Page 77 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Lily—wife of the goalie—Lucy whispers to me, is mid-story. “—and then I walk into the kitchen, and my husband is trying to fix the garbage disposal with a hockey stick. Like,as a tool.Just jamming it in there like it was Excalibur.”
The group erupts in laughter.
“Wait, did it work?” someone asks.
“No! He broke the stick and somehow made the disposal even more jammed. We had to call a plumberandthe team equipment guy.”
Lucy lifts her glass. “To hockey husbands—beautiful idiots, the lot of them.”
“Hear, hear,” someone chimes.
Lily grins at me. “Your turn, Scarlett. Got any horror stories?”
“Oh, I’m not married,” I say. “Or dating a hockey player. Or anyone. I’m the token emotionally detached feminist here tonight.”
Lucy winks. “That’s why we like you.”
A brunette in leggings pipes up. “Okay, but listen to this. My husband tried to name our dogZamboni.”
Collective groans from around the room.
She continues, nodding. “And I said no, but he literally started calling it that anyway. Now the dog ignores me unless I use that name.”
I nearly spit out my wine. “A fluffy traitor!”
“Exactly,” she groans.
“I have one,” Lucy says, already giggling. “So Bennett made me a smoothie last week and accidentally used pre-workout instead of protein powder. I was just trying to have a chill morning yoga session, but instead, I blacked out and reorganized our spice rack by pH level.”
We lose it.
“And don’t even get me started on game-day superstitions,” another girl says, shaking her head. “Six alarms. Starting at 4:36 a.m. Two minutes apart. Every game day. I now know true psychological warfare. And it comes in the form of iPhone ringtones.”
“Okay, but points for creativity,” Lucy says.
Harper would love this, I think. I can practically hear her sayingSee? These women didn’t give up their whole identity. They’re still brilliant and independent… just also in love.
“I’ve said it before,” another woman says, reaching for a cracker, “but I’ll say it again: they may be elite athletes, but they’re also one bad day away from eating cereal for dinner out of a measuring cup.”
The group erupts into laughter, and Lucy leads me to the couch with a glass of white wine already in hand.
“Everyone, this is Scarlett,” she announces. “Author. Book club co-host. Tolerates Chase Remington on a semi-regular basis.”
There’s a chorus of oohs and “God help you,” followed by a spot being made for me on the couch between two of the women, who immediately offer me cheese and emotional support.
Okay, so maybe tonight won’t be so bad after all.
A dark-haired girl who is goinghardon the prosecco turns to me. “I honestly love your books, by the way.”
“Oh?” I blink, caught off guard.
“Yeah,” says a blonde with a sharp bob. “It’s refreshing to hear someone say you don’t need to lose yourself in a relationship. I got married young, and it took me years to realize I was allowed to still have opinions.”
“You’re the one who writes those empowerment books, right?” the brunette next to me asks. “The ‘you don’t need a man’ manifesto?”
I blink. “That’s… probably an oversimplification, but yeah.”
Her eyes go wide. “Ilovethat. Honestly. I wish I had that mindset before I got married.”
