The Player Hater (Accidentally in Love 1)

“No one is taking my picture!” He glances at me and my eyes go wide. So wide I probably look as if I’ve seen a ghost or something shocking.

“You have to let me.” Thad is going on and on. “This is too goddamn good.”

“Remind me why we’re friends again?” Davis’s voice is sullen and pouty. “I hate you right now.”

“You’re just saying that because you feel stupid—but you look stupid, so your feelings are valid.”

“Shut up.” He’s still pouting and I don’t blame him: this is not a good look for him.

“Don’t say shut up, it’s rude,” his best friend chastises, making the situation worse.

I study his profile.

I’ve never actually seen anyone who is missing their eyebrow before unless it was in the movies. I’m tempted to touch it too but I know it would piss him off even more, plus, it’s probably sore from the fire.

I laugh at the thought but cover my mouth, hoping he doesn’t notice.

Oh my god, unreal.

Too funny.

When a snort escapes my nose, his head whips around—but the expression on his face, coupled with the…lack of hair above his brow…makes me bust out laughing.

“Do you smell that?” Thad asks. “It’s like… burnt hair.”

Davis looks agitated. “Did I not tell you to be quiet?”

His best friend raises his arms in a mocking shrug. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger—the one brow makes you look like a pirate. And now you don’t need that brow lift to look younger because you look more youthful and… surprised.”

We’re all dying now, laughing and laughing harder when Thad sneaks a few photos to post on the internet when the cell reception is better.

We laugh harder still when he storms out of the campfire and onto the path, disappearing into the night.

CHAPTER 8

Davis

I’m in the bathroom inspecting my face when Juliet graces me with her presence, obsessed with the hairless area above my left eye, pressing into the skin where it was singed.

How could I not feel the heat burning my flesh when I was browning that fucking marshmallow?

Idiot.

I am a freaking idiot.

I raise my brows, wishing there was better lighting in this tiny space, leaning as close to the mirror as I can get, fingers gingerly touching the tender mound above my eye.

“The hairless, tender mound.” I chuckle to myself.

“That sounds porny.” Juliet has a smug smile on her face as she appears in the door I kept open.

“That did, didn’t it.”

“Quiet.” Her eyes roam from my mouth to my nose to my forehead, focused on that bald part of me. “Honestly, you’re kind of too cute with one eyebrow and when you’re mad. I’m tempted to kiss your brow and make it better.”

I can’t tell if she’s joking about either of those things.

“If having my face temporarily jacked up turns you on, then you can have at it.” I pucker my lips, still watching my own reflection in the mirror.

Juliet crosses her arms as she leans against the doorway, shoulder against the fake wood trim.

“Why’d you run off like that earlier?”

“Um, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a social pariah now.”

“That’s a bit dramatic even for you.” She lifts a hand to scratch at her nose. “Thad and the rest of them were just teasing. I mean—they care you got hurt, but your hair will grow back.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to stand around listening to strangers laughing at my expense.”

Not into it.

Juliet nods slowly. “I get that, I do. But we leave tomorrow and the fun didn’t have to be over.”

“The fun was over the minute I lit my face on fire.” I point to my ear. “And got hooked in the ear. How much more can this body take?”

Let’s not forget the animals that have been sniffing around outside when the sun goes down.

“Are you ever going to let me live down ‘the hooking’?”

The hooking.

Ha ha.

“Obviously.” I study my face again. “Doubt I’ll run into you much after this weekend, so you’re safe from the nonstop jabs.”

“Fair enough.” She yawns now, lifting her arms above her head as she does so, the sweatshirt she’s wearing lifts—it’s not midriff baring but I get a nice little view of her hips and stomach.

Juliet glances behind her into the kitchen, where I’ve already assembled the “bed” I’ll be sleeping on again tonight. It looks so bloody uncomfortable I visibly wince just looking at it.

I’ve never been more relieved to be leaving a “vacation” in all my life. In fact, I’ll be taking a vacation from this one as soon as it can be arranged. Aruba, perhaps. Or Cabo? That sounds like a goddamn delight.

“I’m going to get my jammers on,” Juliet tells me by way of stepping back from the door, closing it slightly so she can squeeze past and into her bedroom. I hear her rooting around her suitcase before it goes quiet; she’s likely pulling on some pants and a sweatshirt.