howie shouts.

But it takes another two shouts of “Cut!” for me to come back down to earth.

When I finally manage to pull my mouth away from Birdie’s and look down at her, it’s apparent by the heated look in her eyes, I’m not the only one who was a little lost in that scene.

“Everyone, that’s a wrap!” Howie shouts. “We are officially done with production on Grass Roots!”