Page 15 of Playing Hard to Hate

TATUM

PRESENT

He’d done it. He’d fucking done it. Griffin Silver, the boy from next door, the one who never thought he was good enough, pitched a record-breaking ballgame. Not only had he done that, but he’d also helped his team make it to the championships. As a fucking rookie.

I was so proud. So proud I wanted to call him and congratulate him, to sing from the rooftops about how he’d come from being the worst player on the team to the best, but we weren’t friends anymore.

We weren’t anything.

So I watched the game broadcast on my television with Millie. We screamed for him, accidentally spilled the popcorn bowl at least three times, and irritated the neighbors a few too many times, but we kept cheering as if our lives depended on it nonetheless.

Then, when the television crew zeroed on him at the end of the game, going in for that interview, and there was a dark-haired girl running up to him with a baby on her hip, I turned it off. He was a father?

“Since when did he have a baby?” Millie asked in confusion, and I shook my head.

“From the looks of it, a few months ago.” For some reason, the thought of him having a baby with someone made my blood boil and my heart shatter to pieces I didn’t know still existed, mostly because I’d imagined us to be that couple, the happy wife running to congratulate her star athlete husband.

“Right. Well, good news then, because I set you up on a blind date tomorrow night,” she said, grinning ear to fucking ear.

“You must be joking, Millie,” I gritted out, standing up and picking up the pieces of popcorn we had dropped.

“Uh no. He’s a good friend. His sister comes to the studio, and I thought you two would hit it off.”

“You know I hate blind dates.”

“He’s hot, I promise.”

“That’s what you said last time.” I rolled my eyes, and she grinned sheepishly. “If he’s so hot, you date him.”

“No, thanks. I’ve got my eye on this new guy at my studio. He’s totally husband material, and we’d have the cutest babies.” She paused, blushing. “Except he doesn’t know it yet.”

I laughed at the way she just shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“And how is that going to work?”

“Oh, you know. He’ll figure it out. I’ve been giving enough hints that I’m single and totally into him.” She stands and helps me clean the coffee table of all our sugary snacks.

“And what hints are those?”

“I laugh at all his jokes, even the bad ones, and I do the little hair twirl. I think I’ve mentioned at least ten times I’m single when other people talk about their Friday night plans, and I gave him a discount on the pants he bought yesterday.

” She lists each item, ticking off her finger as she goes, and I shake my head .

“You, my friend, are delulu.”

She gasped and threw her hand to her chest.

“How dare you suggest such a horrible thing?”

She helped me clean up our mess before slipping out, something about dinner with her mom, and I had a gym session I wanted to do so I could record some new videos while it was quiet.

She texted me all the details about tomorrow night’s blind date, which, of course, was out of town and an hour away, which meant not only would I arrive irritated, but I wouldn’t be able to have even one drink.

Everyone knew a blind date needed copious amounts of alcohol just to take the edge off things.

The next night, I was getting ready while on FaceTime with Millie. She’d already vetoed half my closest, and I was running out of things to wear on this stupid date.

“Black mini. That should be it,” she said, not paying a whole lot of attention as she was baking some new protein brownie recipe she saw online.

“I wore the black mini last time, and we both decided it was not a good idea.”

“Remind me why again. That was months ago. You know I have short-term memory when it comes to your bad dates.”

“Short-term memory, or do you choose to forget all the dumb blind dates you send me on that fail?”

“Tate, I’m getting old waiting.”

“He tried to slip his hand up the dress when I was sitting in the booth next to him. He thought it was, and I quote, ‘an open invitation.’”

She grimaced. That was a particularly bad date. I think she called the cops on him when I called her from the bathroom.

“So don’t sit next to him, and keep your legs crossed. Hell, it’s a bar. I don’t know, just don’t sit down!” she exclaimed, and I rolled my eyes, putting the black mini dress on. It did accentuate every single good quality I had, and it was backless.

It was snug, clinging to my ass and boobs, thankfully, so I didn’t have to worry about it slipping down, since I couldn’t wear a bra.

It was a risky situation when I started dancing, though.

I paired it with my favorite gold heels, studded with rhinestones, and a shiny new gold bag I’d been sent as an affiliate gift.

I’d already blown out my hair, done my favorite smoky cat eye look, and applied what Millie termed my hooker lipstick, only because it was bright red. I snapped a picture in my full-length mirror modeling the bag and posted it straight to my story with #datenight as the only caption.

