Page 119 of The Book Club Boyfriend
It’s not fixed.
It’s not perfect.
But it’sreal.
“I know you’re scared, Scar. I get it. But believe me, I’m not going anywhere.”
His words are a sweet balm to my tattered heart. And they do help—just the tiniest bit.
Eventually, I pull back just enough to breathe, and Chase looks at me like I just handed him his heart back, his gaze full of admiration and something warm.
He touches my cheek with his thumb.
I lean into his touch, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t need you.”
His face changes, something flickering in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or disappointment.
“But I want you,” I continue, meeting his gaze. “And that’s so much scarier.”
His breath catches. “Scarlett...”
“Needing someone means you’re incomplete without them. But wanting someone when you’re already whole? When you’ve already proven you can do it alone?” I swallow hard. “That’s choosing to hand them the power to wreck you, even when you don’t have to.”
“Never gonna wreck you, baby.” He gazes at me with those eyes that see way too much, and I’m lost.
Then he clears his throat. “So, uh… I was gonna ask if you were hungry.”
“I could eat. What did you have in mind?”
He grins. “Pizza?”
I smile. “Only if I get full veto power on toppings.”
“Oh, absolutely not,” he says as we start toward the stairs. “This is a democracy.”
“It isnota democracy. You eat pineapple on pizza.”
“Because I’m a man of culture.”
“You’re what’s wrong with America.”
He laughs, and it’s this warm, surprised thing that makes my chest do something deeply inconvenient.
We walk a few blocks until we find a tiny hole-in-the-wall pizzeria with paper plates, checkered tables, and a neon sign that probably hasn’t worked properly since 2003. In other words—perfect.
We order a pie half his way, half mine, because apparently we’ve reachedthatlevel of maturity, and slide into a corner booth like this is just… normal.
And honestly? It kind of is.
I sip my Pepsi and gaze over at him.
He leans back like he owns the place. And I can’t help but notice how cute he looks. Dark jeans. Black hoodie. Black hat turned backwards. “You know, if this were a date, I’d be crushing it right now.”
I raise a brow. “Bringing a woman to a pizza place with questionable health grades and fluorescent lighting?”
He shrugs. “It’s bold. Unexpected. Sexy in a working-class hero kind of way.”
I smirk. “You really are unwell.”
