Page 125 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Author By Day, Hot Mess By Night
Scarlett
The bar is loud, full, and very,veryinto me right now, which is weird.
I’m not great at being the center of attention, and I doubt I ever will be.
The moment I walk in, Harper shoves a cocktail into my hand and yells, “She wrote a BOOK!” to the entire room, as if she’s announcing a baby’s gender.
Chase’s teammates are gathered at the back booth, all towering, loud, and already halfway tipsy. Bennett waves at me with both arms like he’s guiding a plane. Lucy is beside him, sipping something pink with a sugared rim, looking unbothered by the chaos.
“Scottie!” Harper shouts, dragging me toward the bar as if I’m not wearing heels and four hours of emotional vulnerability. “You did it! You made me cry! And you didn’t even kill anyone in this one!”
“High praise,” I say, grinning.
She turns to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, author’s tab!”
“Wait—” I start to protest.
“Nope,” she says. “You published a book and emotionally ruined me. This is happening.”
The bartender sets down two shot glasses, and for once, I don’t argue with Harper. I put her through a lot while writing this book. My publisher canceled my contract when I switched genres, but Harper fought for me. She found a new home for my book and negotiated an even better deal. We’ve been through hell together and come out on the other side. It’s worth celebrating.
The tequila burns, but in a warm, victorious way.
I navigate through the bar, dodging congratulations and compliments. Chase appears behind me like a warm shadow, slipping an arm around my waist.
“You surviving your own party?” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple.
“Barely. If one more person asks if the male lead is based on a real person, I might launch myself into traffic.”
He grins. “Is he?”
Ishoot him a look. “You wish, Remington.”
We settle into the corner booth with his teammates, who are trying to outdo each other with dramatic readings of my book. Tyler has one hand on his chest, reciting a steamy scene like it’s Shakespeare. Will is fake-swooning. Bennett is crying into a pint of beer.
“Can we not?” I mutter, burying my face in Chase’s shoulder.
“I tried to stop them,” he says, not even pretending to sound sincere.
Harper slides in beside me, stealing a fry off someone’s plate. “They’re idiots. But hot idiots. You should put them in your next book.”
I sip my drink. “Oh, I’m already mentally killing them off in book two.”
She grins. “There she is.”
Somewhere between round three of drinks and Chase feeding me a mozzarella stick like I’m royalty, I realize something strange.
I feel… okay.
Happy, even.
It’s loud and chaotic, and I’m being lovingly harassed by athletes with zero boundaries, but I feelgood.Like I earned this. Like I deserve to be celebrated.
Chase catches me looking at him.
