Page 32 of The Book Club Boyfriend
I should be relieved.
Instead, I’m standing here wondering why the hell I even care.
I roll my shoulders and shake it off. Maybe she left early. Maybe she finally got inspired and is locked away writing. Maybe she found someone else to annoy instead of me.
Whatever the reason, I shouldn’t be thinking about it.
And yet—
I toss the frisbee again, watching Rip race off, my mind still circling back to her.
Maybe it’s the bonfire night that changed things. I don’t know what the hell happened, but for the first time since I met her, Scarlett wasn’t just sarcastic and prickly. She was…different.
Less armor. More real.
And I liked it.
Which is exactly why I need to get my head on straight.
I head inside, grab a water bottle, and prop my feet on the coffee table. My phone sits face-up next to me, and I thumb through a dozen unread texts from women back home who would happily remind me that Scarlett Calloway is not my problem.
I don’t answer a single one.
Instead, I grab the book sitting on my table.
Her book.
I don’t even know why I bought it—just to annoy her, probably. But now, I stare at the title—How to Die Alone (and Love Every Second of It)—and something about it piques my curiosity. What could it possibly be about?
I flip it open.
I tell myself I’ll read one chapter. Just to see what she’s peddling. Just so, next time I see her, I can throw one of her own arguments back at her.
But then—
One chapter turns into three.
And by the time I stop, Rip is asleep next to me and my head hurts.
Not because I disagree with her.
Because some of what she says makes sense.
And I hate that.
I run a hand down my face.
I need a distraction. A drink. A fight. A game. A woman in my bed. Something.
But instead, I find myself looking out the window at her house—empty porch, untouched deck, no sign of life.
I miss her.
And that frustrates me more than anything.
I rub the back of my neck, then grab my keys. Time to get out of my own head.
Turns out, I don’t have to go looking for a distraction.
