Page 63 of The Book Club Boyfriend
She laughs. “Shut up. I’m serious. You’re the author. You get to tell the story you want to tell. Full stop. Just trust yourself, okay?”
I exhale slowly, the knot in my chest loosening just a fraction. “I wish it were that easy.”
“I know,” she says. “But maybe start there. Just write what’s real. Screw everything else.”
I don’t answer right away.
Because maybe—just maybe—she’s right.
There’s a long pause, and then Harper continues. “And… maybe your problem isn’t the book. Maybe it’s the fact that a certain hockey player has taken up permanent real estate in that grumpy little brain of yours.”
“I’m sorry—what?” I all but sputter.
“I’ve seen the way you talk about him,” she singsongs. “All that protesting and eye-rolling? Classic denial.”
“You’re insane.”
“I’m just observant. And honestly, if you did fall for him, I’d never let you live it down.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that a bet?”
She laughs. “More like a prophecy. But sure. Let’s call it a bet. I say by the end of this book club fiasco, you’re going to catch real feelings for Chase Remington.”
I snort. “You’re delusional.”
“Prove me wrong, Calloway. That man could charm the stripes off a zebra.”
“I’m not a zebra,” I point out. “I’m a cactus. Uncharmable.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re insufferable is what you are.”
Chapter Nineteen
Puck Around and Find Out
Scarlett
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number, and for once, I’m hoping it’s a spam bot trying to sell me discounted yoga pants or tell me I’ve won a free cruise. Because I don’t need any actual disruptions right now. I’m trying to work.
I grab it and glance at the message.
Unknown Number:Hi! This is Lucy Wilder—I got your number from Vivian (hope that’s okay). I used to do the book club thing with the Stampede, and now I’m married to one of the guys (Bennett #88, the hot one with the dimples). Anyway, I wanted to say hi and also—if you’re free tomorrow night, I’d love toinvite you to the home opener. Great seats, fun crowd, zero pressure.
I blink at the message. Lucy Wilder.
Okay. Unexpected.
I’ve seen clips of her online—bright smile, sarcasm for days, somehow managing to hold her own among a team full of hockey players and rabid romance fans. She seemed… terrifyingly cool.
And now she’s inviting me to a game?
I should say no. I have nothing to wear. I don’t know the rules. The only thing I know about hockey is that Chase plays it, and that’s not exactly a glowing endorsement.
Still…
I have nothing else going on tomorrow night. I’m out of peanut butter. And I could use a distraction.
Buthockeyof all things?
