Page 27 of Playing Hard to Hate

Time seemed endless as we shared story after story, and I had completely failed at attempting to be a stone-cold bitch.

Once we arrived at the shoot location, which was sectioned off and supposedly a private location regular beachgoers could not find, we were whisked away by the hair and makeup people.

I had to listen to my makeup artist and hairdresser fawn over how hot Griffin was.

They asked me about the robbery, told me how they were jealous and wished it was them, and I sat there silently rolling my eyes because they were so incredibly insensitive.

I still couldn’t go to that grocery store.

I could not even drive past it without my throat becoming tight and my heart racing a million miles a second.

The first bikini they wanted me to pose in was, of course, that stupid string one, the one that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Despite teasing Griffin with it at the fitting, I hated it. But the thought of teasing him some more made it all bearable.

He was waiting for me, already posing for shots, holding a volleyball and fake shooting. Then he was told to look over at me and raise his sunglasses, which he did, and his gray eyes widened and darkened at the same time as they swept over me.

I’d been sprayed with something that made my skin glow and look sweaty, but in a sexy way, if you know what I mean. I was told to strut slowly to him, then slide my hands up his chest, and lean in to kiss him. We were to give the illusion of a couple madly in love. Ironic .

I did as I was told, watching his eyes roam over my body hungrily.

Nerves danced across my skin, and I focused all my attention on placing one foot in front of the other, making sure to look sexy for the pictures.

I swayed my hips, swiveled my head to smile at the camera, flicked my hair—everything I had been taught to do—and then I was in front of Griffin.

I slid my palms up his chest, fingers weaving into the light dusting of dark hair in between his pecs.

His chest muscles were so pronounced. I leaned onto my toes for a brief kiss, popped a foot as I was told, and then his hand slid over my ass, cupping my cheeks.

His palm slid to the top of my ass, the part that I had spent years working on.

Desire flooded every single cell in my body.

Was it good enough for him? Was I less desirable than all the other models and one-night stands he’d been with?

I looked up at him. Was he told to do that?

Did he want to do it? Did he like what he felt?

God, so many questions and not a fucking answer in the world was reflected in his enchanting eyes.

There was hunger and desire swirling there.

But wouldn’t he be gay if there wasn’t? I mean, he had his hands on my ass, and I was pressing my boobs against his chest too.

I kept sliding my hands up his chest until they circled his neck. Someone shouted, “Good.” Someone else said to keep going, so I did as told until he shook his head.

“Cut. We need five,” he said, grabbing my hand and storming off set. Sand flew with each determined step as he dragged me back to my dressing room while everyone looked at each other, completely stunned. Hell, I was just as confused as they were.

“I can’t do this. You have to take that off. You can’t wear this,” he grunted, glaring at me, not breaking eye contact. “Every fucker is looking at your ass, and I promise you, Tatum, they are all getting hard, and I can’t fucking handle it.”

“It’s just work, Fin.” I crossed my arms over my chest, and his eyes flickered down for a heartbeat and then back up to my eyes.

“You can’t be okay with this.” He ran his right hand through his hair until it was messy yet perfect. He pressed a hand to his temple. “You can’t fucking be okay with glorifying your body like this.”

“Welcome to the world of being a female fitness influencer. This is what they hired me for. Now we have a job to do. Either do as you are told, or they’ll find someone else.

It can be you with your hands all over my ass or some stranger.

You decide.” I turned, flicked my hair over my shoulder, and exited with all the confidence I could muster.

Not really sure why the hell I told him to put his hands all over my ass, but the thought was nice. The thought of him putting those big, beautiful hands on another girl’s ass made my heart plummet to the ground. I wanted to be the only one he touched.

He caught up with me, grabbed my wrist, and whirled me back around to face him.

“You’re playing with fire, Tatum. What I touch is mine. We’ve already gone this far, and if you want to be a heartless bitch, act like there is nothing here, act like I’m just some emotionless douche, paint me as just some major league womanizer…then so be it. Because clearly you don’t know me.”

Did I just hear that right?

“Have you lost your mind, Griffin?” I pointed between the two of us. “We are friends. Nothing more, never fucking more. I won’t cross that line.” I drew one in the sand with my foot and pointed at it.

He stepped onto the middle of the line with half his foot on my side and grinned.

“Lines don’t scare me.” He crept closer and grabbed the bottom of my chin.

“But the thought of losing my future wife does.” He quickly continued walking toward me until he was at my side, slipping his fingers into mine as he dragged me back to the shoot.