“Let me see you,” Millie called from my computer that was on my dressing table. “Oh, you look hot. Hooker red, I see. Not sure I would have gone with that, but you’re a total catch, and he’d be lucky to take you home.”

“Millie, I hope you didn’t tell him I would go home with him.”

“Of course not. I did tell him not to kiss you unless he thought you were extra special.” She grinned and winked.

She was so desperate to get me my first kiss. Apparently, I was missing out on something. Can’t say I agreed because the thought of swapping spit with a man grossed me out.

“Call me when you get there, and text me if you need an escape. Call me when you’re in the car driving home,” she demanded, stopping her intense mixing to look at me.

“Yes, Mom.” I saluted and ended the call, grabbing my wallet and car keys from my daily bag and throwing them in the gold purse. I sprayed some perfume on my neck and then plugged the address into my Maps app.

Forty-five minutes later, I had given my car over to the valet and was stepping inside some very luxurious rooftop bar. I had been embarrassed when I pulled up. My car didn’t fit the scene at all.

“Tatum?” A tall, decently good-looking man in a suit stood from a table as I walked up to the hostess stand. He reeked of whiskey and cheap cologne, to my dismay. Immediately I was disappointed.

He took my hand and kissed it, leaving some spit behind as he grinned at me with pearly white teeth so bright I had to blink multiple times, so I didn’t get blinded. He then took my hand and hooked it in his elbow, leading me to his table.

Wet kisser. Ew.

I ordered a gin and tonic and an appetizer so I would at least have the liquid courage to get through tonight. I was going to kill Millie.

“So, Tate, hope you don’t mind me calling you that, Millie has told me so much about you. Well, I guess she told my sister, who told me.” He was stumbling over his words. Was he nervous or that drunk?

“Lucky you. I didn’t get your name?” I smiled, crossing my legs, when I felt his eyes scanning me from across the table.

“Dylan Lucas.” Two first names? Weird.

“And what do you do for a living?” Why was I the only one asking questions?

“YouTube streamer.” Please don’t be something lame. Please, lord, I beg you.

“Oh, I’m a content creator too. What do you stream?”

“Video games.” You have to be fucking kidding me. “Millie told my sister you’re a fitness influencer or model. I found you on Instagram, I was so excited to see that you were going to be my date.”

#Nerdsquad alert.

#Stalker alert.

#Milliewasdead .

My drink thankfully arrived at the table at that exact moment, and I downed the whole thing before putting it down on the table and ordering another. I would be Ubering home, and Millie was paying for it.

“Didn’t think you’d be a drinker given you look like that. I assume it takes a lot of discipline.”

“Hard work, good diet, and, yes, discipline, but you have to have fun too, or there’s no point in it.”

He nodded, seeming to be interested in what I had to say but also making creepy eye contact once I said the word fun, like I told him he’d won the lottery .

I didn’t know whether to be more creeped out or to give brownie points to Dylan.

“If you don’t mind, I had a long drive. I’m just gonna head over to the ladies’ room really quick and freshen up.

” I didn’t wait for him to respond as I stood, his eyes growing dark as they swept over my body.

Yup total creep, brownie points out the fucking window.

#Perv alert.

I had to ask a server for directions to the restroom, which was hidden down a poorly lit hallway, and quickly stepped inside. Thankful it had A/C, I stepped up to the sink, where I pulled out my phone and dialed Millie’s number.

“That was quick,” she answered.

“You’re dead.”

“That bad?”

“He slobbered all over my hand,” I whined. “And he’s a video game streamer, Millie!”

“Oh, that’s bad. Tell him I just called you from the hospital. I broke my foot.” She suggested.

“And when you aren’t in a cast at class on Monday and his sister sees?”

“Fuck, you’re right. Shit…didn’t think that through.”

“Think of something and call me. I’ll have my ringer on. ”

“Okay, I’m gonna have to Google some suggestions.” I hear her nails clicking away on her keyboard.

“Make it snappy, or I will kill you.”

Exiting the bathroom, I bumped into a broad chest. Two large hands landed at my waist to steady me from teetering over in the stupidly high heels, and I immediately went to apologize.

“Grace?” I knew that voice. Only one person referred to me by my last name. Looking up, I saw none other than Griffin fucking Silver, about to be front-row seat to my demise.

“Oh, come on. What are you doing here?” I stomped a foot. I, Tatum Grace, actually stomped a sparkly gold high heel like a toddler.