Page 103 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“I know,” he says, mock solemn. “Please hold your applause.”
I smirk, taking another sip. “Well, I’m proud of you, Remington. Look at you. All grown up and goal-oriented.”
He leans back, eyes on me. “You bring out my best.”
It’s so smooth, I almost choke on my sip of coffee.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” I mutter.
“You loved it.”
My cheeks flush.
I busy myself with typing, and after a beat, the only sounds are the soft clacks of our keyboards and the occasional hum of espresso machines. This new book idea is actually flowing.
But he’s still looking at me. I can feel it.
“What?” I ask without glancing up.
“You look happy,” he says, quiet now.
I freeze.
“Like, writing-happy. It’s a good look on you.” And just like that, my walls threaten to crumble. Because no one’s ever noticed that before.
I lift my gaze to meet his.
“Thanks,” I murmur.
And somehow, without meaning to, this not-a-date feels like so much more.
The coffee shop is warm and bustling, full of soft indie music, clinking mugs, and the faint scent of espresso.
And the guy sitting across from me is an annoyingly attractive temptation. Baseball cap backward, hoodie pushed to his elbows, a pen in his mouth as he studies something on his tablet like it holds the meaning of life.
Focus, Scottie.
I get to work, and soon, I’m in the zone.
“Are you going to let me read what you’re writing?” he asks a little while later.
I consider it for half a second before shaking my head. “I never let anyone read a work in progress. Sorry.”
He leans back. “That’s fine. It’s just… you’ve got this glow about you. I can tell you like what you’re writing.”
I feel my cheeks warm and promptly focus on my keyboard. “I do not have a glow.”
“You do,” he says, very sure of himself. “It’s cute.”
I glance up at him. “You’re cute.”
His brows shoot up.
“...I mean in a golden retriever way,” I add quickly.
“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly enjoying this.
We go back to working, the air between us charged in that quiet, content way. My fingers fly across the keyboard, the words coming like a faucet finally turned back on. I know exactly what this character is feeling. I know how she’s falling even though she doesn’t want to.
