Page 38 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“So.” He licks his spoon, and I absolutely don’t watch. “You always write books about how love is a scam?”
I bristle. “It’s not a scam. It’s just a distraction.”
Chase raises a brow. “Says who?”
I sigh, setting my spoon down. “Says my entire life experience.”
His expression shifts. Just slightly.
Then he exhales, tipping his head against the cabinet. “Yeah. I get that.”
I blink, because I didn’t expect him to agree. “You do?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. Just stares at the ceiling, brows pulled together in thought.
Then—softer than before—he says, “Yeah. I do.”
I don’t ask what he means.
And for once, he doesn’t push me to explain myself either.
For a few minutes, we just exist—eating ice cream, listening to the storm.
***
We finish the pint of ice cream, and since my house is still completely dark, Chase shows me to the guest room.
I tell myself I’m going to sleep.
I really do.
But sleep doesn’t come easy when the wind howls against the windows like a thing possessed, and the rain lashes against the roof in unpredictable bursts.
I shift under the ridiculously nice blankets of his guest room—which is stupidly comfortable—but it doesn’t help. My mind is restless, body wired from the night’s events, the steady rhythm of the storm, and the sugar I consumed.
Ugh.
I give up, kick off the blankets, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe if I get somewater, it’ll help.
But when I step into the hallway, I realize I’m not the only one still awake.
A warm glow spills from the kitchen, and when I turn the corner, there he is.
Chase.
Standing at the window, one hand braced on the counter. He’s wearing only a pair of athletic shorts that hang low on his hips. The soft kitchen light makes his shoulders look broader, the muscles in his back impossibly wide as he watches the rain.
Something about it feels… unguarded. Like I’m seeing him in a way I’m not supposed to.
He doesn’t turn around, but somehow, he knows I’m there.
“Can’t sleep either?” His voice is low, rough from the quiet.
“Not when Mother Nature is out for blood.” I move to the counter, grab a glass from his cabinet, and fill it with water.
He huffs a quiet laugh, but he doesn’t look away from the window. “Yeah. Storms can be relentless out here.”
I sip my water, stealing a glance at him over the rim of my glass. His profile is sharp in the dim light—jawline shadowed with scruff, lips slightly parted like he’s deep in thought.
