Page 25 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“Because you’re all…” He gestures vaguely at me. “You know. Misanthropic.”
Harper snorts into her drink.
Evie elbows her brother. “You’re an idiot.”
He shrugs. “It’s been said before.”
Dinner is surprisingly… enjoyable. The kabobs are amazing. Evie and Harper talk about everything from travel to books to the most embarrassing things Chase has ever done (a list Evie provides with ruthless enthusiasm).
“Scottie’s a bestselling author,” Harper announces at one point, clearly proud. “She writesnon-fiction—super empowering, smart, feminist stuff.”
Evie lights up. “That’s amazing! I need to read your books. What’s your most recent one about?”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “It’s… about prioritizing yourself. About choosing happiness on your own terms instead of chasing relationships that don’t serve you.”
Chase smirks. “So, a fun, lighthearted beach read.”
I glare at him.
Evie, however, looks thoughtful. “So, like, do you think everyone is better off alone? Or just that no one should settle?”
I take a sip of my beer, feeling the weight of the question. “I think that when people are in relationships, they tend to compromise too much. They lose pieces of themselves. And I think the world convinces women they need love to be fulfilled when really, they just need to trust themselves.”
Evie nods, considering. “I get that.”
Harper shoots me a look that says,Do you? Do you get that? Because I don’t think you even believe it anymore.If I believed it so strongly, couldn’t I, you know, write about it?!
I shift in my seat, suddenly antsy.
Chase must sense the tension because he claps his hands together and stands. “Alright, enough of the heavy stuff. Who’s up for a bonfire?”
I exhale slowly, grateful for the subject change.
Harper grins. “Absolutely.”
Evie cheers.
I sigh.
And Chase?
He just smirks.
Because, of course, he knows exactly how to push my buttons.
The bonfire crackles, casting flickering shadows along the beach, and despite every logical bone in my body telling me Ishould not be here, I am, in fact, here.
Sitting cross-legged in a lounge chair, a mostly empty hard seltzer in my hand, I listen to Evie and Harper crack up over some story about a disastrous first date while the warm glow of firelight makes Chase Remington look like something out of a damn summer romance novel.
The worst part?
I keep noticing.
Noticing how his golden skin glows in the firelight, how his eyes crinkle when he laughs, how his forearms flex as he casually nurses a beer, and how the breeze ruffles his hair just enough to make it look effortlessly perfect.
God, I hate him.
