Page 76 of The Book Club Boyfriend
A minute later, a new message pings.
Chase:You okay?
My thumbs get to work immediately, and since I’m so worked up, I have to retype my message three times to avoid any typos.
Scarlett:Absolutely not.
Chase:The fans are unhinged. But I kinda love it.
I roll my eyes so hard I see my childhood.
Me:Of course you do.
You thrive on chaos.
Chase:You say that like it’s a bad thing.
Also, you looked good last night.
Like, really good.
Just saying.
I toss the phone aside again before my brain short-circuits. Because I’m not doing this. I’m not engaging. I’m not going to smile at my screen like a giddy idiot because a hockey player who drives me insane says I looked good.
(Okay, fine. Idosmile. But it’s small. Barely counts.)
I push the blankets off and drag myself to the kitchen, trying to remind myself that I am a grown woman with a career and a backbone—not someone who gets flustered over banter and a stupidly charming smile.
I open the fridge. Nothing but oat milk and half a lime.
Perfect.
Maybe I’ll go for a workout. Clear my head. Avoid the internet.
And definitelynottext Chase back.
Probably.
Maybe...
Ugh.
The house is gorgeous, of course. One of those airy modern builds with oversized furniture, giant windows, and enough throw pillows to smother a grown man. It smells like a candle store and success.
Lucy nudges me inside with a grin. “You’re going to love them. They’re chaos in the best way.”
“I don’t do well with groups,” I murmur under my breath.
I’m still not sure why I agreed to this, but when Lucy suggested a girls’ night out, I said yes. I’d had so much fun with her—both at the hockey game and when we went out for margaritas—but now?
Now I’m regretting saying yes.
She rolls her eyes. “Please. You’ve survived book club meetings. This’ll be cake.”
We walk through the open-concept kitchen and into the living room, where a handful of the Stampede wives and girlfriends—WAGs, apparently, which sounds like a golden retriever convention—are already gathered around a charcuterie board the size of a sled.
The wine is flowing. The laughter is loud.
