Page 97 of The Book Club Boyfriend
Specifically, the way she looked trash-talking me at axe throwing—despite the fact that she was losing—badly.
The way she looked when she tasted the peanut butter milkshake—eyes drifting closed—like it was pure happiness. And I put that look there. Me.
The way her voice had gone quiet—just for a second—when she talked about her parents. About the lake house. About the before and after.
And that kiss?
That kiss wrecked me.
Soft, then not-so-soft. Curious, then sure. It was a kiss that didn’t justmeansomething—itchangedsomething.
Basically, I’m screwed.
“You’re smiling again,” Tyler says from the hotel bed across from mine. He’s scrolling through TikTok like it’s a competitive sport. “You got a secret girlfriend, or are you just pleased with yourself?”
“Both,” I mutter.
He looks over, eyes narrowing. “Oh damn, am I about to lose that bet?”
I’d almost forgotten about that stupid wager we’d made. Tyler didn’t think I could get the Ice Queen to agree to a date, and yeah, I guess I did. “I’m not collecting on that bet, dude. That was ajoke.”
“Okay, so you and Scottie Calloway. Huh.” He scratches his facial hair. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
I’m not one to kiss and tell, especially not with something as fragile as me and Scarlett. I don’t know if she’ll even agree to a second date.
Though something tells me she will.
“You guys hook up?”
I hurl a pillow at him.
He ducks,laughing. “You’re scoring more than usual, and this time, I actually mean on the ice.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up. You’ve been skating like you’ve got rockets in your skates. Whatever she’s doing to your game, keep letting her do it.”
I roll onto my back, stare at the ceiling.
He’s not wrong. Something’s clicked. I’m lighter on my feet. Sharper. More focused.
Because for the first time in a while, I’m not chasing the next distraction. I’m thinking abouther.
I’m thinking about the way her pulse fluttered in her neck when I leaned in to kiss her. The way her fingers curled into the front of my shirt like she didn’t want to let go.
And yeah, I didn’t want to let go either.
Which is a problem.
Because she’s not just any girl. She’s Scottie freaking Calloway—the woman who built a career on calling love a scam.
And I’m the one she kissed.
So now I’m lying here in this stupid hotel bed, supposed to be resting before our next game, and instead, I’m thinking about her lips, her laugh, and that look in her eyes when she let her walls down just enough for me to see inside.
I fish my phone off the nightstand.
Scroll to our text thread.
