Page 12 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“I guess I’ll see you around,” I say.
Her hands go to her hips as I retreat toward my porch, still smirking. “I need peace and quiet, so try to keep it down,” she calls after me.
I let out a low chuckle as I push inside, Rip trotting in behind me.
I have no idea what just happened out there, but damn—this summerjustgot more fun.
***
The sun is setting by the time I step outside, Rip at my heels, still looking smug about his earlier betrayal. I run a hand through his fur absentmindedly, my gaze flicking toward Scarlett’s house. Her porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the front steps.
I stare at the carton of oat milk in my hand for a moment, debating.
I could keep it. It’s not like Ineedit, but keeping it out of spite would be a littletoopetty, even for me. And maybe—just maybe—I don’t totally hate the idea of throwing her off her game.
So, before I can overthink it, I walk over, place the carton neatly by her front door, and turn back before I do something stupid. Like knock. Or stick around to see her reaction.
I’m halfway up my own porch steps when Riplets out a low huff, looking back toward her house.
“Don’t give me that look,” I mutter, pushing my door open. “Icanbe nice.”
Not that I plan on making it a habit.
***
The smell of charcoal and sizzling burgers hangs thick in the warm Michigan air as I step onto my parents’ back deck. The yard looks the same as it always has—worn Adirondack chairs circled around a fire pit, the wooden fence still half-painted from the summer Dad got ambitious and then promptly gave up. There’s a cooler of drinks by the grill, and the sound of laughter filters through the screen door as Evie argues with Owen about something that probably doesn’t matter.
It’s good to be home. Familiar.
“About time,” my dad grumbles, flipping a burger. “We were starting to think you got lost.”
“I almostdidget lost.” I set down a six-pack of beer and smirk. It’s probably a sign that it’s been too long since I’ve been home—or that the town has changed since I lived here a dozen years ago.
Mom shakes her head at me, but her smile softens her expression. “Sit. Eat. Tell us about your life, since your sister says you’ve been avoiding actual conversation.”
Evie rolls her eyes. “Because hehas.”
I grab a plate and drop into one of the chairs. “Not avoiding. Just busy.”
Dad snorts. “Busy doing what? It’s the off-season.”
“Training,” I lie smoothly, taking a sip of my drink. “Getting my mind right before next year.”
They all exchange a look, the one that sayswe weren’t born yesterday, Chase.
I don’t want them to worry. They have enough on their plates without me adding my uncertain future to the pile.
Owen shifts in his chair, adjusting his position in his wheelchair. “You still thinking about that captaincy thing?” he asks.
I glance at him. Owen doesn’t ask questions unless he really wants to know. He’s never been one for small talk, not since the accident. For a second, I consider telling him everything—how the team’s been hinting that I need to clean up my image, how the contract renewal feels like a weight I can’t shake, how I’m starting to wonder if I’m really cut out for it at all.
But instead, I just shrug. “Something like that.”
Owen studies me for a beat before nodding. “You’d be good at it.”
My chest tightens, and I clear my throat. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.”
Mom, ever perceptive, cuts in before the conversation can get heavier. “Tell us about this neighborof yours,” she says, throwing me a knowing look. “Evie mentioned something about afamouswriter?”
