Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(91)

The cast and crew surrounding the set dive into applause and hoots and hollers, and Howie makes his way on set to give Birdie and me hugs.

“Goddamn, you two actually did it,” he comments through a chuckle. “Great job. Great fucking job.”

Birdie giggles. I grin.

“Congratulations, everyone!” Howie turns back toward the rest of the cast and crew. “We did it! And tonight, to celebrate, I want to see everyone at the Copper Door, dancing and drinking their fucking asses off!”

More cheers follow his words.

And while I want to pull Birdie into my arms again and kiss the fucking hell out of her, I have to fight the urge. She’s made it clear that she currently wants to keep this all a secret, and I have to respect that.

Although, that doesn’t mean that since we’re finally done with filming, I can’t work to convince her otherwise.

While Howie starts rambling excitedly in my ear about being finished, I watch as Birdie walks off set and in the direction of her trailer. It takes a whole five minutes for me to point Howie’s mouth toward someone else’s ear and follow her.

When I step inside her trailer, I’m happy to find her alone, sliding off her cowgirl boots and sitting down on the small sofa.

I don’t let her stay sitting for long, though.

In three strides, I’m lifting her back off the sofa and into my arms.

“What the hell?” she mutters on a giggle.

I wrap her legs around my waist, grip her perfect ass in my hands, and press my nose to hers. “I’m so fucking proud of you, Birdie. You nailed that scene. Actually, you nailed the whole damn film.”

Her eyes search mine. “You really think so?”

“I know so.” I press my lips to hers. Once, twice, three times, until I coax her mouth into deepening the kiss.

And that delicious kiss goes on for a long fucking time.

Until a few knocks to her trailer door startle us both.

“Birdie, it’s Maureen! Do you want me to do your hair and makeup tonight before the wrap party?”

“Yes, please,” she says, glancing toward the door.

“Meet me in my trailer in about ten minutes?”

“You got it!” Birdie responds and meets my eyes again. “I think I’m going to have to take a rain check on this.”

I grin. “Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make sure we continue this tonight.”

“Promise?”

“You have my fucking word.”





Birdie



That’s a wrap, baby!

In the name of a private wrap party for Grass Roots, Howie and Serena managed to shut down the Copper Door for one last night.

And let me tell you, besides the establishment’s bartenders and wait staff and live band playing onstage, the place is bursting at the seams with our entire cast and crew.

Excitement and elation vibrate off the walls in the form of lots of booze, lots of dancing, boisterous chatter, and never-ending laughs.

It’s certainly a night to celebrate, and my director is here for it.

Howie hands me my second shot of the night, and I scrunch up my nose. “Ah hell, How, what are you trying to do to me?”

His already red cheeks puff up in a grin. “Congratulate you on doing a fantastic fucking job,” he says and holds his shot glass up in the air. “Cheers to Birdie! My perfect Arizona Lee!”

I groan, but I also smile and give in to his alcohol-pushing demands. With the shot of clear liquid lifted in the air, I clink his glass and let the booze flow down the hatch.

Ugh. Tequila. It burns the entire way down, and I don’t hesitate to slam the shot glass back on the bar and snag a sip of my beer to chase away the horrid aftertaste.

I hate tequila something fierce.

Actually, I’m not a fan of any hard liquor. Give me sweet wine. Even an occasional beer. But unless you want me to become a disaster by the end of the night, keep the hard shit to yourself.

Howie moves along, setting his sights on his next victim, and I breathe out a sigh of relief when he takes Johnny by the shoulders and guides him away from a few of the camera guys he was chatting with and toward the bar.

I spot Serena in the center of the dance floor, shaking her ass and tossing her arms up in the air with her newest PA, Melinda, and Maureen and Cara from hair and makeup.

The vision of them makes me smile.

And I’m just about to join them when my cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my jeans.



Andrew: You’re killing me in those jeans, firecracker.



I smirk and glance around the room to find him standing at one of the high-top tables with a few of our fellow costars who played the roles of Cal’s band. He lifts his beer in the air while his eyes stay focused on my ass.

I flash a secret smile his way, and he sets his beer down to type out another message.

My phone vibrates a moment later.



Andrew: You ready to get out of here and do something fun?



Me: With you?



Andrew: Uh-huh. Just me, you, and your glorious ass.



Me: I guess I can be swayed, but my ass needs convincing…what can you tell it to force a decision in your favor?



Andrew: The same thing I told it last time.



My cheeks hurt, I smile so big. He’s not lying. Traditionally, he and my ass really know how to have a good time.