Page 68 of The Book Club Boyfriend
I drop my keys into the dish by the door and kick off my shoes, tugging my hoodie over my head as I head toward the kitchen. The fridge light glows way too bright when I open it, but I ignore it and grab a bottle of water. Rip watches me expectantly like he’s waiting for something exciting to happen.
“Sorry, bud,” I murmur, twisting the cap off. “No late-night snacks tonight. We’re old and responsible now.”
He huffs like he doesn’t believe me for a second.
I make my way down the hall, and Rip trots alongbehind me, already ahead of me in the bedroom, curling up in his usual spot—the bottom left corner of the bed, like clockwork.
I toss the covers back and sink into the mattress, stretching out with a sigh. I’m tired. I should be asleep in minutes.
But my brain has other plans.
I scroll for a second on my phone—checking the usual. Team group chat blowing up about the game. A video someone posted of that power play we nailed in the second period. A meme from Dash that makes me grin and shake my head.
Then a notification. A new text pops up.
Scarlett:So what, is that normal hockey fan behavior?
I grin instantly, thumb flying.
Me:100%. You’re basically eligible for season tickets now. Also, impressive trash talk. ‘You absolute walking penalty’ is a new personal favorite.
She replies so fast it’s like she was waiting for me to say something.
Scarlett:He elbowed your teammate in the face and didn’t even get a whistle. I was morally obligated to say something. Also, don’t think I didn’t see your little smirk when I screamed “open your eyes, ref!”
Me:I plead the fifth. But… you looked good out there, Calloway. If we win the next game, you might have to let me buy you a drink.
The typing dots bounce for a beat.
Scarlett:You already bought me a drink—the margarita after book club, remember?
I lean my head back against the headboard, grinning into the dark like a total idiot. Man, she’s fun. Sharp, sarcastic, impossible to ignore.
I stare at her last text for a second too long.
Screw it.
I hit call.
It rings once.
Twice.
“Seriously?” she answers, not even a hello. “You’re calling me now?”
Her voice is a little breathless, like I surprised her. Like she didn’t expect me to actually do it.
“You said you might let me buy you a drink. Wanted to lock it in before you changed your mind.”
She exhales. “That’s not how texting works, Remington.”
“I don’t like rules,” I say, slouching deeper into my bed. “Besides, you answered. So either you were curious or you just really needed a new excuseto yell at me.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I smile. “You had fun tonight.”
“I didn’t say that.”
