Page 59 of The Book Club Boyfriend
“You wanna lift? I’m hitting that gym over on Main in twenty. Get your ass out of retirement.”
I look down at Rip, who’s still gnawing on the slipper like it’s his full-time job. “Yeah, alright. Let me drop the kid off at doggy daycare. I’ll meet you there.”
Forty-five minutes later, we’re spotting each other under fluorescent lights in a place that smells aggressively like sweat and testosterone. Tyler, our second-line forward and chaos gremlin of the team, is grinning like he’s been waiting to bring this up.
“So… Scottie Calloway, huh?”
I sigh and rack the barbell. “Not happening.”
“Shame. You two had more chemistry than that time you tried to make pasta and lit your stove on fire.”
“That wasonetime.”
“She looked good last night.”
This comment strangely makes me want to hit him.
“She always looks good.” It slips out without thinking.
Tyler raises a brow. “Damn. That was fast.”
“Shut up.”
He tosses me a water bottle, smug. “You gonna ask her out?”
“No.” I wipe my face with a towel. “She’s the exact opposite of my type.”
“Which means you like her.”
I hate how perceptive this damn dude is.
“She writes books about how men are a scam, Tyler.”
“Yeah, but you’re a hot scam.”
Again, he’s not wrong.
I flip him off.
He grins wider. “Tell you what. I bet you can’t get her to agree to go on one real date with you before the book club ends.”
I stare at him. “What are we, twelve?”
My brain flashes to the tacos and margs we shared last night… But it wasn’t a date, and I know Scarlett would set me straight if anyone suspected it was. It was a friendly post-work happy hour. We were maybe slipping intofriendterritory, but Idateterritory was a long ways off.
“C’mon. It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do. You’re not serious about her. She hates your guts. You love a challenge.” He smirks. “You get her to say yes—without begging or bribing—and I’ll pick up your bar tab for the rest of the season.”
I pause.
Think of the online chaos. Her glare. The way she practically spit fire into the microphone last night. The way she looked in that dress, legs crossed under the table, lips pouting with that deepred lipstick. Her laughing over tacos. The tiniest crack in her armor.
“I’m not gonna trick her into anything,” I say slowly.
Tyler holds up both hands. “She’s gotta say yes of her own free will. You gotta actually convince her you’re worth it.”
I think about it for another second.
Then I nod. “You’re on.”
