Hating The Player

Winter’s POV

“I officially hate men,” I mutter to myself as I tap the words into my phone. As soon as I hit send,

I knock back a shot and signal for another drink.

Almost immediately, a message from my sister Winter pops up: “But you don’t hate sex.”

I know where this is going. I might claim to despise men, but I can still enjoy being with one

physically. They’re good for that, at least.

“I’m done with them,” I reply.

Her response is almost instant, and I can practically predict her next words. “That doesn’t mean

you’re done enjoying yourself. Do you know what always makes you feel better?”

The typing bubble appears again, and I realize I need to cut her off before she dispenses any

more unfiltered advice. I quickly text back, “That’s not exactly the kind of guidance I expect from

my older sister.”

Just as I hit send, I get the eerie sensation of being watched. I scan the bar, trying to pinpoint

the source. At first, it seems like just a crowd of people having a good time, but then I spot a

lean, muscular figure leaning against the wall.

Due to the dim lighting in the bar, I can’t tell if he’s the one watching me. My phone dings with

another message from my sister, and I look away.

"Passing your physiotherapy exams isn’t the end of the world, you know. You’ll soon be a

physical therapist, and I’m proud of you."

I stare at her message, unsure of how to respond. Knowing Cami isn’t expecting a reply, I lock

my phone and reach for my drink. But I’m not the only one reaching. Another hand is already

wrapped around the glass. I look up from the hand to the man beside me—the one who was

leaning against the wall. Now, he’s right next to me, and I have to crane my neck to see him.

Oh, he’s tall. Really tall.

He’s wearing gray pants and a black shirt, and his dark, wavy hair is styled to highlight his blue

eyes. My mouth goes dry as I take in his broad shoulders and the muscles of his arms and

chest through the fabric of his shirt before looking back up to his eyes.

I could easily get lost in those eyes. Winter, you’re supposed to hate men! my subconscious

screams, and I quickly shut my eyes and shake my head to refocus.

I look up at Tall-and-Handsome, determined not to get lost in his gaze this time, and raise an

eyebrow. “Um, excuse you?”

“I think that should be my line,” he says, glancing at the drink we’re both holding before looking

back at me. “And that’s my drink too.”

I scoff and shake my head. “You must be mistaken.”

He smiles. “No.” Then he gestures to my left, where the same drink is sitting. “I think that’s

yours.”

Oh.

He’s right. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.

I let go of the drink so quickly that a bit spills, but Tall-and-Handsome reacts swiftly, steadying

the glass to prevent further spillage.

Feeling a little embarrassed, I cringe as I speak. “I’m sorry about that. Can I buy you another

drink or something?”

His lips curve into a beautiful smile that makes my insides flutter. “I thought you hated men?”

My eyes widen as I tilt my head. If it weren’t for the mix-up with the drink, this might seem

unsettling. But given it was my mistake, I decide to ask him how he knew what I had said.

“I have a talent for reading lips. And yours…” His blue eyes drift to my lips, causing a warm flush

to spread through me.

“…are quite easy to decipher,” he concludes in a sultry tone.

I shift in my seat, crossing my legs to steady the tingles.

“They are?” I ask, moving my purse to indicate the seat beside me is available.

He smiles and sits down.

“Full lips like yours have a lot of movement when you speak.”

I take a sip of my drink, feeling the effects of the alcohol already.

“So, do you read lips just to deliver lines like this, or was that spontaneous?”

“Would you prefer the truth?” he asks with a grin.

“Honesty would be nice.”

“It’s not just your lips that have captured my interest. I’ve been observing you since you walked

in.”

I chuckle, feeling unusually feminine, and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

“I’d rate you a ten for that pickup line.”

He laughs, a deep, resonant sound that sends shivers down my spine.

“If I told you they weren’t lines but truths, would that still seem like a line to you?”

“That would be a bit cheesy,” I respond, feeling a blush rise as I picture him without his shirt. His

form-fitting shirt highlights his muscles, making me wonder if he wore it to flaunt his biceps.

He clears his throat, pulling me back to reality. I notice his satisfied, self-assured smile, which

makes my cheeks flush even more.

“Okay, you caught me checking out your physique. It’s not just guys who do that, you know.”

He raises a hand in a playful gesture, showing off a dimple.

“I’m not complaining.”

“So, what’s your secret? Gym routine? Steroids?”

“If it were steroids, would I lose my seat?” he retorts with a chuckle.

“The only thing that would make you lose your seat now is if you had a woman tied up in your

apartment and you were a serial killer.”

“I’m actually an athlete,” he says, laughing.

“Basketball?” I guess, and he nods.

I imagine him in a sleeveless jersey with his hair tied up in a man bun. That’s enough, Winter.

Keep it together.

“And what about you? What’s your issue with men?” he asks.

I shrug.

“They’re usually full of it. Arrogant, self-absorbed, and unfaithful.”

I realize I sound jaded, but I can’t help it. My sister always says my bitterness towards men is

enough to push them away. I typically avoid discussing it, letting charming and considerate ones

get close before disappearing the next morning. But there’s something about this man that

makes me want to open up, sleep with him, and maybe even stay.

“Is this based on personal experience?” he asks. Our cups are empty, and the bartender begins

to refill them.

“From my own experiences and those of my friends. They all point to the same conclusion: men

are jerks.”

We drink in silence for a few moments, and I worry that I’ve scared him off. I shouldn’t have

brought up my disdain. He’s probably thinking of how to exit this conversation.

“What are you thinking about?” I eventually ask.

He presses his lips together, still moist from his drink. “The truth?”

“Always.”

“I’m just starting out as a rookie. My career is my top priority right now. I’m not looking for a

serious relationship. But I do want to kiss you. Since you walked in, I’ve been imagining running

my hands up your legs and under your skirt to see if you’re wearing matching underwear. But if I

do that and I’m not ready for something serious, I’d be just like the men you’ve encountered.”

My head spins, and I hiccup in surprise. He reaches for my hand, the touch both thrilling and

unsettling.

“Are you okay?”

I nod and smile. “I’m fine.”

He looks uneasy. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s absurd that you don’t know what’s going on with me based on that comment,” I think, but

instead I say, “You’re nothing like the other men I’ve met. I just passed my physiotherapy exam

and am about to enter a demanding period in my life, so I’m not looking for anything serious. But

I want you to kiss me. Everywhere. And I’ve been imagining you naked since you sat down.”

His eyes widen, first with shock, then with pleasure and excitement.

“Damon,” he says, extending his hand.

“Winter,” I reply, taking his hand.

The connection between us feels intense and surreal. “Do you want to see if there’s a girl tied

up in my place?”

I finish my drink. I’m used to one-night stands, but Damon feels different. I follow him to his car.