Page 10 of Playing Hard to Hate

GRIFFIN

PRESENT

Millie’s studio had been a bust. She wouldn’t release any information about her best friend other than that she was hot, single, and totally out of my league.

Millie had confirmed that Tatum hadn’t left our small town, and that was enough information to fuel my morning.

If I didn’t have a meeting in the city for some new luxury jewelry campaign my agent wanted me to do, I would have stayed and pressed her for more information, but punctuality was important when you had a name to grow and protect.

I had spent the night at my parents’ house, sleeping in the same bed I had as a kid.

Mom had left my room just like it was the day I left for college.

The same posters still hung on the blue walls and pictures of Graham, Hunter, and me at every game we won, and even one of Tate and me at her eighth birthday party. The day I gave her my bike.

That picture had been on my mind all night, and finally, at the crack of dawn, I slipped out of the house and waited outside Millie’s studio, hoping to pry the information I needed out of her.

I had too many regrets, and I needed to make amends.

I had promised that eight-year-old girl that I wouldn’t leave.

I promised not to be like her brother and father, and instead, I had turned into something far worse.

Pulling onto the highway, I maneuvered my M3 into the express lane and turned the volume up as my daily motivational podcast played.

I had made fun of my peers for listening to this crap, and now I lived by it.

Thoughts of Tatum left my mind as I listened as a stranger screamed at me to do and be better.

The strong, demanding voice took over my speaker system telling me about how valuable life is, about how life isn’t about what you can buy or who you can impress, rather the value you can bring from doing the right things.

I felt so misled and too egotistical I almost didn’t even know who I was or what I wanted anymore.

The cost of fame was more than I ever thought it would be.

Parking at Devereaux & Co., the jewelry store my agent had arranged the campaign with, I walked over to the coffee shop next door and braced myself for the morning crowd to get excited when I entered.

I was wearing a black hat and dark shades to cover my face, concealing myself from the public as if every person wanted a piece of me.

My motions were flawless, stride strong and demanded respect.

The air felt light as I cut through it with my head held high, but the second I stepped inside, and I scanned the small space, my eyes landed on Tatum Grace.

The girl who had been haunting my dreams and every waking moment. I took my shades off, slipping them onto the collar of my shirt as I made the short walk to the counter where she was in line, staring down at her phone like it was the most important thing in the world.

She’d changed since the last time I saw her.

No longer was she malnourished and skinny.

Fuck, now she had curves, a perfect ass covered in tight black leggings, and a tank top fit snuggly over her chest, showing off toned arms. Her chestnut hair was thick and shone under the lights of the café, and I wanted nothing more than to wrap those silky strands around my fingers and yank her back into me, to force her to look into my eyes, to kiss that bottom lip she had her teeth buried in.

I wanted to pull those tight leggings off her legs and feel her skin against mine.

I needed to cup her plump ass cheeks, hear her moan my name.

Standing behind her, I peered over her shoulder, catching a whiff of her flowery perfume.

I zeroed in on the Instagram post she was examining, a picture of her at the gym, the comments from nasty men wanting to fuck her and rate her ass.

‘Oh love the shirt’ and ‘you do look good in blue,’ ‘what I would do to you.’ Fucking creeps, all of them.

Rage boiled within me at the comments. She didn’t deserve that. No one did.

My nerves skyrocketed and goose bumps shot over my skin as I approached her to speak.

Nervously I decided to poke at this beautiful woman.

Internally really mad at no one other than myself, I continued.

But of course, instead of saying the right thing like, “Hey, Tate. Nice to see you. It’s been a few years.

How are you? You look great. Been hitting the gym?

” I blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“That thing can’t be real, tell me your secret, what are you hiding?

” Cue the facepalm. What an idiot, I thought to myself.

My ego was getting the best of me. To my surprise, Tate looked over her shoulder, slapped the phone to her chest, and then whirled around.

Jumped would be a better way to describe it, as my gaze latched onto her perky breasts, bouncing with the movement before I locked on her green eyes.

Those green eyes twinkled under the bright lights, so rich and pure I could stare into them all day. They settled into a glare, her dark brows furrowing in agitation.

“What are you doing here?” she screamed, grabbing the attention of a few people who had headphones on. Yup, she was that loud.

Teasing Tatum had always come naturally. She was just so easy to rile up. And so, despite the fact I wanted to apologize for the past, I couldn’t help myself and teased her a little more. I grinned down at her, admiring her button nose and pouty lips.

“Well, you see, Grace, this happens to be a coffee shop, and I happen to like coffee in the mornings. What are you doing here?” She rolled her eyes so hard they could have gotten lost in the back of her head, but they returned, slitting into a deeper glare. She was so not a morning person.

“No, Griffin. What are you doing here, in this town, at this coffee shop, in my space?” In this town? We were an hour away from our hometown. We were actually on my turf, and she had the audacity to question me?

“I didn’t know you owned the coffee shop. Shouldn’t you be behind the counter?” Red crept up her neck at my response, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment or anger. I’m not sure which, but it was cute. Really fucking cute.

“What on earth are you even saying? Of course I shouldn’t.

I’m just here for a damn latte, not this bullshit.

” I almost expected her to stomp her foot or something.

She was so angry. I was hoping she wouldn’t explode like an old school cartoon and have my reputation splattered all over tomorrow’s headlines.

I could see it now, “Star Player Griffin Silver Has Heated Argument in Coffee Shop with Long Lost Lover.” God only knows the cringy advantage the press would take of my situation.

Locking eyes with her to try and cool her down, I checked to see if steam would come out her ears, but alas, that did not happen.

So, I decided now was the perfect time to change the subject.

“You know, Grace, you look really good. You shouldn’t have to deal with comments like that.

” She did look good, too fucking good. Like those leggings shouldn’t have been enough to cover that ass in a public kind of good, the type of round yet plump ass that takes longer to fit into pants than the rest of your clothes.

The type of ass where one lateral slip in simply doesn’t work, she probably has to jump and shimmy because I know that thing isn’t fitting into those tight pants with one jump and squeeze.

That type is my type…but she wasn’t mine.

I had no right getting possessive. Yet I felt responsible for her, for us, for what happened, for everything that wasn’t.

“It’s part of the job. You learn to ignore them.” She stepped away, ordered her drink and food, and then bee-lined it to the pickup counter, swiftly grabbed her order, and left before I had a chance to say another word. What the hell did she mean by part of the job? What job?

I tried to catch up with her, but once she left the store, I didn’t see which car she got into through the window.

After rejecting the young barista’s attempt to snag me three times all in five minutes and asking her to give me a new cup, a cup that didn’t have her number on it, I was officially going to be late for my meeting.

Putting my shades back on as I stepped outside, I walked over to the jewelry store next door and opened the door, a small bell announcing my entrance as I stepped inside.

“Good morning, Mr. Silver. It is such a pleasure to have you here.” A man in a blue suit greeted me at the door. I shook his hand as we exchanged pleasantries. I mentioned my agent’s name and how grateful we were for the partnership.

From the corner of the room, I heard two females talking, the one voice oddly familiar, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn around to check if my suspicions were correct.

“We decided it would be best to pair you with a woman for the campaign, since it is a matching set you two will be modeling. I hope that is okay. We didn’t have a chance to discuss it with your agent as this was decided very last minute,” the man told me and then started to walk toward the back of the store.

My eyes latched onto Tatum’s, and I grinned.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she groaned.

This was going to be perfect.

“No problem at all. I’d be happy to model alongside Ms. Grace.”

Absolutely fucking perfect.