Chapter Eight
Drinks, Drama, and a Dangerous Amount of Eye Contact
Scarlett
The shower helps—not just to rinse the lake off my skin, but to give me a solid five minutes of peace—five whole minutes without Chase Remington’s smug face flashing in my brain.
Five minutes where I don’t have to think about how his hands felt on my waist when he “saved” me from a vicious seaweed attack or how irritatingly strong and steady he was, like he actually enjoyed swooping in to rescue me.
I wrap myself in a towel and step into the bedroom, where Harper is sprawled on my bed, flipping through a magazine as if she lives here.
“Tell me why we’re going back over there again?” I ask, toweling off my hair.
Harper smirks, flipping a page. “Because they invited us.”
“I don’t recall agreeing.”
“You did, actually. You nodded, which, in most cultures, counts as a yes.”
I glare at her. “I was recovering from a near-death experience.”
Harper rolls onto her side, grinning. “It was one tiny piece of seaweed.”
I yank open my dresser drawer. “Well, it was traumatic.”
She grins, unbothered by my foul mood. “I don’t see what the problem is. Chase is hot, his sister is awesome, and there’s free food. It’s a win-win.”
“The problem is that I came here to relax and work, not to socialize with professional hockey players and their cool, friendly siblings.”
Harper levels me with a look. “Oh, yes. Because God forbid you enjoy yourself.”
I throw a shirt at her head.
She laughs, batting it away, then watches as I dig through my limited wardrobe. “Please wear something cute,” she says, feigning exhaustion. “You’re in this perpetual state of man-repellent fashion, and I feel like, just once, I deserve to see you look a little flirty.”
I raise a brow. “I am not dressing up for Chase.”
Harper smirks. “I never said you were.”
I grab the first thing I see—a pair of cutoffs and a soft navy tank top—and pull them on. “How’s this?”
Harper studies me, then shrugs. “Eh. It’ll do.”
I roll my eyes. “Glad I have your approval.”
Fifteen minutes later, we’re making our way over to Chase’s rental. The deck is lit with warm string lights, and the smell of grilling meat drifts toward us in the salty summer air. Rip is lounging at the base of the stairs like he owns the place, his big head lifting the second he spots me.
“Look at that,” Harper muses. “Your only true friend on this trip.”
I scratch behind Rip’s ears, and the traitor rolls onto his back immediately, asking for belly rubs.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” I murmur, rubbing his stomach anyway.
“Don’t let Chase hear you talking sweet like that,” Harper warns. “Wouldn’t want him to know you’re capable of affection.”
I shoot her a glare, but before I can respond, Evie appears at the top of the stairs, waving us up. “Hey! Glad you came.”
Harper bounds forward, all charm and easy conversation. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I follow a little more slowly, steeling myself for whatever fresh hell Chase has in store for me.
He’s standing at the grill, beer in hand, wearing a fitted T-shirt that clings to his torso in ways I’d rather not analyze.
His eyes flick to me, and that slow, insufferable grin spreads across his face. “Well, well. Look who survived the treacherous seaweed attack of 2025.”
I ignore him and turn to Evie instead. “Thanks for having us.”
She grins. “You’re welcome anytime.”
Chase makes a noise of protest, and I level him with a glare. “Do you have a problem?”
“Nope,” he says easily, flipping a perfectly grilled steak kabob. “Just mentally preparing for the lecture you’re going to give me about how meat is bad for my heart or whatever.”
I grab a beer from the cooler. “I’m not a vegetarian.”
Chase blinks. “You’re not?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?”
“Because you’re all…” He gestures vaguely at me. “You know. Misanthropic.”
Harper snorts into her drink.
Evie elbows her brother. “You’re an idiot.”
He shrugs. “It’s been said before.”
Dinner is surprisingly… enjoyable. The kabobs are amazing. Evie and Harper talk about everything from travel to books to the most embarrassing things Chase has ever done (a list Evie provides with ruthless enthusiasm).
“Scottie’s a bestselling author,” Harper announces at one point, clearly proud. “She writes non-fiction—super empowering, smart, feminist stuff.”
Evie lights up. “That’s amazing! I need to read your books. What’s your most recent one about?”
I pause, choosing my words carefully. “It’s… about prioritizing yourself. About choosing happiness on your own terms instead of chasing relationships that don’t serve you.”
Chase smirks. “So, a fun, lighthearted beach read.”
I glare at him.
Evie, however, looks thoughtful. “So, like, do you think everyone is better off alone? Or just that no one should settle?”
