Hate the Player - Max Monroe Page 0,95

a relationship with someone. Color me shocked.

I wouldn’t say I’m in a relationship with Birdie, but I also wouldn’t say I’m looking to screw around with anyone else.

Strangely enough, that’s the last thing I want to do right now.

I’m simply relishing the fun we’ve been having together over the past few weeks. I’m enjoying spending time with her, and, it goes without saying, I’m really enjoying sliding my cock inside her and eating at the buffet that is her perfect pussy.

Marissa: Who is it, by the way? Someone I know?

While I would have no issues letting Marissa know who I’m involved with, I know Birdie wouldn’t want that. So, I answer accordingly.

Me: It’s none of your business.

Marissa: Where is the Andrew I know, and what have you done with him?

Me: Very funny.

Marissa: LOL. I thought it was pretty clever.

When another message chimes in, I type out a quick and final message to Marissa that, in the nicest way possible, lets her know I’m done with the conversation. And then I find a text from Birdie sitting in our ongoing chat.

Firecracker: You still up?

I smile. It’s about fucking time.

Me: Of course, I’m still up. I’m waiting on you to get your cute ass back to my room so I can get some sleep.

Firecracker: I’m pretty sure you don’t need me to get sleep, Andy.

Andy. Always with the fucking Andy. It’s stupid how much I secretly enjoy it.

Me: On the contrary. You know I need your tits in my big hands in order to truly relax.

Firecracker: You’re so strange.

Me: I’m a creature of habit, sweetheart.

Firecracker: Oh yeah, and what habits you’ve gained over the years. Fast cars. Lots of wild Hollywood parties. Beautiful women. You’re basically the poster boy for clean living.

Always the ballbuster. It makes me smirk.

Me: I’ll give you the fast cars bit, but everything else needs to be scratched from the record.

Firecracker: Oh boy, and what are you going to replace it with, Mr. Habits?

Me: Birdie’s beautiful tits. Birdie’s glorious pussy. Birdie. Birdie. Birdie.

Firecracker: You sound obsessed with this Birdie.

Me: You have no idea. She makes me fucking crazy. My cock is already hard just thinking about her.

Firecracker: Maybe you should answer your door, then.

I quirk a brow, but when three soft raps sound against my door, I grin.

Fuck yes.

In four long strides, I make my way to the door and open it, and on the other side stands Birdie, her brown eyes bright with mischief, her long blond hair flowing down over the khaki trench coat covering her body, and a pair of cowgirl boots sitting on her feet.

I rest my elbow on the doorframe, smiling down at her as I take my sweet, sweet time raking my intrigued gaze over her body. “I’m sorry, but I feel like I’m dreaming… Or at least, I’m pretty sure this is the start of a dream I once had…”

This is, in fact, very reminiscent of a fantasy I told her about a few nights ago. It’s all very cliché—Birdie showing up in nothing but her boots and trench coat, her tight little body completely naked underneath. But fuck, if this is the real thing, I’m the biggest fan of clichés right now.

She smiles. “Can I come in?”

“That depends.”

“It depends?” She puts a sassy hand to her hip. “On what exactly?”

“On what you have on beneath that coat of yours.”

She leans up on her tippy-toes and places her lips right by my ear. “Nothing, Andy. I have absolutely nothing on underneath this coat.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice.

On a husky growl, I wrap my arms around her waist, throw her over my shoulder, and carry her into my hotel room. She giggles as I kick the door shut behind us and stride over to the bed.

“And I thought you were wanting to get some sleep tonight,” she whispers as I toss her down onto the mattress. Her body bounces, and more giggles follow.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” I shake my head and make a show of getting on my knees and sliding off her cowgirl boots. The right boot, then the left, I slip them off her pretty feet and throw them over my shoulder. They hit the carpeted floor with a thud.

My lips are on her legs after that, making a slow path of openmouthed kisses up her soft skin until I stop where the coat meets her knees. “This needs to go.” My fingers tug on the material before I reach up to undo the belt at her

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