Page 11 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Iknowthat title.
I tilt my head, staring at her. “Wait. You’reScottie Calloway?”
She sighs, like she already knows where this is going.
I grin.Oh, this is too good.
“You’re, like, a big deal.”
“Don’t,” she says flatly.
“No, no, I mean—wow.” I laugh, shaking my head. “My teammate’s girlfriend is obsessed with your books.”
She blinks, confused.
I wave a hand. “Doesn’t matter. Whatdoesmatter is that I now understandexactlywhy you’re such a delight.”
She crosses her arms, unimpressed. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
I smirk. “Nothing.” I was right—she’s a total man-eater.
Her nostrils flare slightly.
The best part about this situation? She obviously has no clue whoIam.
I lean a shoulder against the porch railing, crossing my arms. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?”
Her brows pull together slightly. “Am I supposed to?”
I blink. “I play for the Dallas Stampede.”
She gives me a blank look.
I resist the urge to run a hand down my face. “The hockey team.”
A slow nod, as if she’s trying to place the name.
“The sport with sticks and pucks…played on ice…”
That earns me an eye roll. “Iknowwhat hockey is.”
“Didn’t seem like it.”
“I’m from Dallas; I just…don’t watch hockey.”
“Really? You’re from Dallas?”
She nods.
That’s random.
“And you don’t watch hockeyat all?” I let out a low whistle. “Damn.”
“Sorry to bruise your ego,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.
“I’ll live.”
She shifts slightly, arms still crossed, her gaze darting toward my house—how close it is to herplace. A mere thirty feet away.