I take a sip of my beer, feeling the weight of the question. “I think that when people are in relationships, they tend to compromise too much. They lose pieces of themselves. And I think the world convinces women they need love to be fulfilled when really, they just need to trust themselves.”
Evie nods, considering. “I get that.”
Harper shoots me a look that says, Do you? Do you get that? Because I don’t think you even believe it anymore. If I believed it so strongly, couldn’t I, you know, write about it?!
I shift in my seat, suddenly antsy.
Chase must sense the tension because he claps his hands together and stands. “Alright, enough of the heavy stuff. Who’s up for a bonfire?”
I exhale slowly, grateful for the subject change.
Harper grins. “Absolutely.”
Evie cheers.
I sigh.
And Chase?
He just smirks.
Because, of course, he knows exactly how to push my buttons.
The bonfire crackles, casting flickering shadows along the beach, and despite every logical bone in my body telling me I should not be here, I am, in fact, here.
Sitting cross-legged in a lounge chair, a mostly empty hard seltzer in my hand, I listen to Evie and Harper crack up over some story about a disastrous first date while the warm glow of firelight makes Chase Remington look like something out of a damn summer romance novel.
The worst part?
I keep noticing.
Noticing how his golden skin glows in the firelight, how his eyes crinkle when he laughs, how his forearms flex as he casually nurses a beer, and how the breeze ruffles his hair just enough to make it look effortlessly perfect.
God, I hate him.
“You’re awfully quiet over there, Scottie,” Chase drawls, tipping his bottle in my direction, that signature smirk firmly in place.
I roll my eyes. “I just have nothing to contribute to this riveting conversation about dates gone wrong.”
Harper scoffs. “You have plenty of bad date stories.”
“I don’t date,” I remind her, taking a sip. “That’s the entire foundation of my career, if you recall.”
Evie hums, propping her chin on her hand. “That actually leads me to a better idea than first-date horror stories.” She grins. “We should play Never Have I Ever.”
Harper immediately lights up. “Yes.”
“No,” I deadpan.
“Yes,” Chase counters, his eyes flashing with amusement. “C’mon, Scarlett. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I squint at him. “You want an actual list?”
Evie waves a hand, already too excited about this whole thing. “It’s happening. We all know how it works. If you’ve done it, you drink.” She levels a look at me. “No lying.”
I sigh dramatically, but everyone else is already on board.
Evie goes first, a classic warm-up. “Never have I ever been arrested.”
Harper immediately takes a sip.
We all gape at her.
“What?” she says, laughing. “It was just a little trespassing.”
Evie grins, and the game continues, bouncing between funny and ridiculous.
Then Chase speaks.
“Never have I ever…” He pauses, his gaze flickering to me. “Fallen for someone I wasn’t supposed to.”
The air shifts.
I grip my drink a little tighter.
Harper drinks. Evie drinks.
I don’t.
And Chase notices.
His smirk turns smug. “No one, huh?”
I arch a brow. “Not all of us make a habit of chasing after bad decisions.”
“Shame,” he murmurs, tilting his beer to his lips. “Sometimes bad decisions are the most fun.”
His voice is too smooth, too confident, and I hate that my stomach twists in response.
Harper jumps in before I can snap back.
“Never have I ever…” She grins, her eyes flicking to Chase. “Had a thing for my neighbor.”
Oh, she would.
Evie giggles. Chase looks way too pleased with himself.
And me? I keep my drink firmly in my lap.
Chase makes a show of sipping his beer, eyes locked on mine.
I scowl. “You don’t have a thing for me.”
His smirk deepens. “Never said I did.”
I want to throw my drink at him.
I resist, but just barely.
The game goes on, and the more we drink, the more I hate the way my body reacts to him.
The way the firelight dances across his face.
The way his voice roughens when he teases me.
The way his eyes flick to my lips when I take a sip of my drink.
I hate him. I hate him.
But then—
“Never have I ever been in love,” Evie says, her voice softer than before.
A hush falls over the group.
I don’t drink.
Chase doesn’t drink.
And for the first time all night, we aren’t teasing. We aren’t bickering.
We’re just… looking at each other.
And something shifts.
Something I don’t want to name.
I clear my throat, forcing a smirk. “Depressing, Remington. You’ve never been in love?”
He shrugs, but his expression is unreadable. “I guess I’m just waiting for the right one to change my mind.”
The words are light, teasing—just like always.
But his eyes?
They’re anything but.
I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my ears.
I need another drink.
I need away from him.
But as the fire crackles, and the drinks flow, and Harper and Evie dissolve into laughter beside us, I realize something I really, really don’t want to.
For the first time in a long time…
Maybe I’m right where I’m supposed to be.