Hate the Player: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romantic Comedy(92)

Me: My hotel room or yours?



Andrew: In about ten minutes, I want you to head toward the bathroom, but sneak out that back exit door of the bar. I’ll be waiting for you.



Me: You sound like you have plans.



I quirk a brow in his direction, and he smirks as he types out another message.



Andrew: Oh, believe me, I do. ;)



Me: What are you up to, Andy?



Andrew: You’ll find out in ten minutes, firecracker.



Once I finish reading his text, I look up from my phone and back toward the high-top table, but he’s no longer there.

Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like he’s not giving me much of a choice.

Yeah, but it’s not like you even want a choice…

I certainly can’t deny that. I mean, over the past several weeks, I’ve found that I’m a big fan of Andrew’s brand of fun.

I check the time on my phone and note it’s 11:05 p.m.

So, I busy myself with finishing off my beer. Watching Serena and the girls cut a rug on the dance floor. I even witness another round of shots being forced on the bearded wonder Johnny.

But when I glance at my phone again and see it’s 11:15pm, I hop off my barstool and make my way through the crowd and toward the bathrooms.

Exit door in my sights, at the last minute, I veer away from the ladies’ room and step out into the humid night air.

And right there, sitting on top of a sexy black motorcycle is Andrew.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I say through an amused laugh. “Where on earth did you manage to find a motorcycle at this hour of the night?”

He winks. “Let’s just say I know a guy.”

I quirk a questioning brow.

“Fine. I know Paulie from the camera department, who just so happens to have rented this bike to enjoy a cross-country trip back to LA. He was kind enough to let me borrow it for the night.”

“Now, that makes more sense.” A giggle escapes my lips.

“You ready to make our last night in Memphis really count?”

His question urges the first inklings of disappointment to start rolling around inside my belly.

“You betcha,” I say, but I also can’t stop myself from adding, “God, it’s hard to believe it’s really our last night in the city.”

Pretty sure the thing you’re having the hardest time believing is that your secret sex rendezvous with him isn’t just a rendezvous for you, and it might be coming to an official end…

“How long are you planning on staying in LA once you get back?” he asks, and I shrug.

“I haven’t finalized anything yet, but I wanted to stay around until Billie has the baby,” I answer honestly. “Then I guess, after that, I’ll be heading back to Nashville.”

“You don’t want to stay in LA?” he asks, a surprisingly playful tone in his voice. “I mean, as you know, I’m in LA. And you and I together equals a hell of a lot of fun.”

Fun. I don’t know why that word hits me square in the chest, but it does.

Probably because this has become more than just fun for you.

“I could say the same thing about Nashville, you know,” I tease right back, but my voice doesn’t exactly showcase laid-back or jokey. If anything, it’s all choppy and weird.

Andrew searches my eyes for a long moment—for what, I’m not sure—but eventually, a smile appears on his lips. “Well, my mom does say you’re my girlfriend, so I guess that means I just might have to spend some time in Nashville, then, huh?”

I start to open my mouth and press the conversation a little further, but I honestly don’t even know what to say to that.

I mean, when I first met him, I outright hated him.

Then, over time, something changed, and I found myself engaging in the hottest, top secret sex rendezvous I’ve ever experienced in my whole life.

And now…I don’t know what’s going on or what I want or why the idea of this, whatever it is, ending is freaking me out a little bit.

Because, not only did you fuck Andrew Watson, but you went ahead and fucking fell for him, too.

Good God, what is wrong with me?

My head is quickly turning into a scrambled mess of what-ifs and hows and whys, and I just don’t have the energy or the strength to try to understand it all right now.

“So, I’m guessing the motorcycle is supposed to help us sneak away from the security details Howie has standing guard all over the place?” I ask in an attempt to divert the conversation to less confusing territories. Or, at the very least, distract my mind.

“Yep,” he says with a wink and holds up a brown paper bag. “And these disguises will ensure no one in Memphis notices the famous Birdie Harris riding around on the back of my bike.”

“Pretty sure you mean Paulie’s bike.”

“That’s cute, firecracker.” Andrew smirks. “Now, open up that bag so we can put on our disguises and get the show on the road.”

I open up the bag and riffle through its contents.

“Oh God, don’t tell me I’m supposed to wear the mullet this time…” I pause and hold up the damn blond mullet in the air.

“Get real, sweetheart. You know I’m the one who looks hottest in a mullet.”