Page 58 of The Book Club Boyfriend
@StampedeFan1: The tension between Chase and Scottie? I want to bottle it. Inject it. Use it as perfume.
@RomanceLuver34: Enemies to lovers, but make it sports edition. I need this to be real.
@HockeyRomanceQueen: NotScarlett Calloway going feral over romance novels while sitting next to a literal romance novel cover model in a suit.
@HockeyGossipHQ: He looked at her like she was the final goal in a Game 7 overtime. I can’t breathe.
I rub a hand over my face.
There’s a side-by-side screenshot of me smirking and her glaring—captioned“He’s thinking about kissing her. She’s thinking about committing a crime.”
Rip snorts like he agrees.
I chuckle and blow on my coffee.
I scroll some more, and yeah—it’s everywhere. #ChaseAndScottie is trending, and some genius already made a meme comparing us toPride and Prejudice. (I’m Darcy, apparently. I think that’s good?)
There’s a short video clip from the Q&A where her mic caught her monologue about husbands and how romance novels have never improved anyone’s life… followed immediately by a zoomed-in shot of my face trying not to laugh.
I watch it twice.
Okay, three times.
She was mortified last night, and I probably didn’t help by taking her out for margaritas and looking at her like she personally ended my dryspell with one snarky comment.
But damn, she was good up there. Even when she was unraveling. Even when she was defensive and awkward and very clearly hating every second of being vulnerable in public.
She held her own.
And the fans loved it. Loved her.
Whether she wants to admit it or not, she just helped take this book club to the next level.
I toss my phone on the counter and finally take a sip of my now lukewarm coffee.
One thing’s clear—Scottie Calloway might not believe in love stories, but the rest of the world?
They’re already shipping ours.
I set the phone down and make myself focus on breakfast. A spinach omelet for me and a bowl of fresh dog food for Rip.
My phone buzzes across the counter, dancing slightly from the force of the call. I glance at the screen and groan.
Tyler.
I swipe to answer. “Morning, sunshine.”
“You alive?” he asks by way of greeting. “Wasn’t sure after that PR circus last night.”
I laugh, heading for the fridge to put away Rip’s food. “Barely. The internet thinks I proposed to her mid-Q&A.”
“You kinda looked like you wanted to.”
“She looked like she wanted to throat punchme,” I counter.
“Same thing.”
I snort. “What’s up?”
