Page 31 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“I’m sorry, what?”
Rip, completely unaware of my inner turmoil, is taking the world’s longest pee in the sand.
“You heard me.”
“No, no. I must have misunderstood you. You’re telling me that the same Scottie Calloway—the one who’s made a career out of telling women they don’t need men—is voluntarily signing up for a romance book club?”
“That’s the one.”
I bark out a laugh. “And this makes sense how?”
“The Stampede’s PR team is playing up the ‘Enemies to Lovers’ angle. Your on-screen bickering will draw an audience. Whether she’s right or wrong, whether she’s read the right books, whether she’s just bitter. It’ll create fan engagement, and at the end of the day, that’s what this is really about.”
I shake my head, pacing along the shoreline. “You really think this is gonna work?”
Drew chuckles. “Oh, it’s already working. The internetis buzzing about you two. The ‘romance cynic versus the hockey player who probably writes girls’ numbers on napkins’ narrative? People love it.”
I scowl. “I do not write my number on napkins.”
I put them into my phone like a normal guy.
“Not the point.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, my brain still trying to process this. Scarlett. Co-hosting. With me.
I shouldn’t be entertained by this. But damn it, I am.
“What do you say, Chase?” Drew asks, amusement clear in his voice. “You in?”
I look out at the lake, the water glinting under the morning sun. I think about Scarlett’s smirk last night, the way her pulse kicked up when I got too close, the way her glare burned hot enough to melt steel.
The thought of working with her? Professionally? I’m slightly horrified, slightly turned on.
This can’t be happening. Except, apparently, it is.
I grin. “Oh, I’m in.”
Chapter Eleven
Missing Something
Chase
I should be in heaven.
Perfect weather. Miles of open beach. I have nothing but time to work out, sleep, and avoid the firecracker next door.
And yet…
I toss a frisbee down the shoreline for Rip, watching him bolt after it as if his life depends on catching the flimsy piece of plastic. His paws kick up sand, and the late afternoon sun casts everything in a golden glow.
A perfect day. A perfect vacation. So why does it feel like something’s missing?
Or, more specifically, someone.
Scarlett.
It’s been a full week since I’ve seen her. A week without any snarky glares over the propertyline, without her stomping across the sand in another swimsuit or sundress that does insane things to my focus, without her sitting on her deck with a coffee and a scowl.
