The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love 1)

Tied at the waist by a long corded belt, the flirty long sleeves billow dramatically and are fitted from the forearm to her wrist; it’s covered in gold bracelets that match the large hoops in her ears.

The dress has a flattering, off the shoulder neckline.

Perfect for kissing.

“You do. I said nice but you look beautiful. I meant beautiful.”

Her head lowers bashfully. “Thank you.”

My hand goes to her back in an effort to be affectionate; PDA is cool at this point, right? She’s not exactly throwing me off of her and this is a date?

We didn’t clarify in our text messages, but when I asked her to be my date tonight, I meant romantically. What if she thought I meant ‘just as friends’?

I clear my throat after swallowing something delicious. “Thanks for being my date tonight.”

She laughs, nibbling on a piece of bruschetta. “No problem. We were both going to end up here anyway.”

When Juliet brushes past me, skirt swaying—I inhale the smell of her perfume and follow after her like the love sick puppy I’m becoming, and it’s not because of the food on her plate.

She is kind and funny and I like being around her.

I think Juliet is someone I can trust.

She can trust me, too.

Not that she has the same kind of trust issue’s I have, but I know she has issues of her own. Don’t we all have things we’re dealing with and working through? She and I are no different.

Weaving through, she sets her plate at an unoccupied table, pulling out the chair before I can do it for her, dammit. Plops down as I follow suit.

We’re left alone to our own devices as if we were on an actual date, not a single soul coming to join us. Then again, there are about fifty roundtop tables in this ballroom—a modest restaurant, nor bar would do for Mia’s parents—plenty of room for us to sit here ourselves.

“This is quite the spectacle.”

Juliet’s smile is sweet. “Imagine what the wedding would be like if they were going to take a full year to plan it. Oy.”

“I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I’m pretty sure when her sister got married, there were closer to a thousand guests.” She pops a bacon wrapped water chestnut in her mouth and bites off the end. “I was there and it was wild.”

“You’re sure they don’t want to wait?”

“Honestly, who would want this chaos? I think Mia wants to avoid this fiasco. She’s willing to let them have this day, then again with the bridal showers and that hoopla—but I think her goal is to spare them the expense of a huge wedding.” Juliet leans forward and pours herself a glass of water from the carafe on the table. “Of course, her parents don’t know this yet.”

“For the record, my vote is Cancun.”

“Cheers to that.” She holds up her glass and we toast, clinking her water glass and my Manhattan, sipping them down happily.

My hand itches to take hers. Or at least move it from the table to her thigh beneath the table, but I’m not brave enough to make that move yet.

You had sex, idiot—she likes you.

Still.

This is different.

We were both feeling a certain kind of way the other night, led by emotions and hormones and who knows what else. Why am I so insecure about this thing with Juliet?

I pick at my plate, setting down the stuffed mushroom I was about to inhale and wipe my fingers on the napkin in my lap.

“You know, for someone who came here on a mission to hate Thad, you sure are doing a shitty job of it.” I say it with a smile, referencing all the doubt she had about her best friend’s fiancé in the beginning.

Her cheeks flush again. “I never hated him—I hated what I thought he might be, which he turned out not to be.”

“What did you think he was?”

“A player.”

That put a grin on my face. “I mean, technically he is.”

“Not a football player,” she explains. “A guy who sleeps around.”

“I knew what you meant.”

She throws her napkin at me. “You brat.”

I lean forward to kiss her on the cheek, lingering there long enough to nuzzle the tip of my nose beneath her earlobe, but not so long I’m being a clingy creep.

She blushes and smiles, thank God. “You smell good.”

I do? “I showered, so… yeah.” Aftershave and cologne and all that good shit I do when I’m grooming my bad self.

“What cologne do you wear?”

Uh, good question. “It’s in a dark blue bottle.”

That makes her laugh. “You’ve never looked when you were buying it?”

I can’t tell her my ex-girlfriend gave it to me as a gift and I get lots of compliments on it, so I keep wearing it, but in hindsight, perhaps I should throw the whole damn bottle in the trash and go shopping for something new.