Page 1 of Playing Hard to Hate

Tatum

If you’re here because you think this is going to be the typical story where the girl falls head over heels for the hot baseball player, well then you should probably leave.

Like, run before you get attached to Griffin Silver.

Run . Cover your eyes. Just get out of here before he bewitches you, just like he did every single woman who screamed his name in the grandstands.

Don’t get me wrong. He’s a looker. Like gray eyes that stare right through you and this one perfect dimple that appears whenever he smiles, which then, in return, makes your panties want to melt away.

Yes . One of those smiles. You know, the perfect white teeth, like too perfect, but panty-melting, nonetheless.

Did I mention his hands and the veins in his forearms? Or his broad shoulders with the muscles so perfectly sculpted from hours in the gym? He had to be made by a god or something.

Oh, but this, ladies, is the real kicker. He’s a total douchebag. So all those good looks are completely wasted.

And the best part of this whole story. I obviously did not fall for those perfect looks or the way he said my name .

No, I fell for him the day he stood in front of me when a guy was pointing a gun at my head.

What’s that saying?

“I’ll take a bullet for you.”

He took my words literally, not figuratively. And here’s the kicker. We weren’t even dating yet, but somehow, someone with the most irresistible, panty-melting dimple fell for me, even though I absolutely loathed him.

So if you love a good ole slow burn, enemies-to-lovers, and he falls first, well then, this is your cup of tea.