Page 27 of Worth the Scandal
She replies almost instantly.
You think I set the trap? Please. You thirst-trapped yourself. Training shirtless? The “just trying to focus on my goals” caption?
Even my dad liked the post. He doesn’t even know how to use Instagram.
I wince.
God. Tell me you’re joking.
Nope.
You’re officially team Ted-certified thirst bait.
I groan out loud, but I’m smiling. And for once, I’m not spiralling.
I’m okay.
I’ll meet you for that coffee. But only if we agree that you’re paying.
Deal. she replies. I’ll even bring a pen and a contract. Totally professional. Mostly.
I toss the phone beside me and let my head fall back into the pillow.
She’s talking to me. She remembers. She’s teasing.
And damn if it doesn’t feel like the first time in a long while I’m not walking around with regret clenched between my ribs.
Maybe this isn’t about rewriting the past.
Maybe it’s about writing something new.
Chapter Ten - Scarlett
I’m standing in front of my closet, half-dressed, half-delusional, and 100% regretting telling Asher I’d meet him for coffee. Which means this is a date in a way, but it also really is business because Maroon could use someone like Asher on the books. Reminding myself this resembles some form of work, makes it easier to convince myself that this isn’t a bad idea and that we aren’t doing anything wrong.
What am I even wearing?
White tank. Check. Black blazer. Fine. Classic baggy jeans—ripped, but tasteful. Heels? Too much. Boots. Always boots. Safe. Practical. Can run if I need to.
Because, let’s be honest, there’s a 60% chance I bolt the moment I see him and remember all the ways I shouldn’t want him.
He’s Coach’s player.
He’s the guy from that night.
He’s the literal face of everything I swore I wouldn’t get involved in again.
The man left a sticky note, with no name, no number. I know, I know that’s what we agreed to.
And I’m dangerously close to doing it all over.
I grab my Ridgebacks hat from the hook, roll my eyes at myself, and head downstairs. I linger on the staircase for amoment tracing my fingers along the frames on the wall, photos of mum the way I remember her. Nothing short of perfect. I stop and reach out to one of my favourites she’s wearing a striped blue and white sun dress with her arms folded at the beach. I was only 6 at the time but I remember the day like it was yesterday. Dad and I wanted to go boogie boarding and she had her heart set on checking out the vintage stores in Salt Bay, the small surf town we were visiting. Obviously dad and I won but she got right in the ocean in that dress. Nothing ever stopped her. I press my lips together forcing back the tears that have welled in my eyes as laughter floats up the stairs from the kitchen.
Shell’s already at the kitchen island, coffee in one hand, laptop in the other, her oversized glasses perched on the bridge of her nose like she’s starring in a Pinterest mood board titled Hot PA with a Secret Wild Side.
She looks up and smiles.
“Well, well, well. Don’t you look cute for someone just ‘grabbing coffee.’”
