Page 19 of Playing Hard to Hate
“Nothing new, Grace. Nothing new.”
Getting into the car, I slammed the door shut, jammed the key into the ignition, and screamed. I put in the directions for the next meeting at some new up-and-coming swimwear company, reversed out of the spot, and joined traffic, ignoring the sports car that seemed to be following me.
If I didn’t look, he wasn’t there. Not like I could see him through his stupid tinted glass.Was that even legal?
Arriving at the boutique early, I pulled up Millie’s name in my messages, knowing she’d be in the middle of a class right now.
Tatum
I hate Griffin. I fucking hate him. He’s the male model at the jewelry store. I am going to shoot myself.
Shoving the phone into my bag, I stepped out of the car andpatted my hair down as a few stray wisps started to curl from the humidity.
I hadn’t noticed the black sports car that was parked next to me or the man who was oh-so-casually leaning against it.
But when I did, I jerked to a halt and shook my head. “No.”
“Swimwear shoot?” He grinned so deliciously evil, I wanted to smack him and kiss him at the same time.
“This has to be a joke. Did Millie put you up to this? I know you saw her this morning.” I jabbed a finger in his chest and glared up at him. He reached for one of my curls, letting it around his finger.
“She really can’t keep her mouth shut. I asked her not to tell you,” he whispered.
“She’s my best friend. Of course she’s going to tell me.” I slapped his hand away from my hair. “Don’t touch my hair. It took me an hour to blow it out.”
“It’s prettier natural,” he said, looking right into my eyes and acting completely normal, like him telling me my hair was pretty was normal, everyday conversation when it was, in fact, not. It was like we hadn’t just had some bullshit fight literally less than an hour ago, and he knew exactly how to make every hair on my body raise while making the skin underneath it boil like hot lava. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he didn’t even act like he cared.
Was I just here to be his punching bag?
Was I always going to be his boredom fix?
The more I saw of him, the more I felt like he had purposely come back into my life.
Why now? Why was he being so nice yet so distant?
“Cut it out,” I gritted out.
“Can’t a guy compliment a pretty woman?” He reached for that curl again, and I slapped him away again.
He called mepretty.
Do not melt.
Everyone calls you pretty.
Do not cave.
Look in a mirror. You are pretty. You worked hard for it.
Remember he’s a monster.
Do not let him worm his way in.
He’s playing with you.
Remember when he made you cry in high school?
Remember when he didn’t come when your mom died?
