Page 114 of The Book Club Boyfriend
She answers on the second ring, chipper and oblivious. “Heyyy, what’s up, book slut?”
I exhale a laugh, my first real one all day. “I missed you.”
“You sound emotionally wrecked. Should I be flattered or concerned?”
“Both.”
I shift onto my side, one leg tangled in the sheets. “Something happened.”
“Talk to me.”
So I do. I tell her everything—how I overheard the guys at dinner talking about the bet, how I left, how Chase chased me down (no pun intended), how I’ve been ignoring him for a full two days like I’m starring in my own personal soap opera.
I tell her about the message he sent. How it gutted me in a way I didn’t expect. How I can’t stop thinking about the look on his face when I slammed that cab door.
When I finish, there’s a long pause.
And then Harper says, “Soooo... do you want me to say ‘I told you so,’ or remind you of our bet?”
Our bet?
I start remembering bits and pieces of a conversation we had after getting pedicures last month. And my stomach drops.
“If you did fall for him, I’d never let you live it down.” Harper had chuckled at my obvious discomfort.
I’d narrow my eyes. “Is that a bet?”
“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.”
Alarm bells ring in my brain.
“Oh my gosh,” I gasp.
“Ding ding ding,” she says sweetly. “Full circle, babe.”
I cover my face with one hand. “I’m the worst.”
“You’re a human. With feelings. Who maybe, possibly, might’ve caught some for the hot hockey player she swore she hated.”
“I placeda bet on falling in love. And then got mad that he—” I groan into the pillow. “I’m the world’s biggest hypocrite.”
“Yeah,” she says gently, “but at least you’re a cute one.”
I smile weakly. “You’re not mad at me?”
“Mad? Babe, I’m delighted. This is peak romance novel irony. I might throw a parade.”
I roll onto my back, the weight of it all still there—but lighter now. Like letting someone else hold part of it made it bearable.
“Why don’t you admit what this really is?”
I stare at the wall. “And what’s that?”
“You fell for him, and that scared you.”
The weight of her words slams into me.
There’s a small chance she’s right. Tiny. Minuscule.
