Page 9 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Shit.
I glance toward the sliding glass doors that lead to the back deck, and sure enough, they’re cracked open just enough for an 80-pound mass of pure disobedience to squeeze through.
I walk outside and scan the dunes until I spot him.
Inheryard.
The woman from the grocery store.
She doesn’t see me yet. She’s crouched in the grass, her long fingers scratching behind Rip’s ears while my traitorous dog soaks it up like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“You’re such agoodboy,” she coos, her voice softer than I’ve heard it.
Rip is loving it. He has a big, dumb, tongue-lolling grin, his paws planted firmly on her thighs, as if he’s already chosen her as his new favorite person.
Mydamn dog.
I take a moment to size her up in the daylight.
She’s tall—maybe five-eight or five-nine. Long legs, toned but soft in all the right places, tanned like she’s spent some time in the sun. Her dark brown hair is flecked with gold and blows gently in the breeze.
And her face?
Would be gorgeous—if she didn’t look like the type of woman who could destroy a man for sport. High cheekbones, full lips, and expressive brown eyes that seem to assess everything and everyone with instant judgment. A perfect little nose that wrinkles slightly when she’s amused—and from what I can tell, she’s not amused by meat all.
She looks like she’d bedevastatingif she smiled at a guy.
Not that I’ll ever be on the receiving end of it.
I clear my throat and step off my deck and into the grass.
She lifts her head, and just like that, her entire demeanor shifts.
Her expression closes off. Her fingers stop scratching behind Rip’s ears. The warmth in her face vanishes so quickly it’s almost impressive.
“Well, well, well,” I drawl, crossing my arms as I approach. “You sure change your tune when you don’t realize you’re talking tomydog.”
Her lips press together as she straightens.
“I wasn’t talking toyou,” she replies coolly.
“No, but I still feel personally betrayed.” I glance at Rip, who is sitting obediently at her feet, tail thumping the grass like she’s his long-lost soulmate. “Seriously?”
She lifts a single brow. “Maybe he has good taste.”
I scoff.
She exhales, turning back to Rip. “Go home, buddy.”
Rip does not go home. Rip leans harder against her legs, as if sensing the chance to ruin my life.
I huff and step forward, slapping my thigh. “Rip, let’s go.”
Nothing.
She lifts her chin, looking smug. “Looks like he’s made his choice.”
“You feeding him steak over here or something?”
