Page 130 of The Man I Hate

“I’m excited to see it,” she said.

“I’m excited for you to see it. You’ll have to stay over and watch the sunset.”

She smiled. “Sounds like a date.”

I was so excited about the new home I was having a hard time falling asleep at night. Then, when morning arrived, I was exhausted and felt sick to my stomach. I needed to get back on track. I hoped once we moved in that my mind would settle down.

Hap looked at Braxton. “What time is—”

Braxton shot Hap a glare. “5:50.”

“Are you okay?” I asked, looking him over. “You seem tense. You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Baby, I’m just like you.” His intensity softened. “I’m excited about the house. That’s all.”

“I’m getting another plate,” I announced. “Does anyone need anything?”

Hap stood. “I’ll join you.”

We filled our plates with another serving of lasagna, salad, and bread.

Hap nodded at my plate. “I have no idea where your food’s been going. You’ve been eating like a horse and staying skinny as hell.”

“Skinny?” I smacked myself on the ass. “Everywhere but here.”

He smirked. “No comment.”

On my way to the table I picked at my lasagna. By the time I took my seat, it was nearly gone. My appetite seemed endless.

Braxton gestured toward my plate. “You should have got two slices.”

He was right. I should have. “I’m famished,” I said. “I can’t get enough.”

“Probably that new workout you started. What’s it called? Beach body something?”

“Beach Body Workout,” I replied.

“It must be working,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’ve been eating like a horse, and you’re not gaining an ounce.”

The doorbell rang. I glanced at the door. “Who—”

Braxton shot from his seat. “Pratt was coming by to get a few things for work.”

Pratt was going to continue to operate as a Hollywood fixer, taking over the reins of Braxton’s company.

I poked the remaining piece of lasagna in my mouth and stood. I faced Pratt and opened my arms wide. “Give me a hug, you big dork.”

He hugged me like he hadn’t seen me in years. In reality, it had only been a few days. He broke our embrace and looked me over. “How’s it going, Annie?”

To Pratt, I’d always be Annie. I didn’t bother me or Braxton to hear him say it. It made Hap angry, though.

“Good,” I replied. “Just finishing dinner.”

He glanced at the pan of lasagna. “Smells good.”

“Want me to fix you a plate?”

“He can fix his own,” Hap barked. He glanced at Pratt. “How’s it going, Prott?”