Page 41 of Playing Hard to Hate

TATUM

PRESENT

Griffin had been a gentleman last night.

We’d celebrated with the team for an hour before he was grabbing my hand and sneaking us out, much to Hunter and Graham’s dismay.

I had told him about making friends with Logan, which he seemed overly pleased about, and then he went on to tell me about every little detail of the game.

The whole drive home, he held my hand, and despite the urge to pinch myself, I couldn’t believe this was, in fact, real. He walked me to my door and made sure I was locked away safely before heading out, unable to stay the night due to an early morning practice.

Which was fine with me because Millie was waiting for my call.

The next morning, I went about my normal routine, making breakfast and then hitting the gym, but today people were staring. My Instagram had blown up overnight, and I was getting campaign offers left and right, as long as I brought my boyfriend along.

We were the headlines of most gossip magazines, and, of course, someone had recorded the kiss and posted it on TikTok, which had gone viral as well.

Griffin

I miss you.

My stomach twisted, and my heart skipped a beat at the three words that appeared on my phone.

Tate

It’s been a few hours.

Griffin

You don’t miss me?

Tate

I never said that.

Griffin

At the gym?

Tate

Yup.

Griffin

Can I convince you to work out at my place from now on?

Tate

And drive two hours every day just to work out? No.

Griffin

I have state-of-the-art equipment, and who said anything about all that driving? You could sleep over the night before. *smirk emoji*

Tate

Let me think about it…

Hmm no… In your dreams.

Griffin

Careful, kitten, or I might just start telling you all about my dreams.

Tate

Dinner tonight at my place?

Griffin

Wouldn’t miss it.

We need to have dinner with my parents sometime soon… My mom keeps asking.

I had hoped to avoid them. I knew they still lived in the same house.

Thoughts of seeing the one next door—the one I had grown up in with two parents, the driveway where Dad had peeled out of, the rose bushes that my mom had planted after he left—I didn’t think I’d ever be ready to see that house again.

Tate

I’m not a take-home-to-the-parents kind of girl.

Griffin

They aren’t those kinds of parents.

Tate

Isn’t it too soon?

Griffin

Sunday night. My mom misses you.

Tate

I hate you.

Griffin

A bit early to be throwing those words around, don’t you think? Hate is usually reserved for a year into dating.

Tate

I’ll see you later, idiot.

I stopped at the grocery store on my way home.

The grocery store . It took me five minutes to get out of the car and another two minutes just to walk through the door.

I avoided eye contact with the spot where I’d been held at gunpoint and went through my mental list of items I needed for tonight’s dinner. I was making lasagna, his favorite.

Noodles

Ground beef

Tomato sauce

Ricotta cheese, mozzarella cheese, parmesan cheese

Garlic and onion

Eggs

And Italian seasoning

I repeated these items over and over, mentally checking items off my list as I went down each aisle.

I noticed the checkout lane where it all happened had been blocked off.

I chose a line as far away as possible. Putting my items on the conveyor belt, I looked up and made eye contact with Joe, the cashier from that night, and my chest grew tight immediately.

I sucked in a sharp breath and forced a smile.

It wasn’t his fault. He was a victim too.

“I’ve been waiting to see you again,” he whispered, not making eye contact as he scanned my items. I held my card near the card reader and waited for him to finish scanning so I could pay and get out of there.

“I’m sorry,” he said. We made eye contact when he handed me my bags.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whispered, putting the bags in my cart, and I used every ounce of restraint to walk slowly out of the store without raising alarm to the other shoppers.

Stuck in memories from that night, I made the drive home without paying much attention to the traffic or my surroundings, completely and utterly lost in a trance .

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, the soft hum of the radio filling the car as I pulled into the condo complex. As I turned into the lot, a strange shiver of anxiety crawled up my spine.

I slowed my car, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.

A dark sedan followed me through the entrance, its tinted windows hiding the driver .

My grip on the wheel tightened. It wasn’t unusual for another car to pull in behind me.

I lived in a small complex, but something about this one felt off .

It wasn’t a neighbor’s car. It wasn’t even a visitor.

I knew all the cars in the lot, and this wasn’t one of them.

I tried to shake off the anxiety and fear that coiled in my stomach, thinking maybe it was stemming from my visit to the grocery store, but I couldn’t shake this.

The car was unfamiliar.

I pulled into my usual parking spot near the stairs leading to my condo, but the sedan didn’t pass me to find its own space. It stopped . Right in the middle of the lot. Engine still running.

My pulse picked up .

Maybe I was being paranoid. It could be a delivery driver checking an address or someone waiting for a friend. A lot of people used Uber here.

Or maybe…it wasn’t.

I swallowed hard and turned off my car, forcing myself to move casually. I grabbed a few grocery bags from the passenger seat, keys wedged between my fingers—something my mother had drilled into me years ago. The moment I stepped out, I dared another glance.

The car was still there.

Still running.

And now, the driver’s side door was opening.

A man stepped out.

Tall. Dark jacket. Face shadowed beneath a cap .

My breath hitched. Why did he feel so familiar?

The cold morning air suddenly felt stifling, my heart pounding as I turned toward the stairs, forcing myself to walk, not run . I had to act casual. He was a stranger, not a criminal. I didn’t want to show fear. Didn’t want to assume the worst.

But with every step I took, I felt his eyes on me.

And deep in my gut, I just knew this wasn’t a coincidence .

Reaching for my phone in the pocket of my leggings, my stomach dropped. I’d left it in the car. Panic tore through me, sharp and immediate.

I avoided the elevator, and just as I reached the top of the stairs, a sinking feeling made me glance down.

He was walking up after me.

Deep breath, Tate. Deep fucking breath.

He could be a visitor.

He could be heading to another apartment.

He’s not here for you.

Except when he looked up, our eyes met for the briefest second.

And I knew those cold blue eyes.

Malice. Intent. A darkness I’d seen before.

It was him. One of the robbers.

He had come for me.

I turned on instinct, running for my apartment door.

I barely had time to slam the door shut before I heard a bang that rattled the whole frame.

Then another.

He was trying to break in.

I fumbled with the lock, twisting the dead bolt just as the next hit crashed against the wood, so loud it felt like the whole building shook.

Think. Think, Tate.

My grocery bags slipped from my hands, the garlic rolling across the kitchen floor with a hollow sound. I didn’t stop to pick them up. I didn’t stop for anything.

I bolted down the hall, through my bedroom, pushing through the bathroom door and slamming it shut behind me. I barely got the lock flipped into place before a deafening crack echoed from the living room.

He was inside.

I pressed my back against the cold tile, trying to breathe through the panic rising in my throat. My hand covered my mouth, but it did nothing to stifle the ragged gasps.

Another crash.

Another.

I wasn’t going to be so lucky this time. Griffin wasn’t here to save me. No one was.