Page 15 of The Book Club Boyfriend
I freeze, my pulse kicking up.
No.
No, no, no.
I subtly step behind a nearby display of newly released paperbacks, peeking between the stacks.
And there he is.
All six foot three inches of Chase Remington. (Yes, I’d Googled him—apparently, he’s a pretty big deal if you’re into hockey, which I definitely amnot.)
He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, looking obnoxiously relaxed as he scans the shelves like he hasanybusiness being in a bookstore.
What are the odds?
I press my back against the display and exhale sharply. I could be civilized; I could thank him for the oat milk, but Iwon’t.Because it should have been mine onprinciple.
I take a slow step backward, contemplating my escape. If I can just make it to the door—
“Scarlett.”
Crap.
I close my eyes, steeling myself before turning to face him. He’s leaning against a bookshelf, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Youagain?” I say, exasperated.
He lifts a brow. “You hiding from me?”
I scoff. “You wish.”
His mouth twitches like he’s holding back a smirk, but before he can respond, a flirty-looking store clerk approaches with a bright, eager smile.
“Can I help you two find anything?” she asks.
Gross. Her assumption that we’re here together is atrocious.
I open my mouth to sayno,but Chase beats me to it.
“Actually, yeah.” He turns to her, all lazy charm. “Do you have a romance section?”
The clerk’s eyes light up. “Yes! We have an entire section,andwe carry all the books from the Stampede’s romance book club!”
My stomachplummets.
Chase grins, his gaze sliding back to mine. “Cool, huh?”
I groan, fighting the urge to hurl a hardcover at his head. “You havegotto be kidding me.”
During my Googling, I’d seen some nonsense about how the team was sponsoring a book club. As if the guys sit around in the locker room readingrom-coms. Gag me with a wooden spoon.
He smirks, clearly entertained by my distress. “What? I just figured I could grab myself a beach read, maybe see what all the hype is about.”
I narrow my eyes. “You don’t read romance.”
He gives me a pointed look; it’s a look that says he knows something I don’t, and I feel it deep inside my stomach.Weird. “How would you know?” he asks, amusement lacing his voice.
“Because.” I wave a hand at him. “You’reyou.”
