Page 102 of The Book Club Boyfriend
So, see? Not a date.
I add a swipe of mascara anyway. Just… for my lashes.
My phone buzzes.
Chase:On my way. Try not to miss me too much.
I snort. Out loud.
My heart does a dumb little flip anyway.
I grab my laptop, shove it into my tote bag, and march out the door before I can think myself into another spiral.
Besides, I’ve got words to write, coffee to drink, and exactly zero time to wonder what it means that I can’t stop smiling every time he texts me.
Not a date.
Totally fine.
Everything’s fine.
The little bell above the coffee shop door jingles as I step inside, the familiar scent of espresso and warm baked goods wrapping around me like a hug I didn’t ask for but kind of needed.
It’s bustling but not packed—just enough background chatter to feel lively, not overwhelming.
I spot him instantly.
Chase is at a corner table, already sipping a coffee, laptop open, brows drawn in concentration. His hair’s still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends, and he’s wearing a dark hoodie pushed up at the sleeves, exposing his forearms in a way that should absolutely not be legal before noon.
He hasn’t seen me yet.
Which means I have a solid ten seconds to get my heartbeat under control.
Because he looks good.
Too good.
And I’m annoyed about it.
I head toward the counter, order my usual, and by the time I make my way to the table, he looks up—and grins like I just made his whole morning.
“Hey,” he says, voice warm. “You made it.”
“Obviously,” I reply, sliding into the seat across from him. “I was promised caffeine and chaos.”
He chuckles, pushing a scone toward me. “I got your favorite. Figured it would soften your contempt.”
I eye it suspiciously. “You bribing me, Remington?”
“Always.”
We settle in. I open my laptop, determined to focus, but there’s a strange sort of… energy buzzing between us. Comfortable. Charged. Like we’ve slipped into something familiar without realizing it.
“So,” I say, pretending not to care, “what are you working on?”
“Team stuff,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “They’ve got me prepping this leadership pitch for captain. Presentation, goals, ideas on team culture. I swear, I didn’t know hockey came with PowerPoint.”
I blink. “You’re making a PowerPoint? That’s... shockingly responsible of you.”
