The Bromance Book Club - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,10

for a hidden camera. This had to be a prank.

“A book club? That’s your grand plan for saving my marriage?”

Del nodded at Mack, who rose on one hip and pulled a book from his back pocket. He tossed it at Gavin. It nailed him in the face.

“Nice reflexes. Hope you’re better at shortstop.”

Gavin bared his teeth. “I play second base, asshole.”

Mack shrugged. “Isn’t that basically the same thing?”

Gavin ignored him and retrieved the book from the table where it fell. He blinked at the cover. A woman from, like, the 1800s or some shit was leaning on a couch with a dude in one of those old-timey suits standing behind her. His shirt was open.

“Courting the Countess,” Gavin read slowly. He ground his molars and looked up. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” Del said.

“This is a romance novel.”

“Yes.”

Gavin shot to his feet. “I can’t believe you assholes. My life is falling apart, and you’re making fun of me.”

“I thought the same thing when Malcolm brought me in,” Del said. “But it’s not a joke. Sit down and listen.”

Gavin pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, everyone was still staring at him. Not a weird dream, then. “Wh-wh-what the hell is going on here?”

“If you’d shut up for a second, we’ll explain it to you, douchebag,” Mack said.

Gavin returned to his chair. “You guys read romance novels?”

“We call them manuals,” the Russian said.

“And it’s a lot more than just reading,” Malcolm said.

Gavin went cold. “If you’re about to drag me into some kind of kinky swinger shit, I’m out.”

Del leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m going to tell you something I never told you before.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Two years ago, Nessa filed for divorce.”

The ground shifted beneath Gavin’s chair. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“One, I barely knew you then. And two, probably for the same reason you’re reluctant to tell anyone what happened between you and Thea. It’s emotional, personal.”

“But you and Nessa are perfect.”

“Things are always different behind closed doors, aren’t they?”

Yeah, but in Gavin’s case, part of the problem was that he was too stupid to know he totally sucked in bed or that his wife had apparently started to hate his guts. The way she’d looked at him today . . . He shuddered. He seriously doubted Del could relate.

“Nearly every man at this table has been on the verge of losing his wife, girlfriend, or fiancée at some point,” Del continued, and Gavin recalled the cryptic thing he said last night. We’ve all been where he is. “And every one of us not only got our girls back but repaired our relationships better than ever.”

Gavin scanned the faces at the table. They greeted him with nods, smiles, and—from Mack—the finger. Gavin returned the gesture and then shook his head. “I don’t understand what any of this means or has to do with me.”

“Look, man,” Malcolm said, his Hulk-sized hands stroking a beard thick enough to qualify for federal forest protection. “Men are idiots. We complain that women are so mysterious and shit, and we never know what they want. We fuck up our relationships because we convince ourselves that it’s too hard to figure them out. But the real problem is with us. We think we’re not supposed to feel things and cry and express ourselves. We expect women to do all the emotional labor in a relationship and then act confused when they give up on us.”

Gavin puffed out a nervous breath. That hit a little too close to home. You seem to think that all you had to do was show up here, and I’d just smile and pretend everything was fine. I’ve been doing that for three years, Gavin. I’m done. “I-I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

“Romance novels are primarily written by women for women, and they’re entirely about how they want to be treated and what they want out of life and in a relationship. We read them to be more comfortable expressing ourselves and to look at things from their perspective.”

Gavin blinked. “You guys are serious.”

“Dead serious,” Del said.

The Russian with the cheese problem nodded. “Reading romance make me know how much my wife and I see world differently, and how I need to be better job of speaking her language.”

“Her language?”

“Ever said something to Thea that you thought was totally innocuous only to have her storm off and then claim for