The Bromance Book Club - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,71
said it out loud. He braced for the laughter, for the jokes, the sky to fall.
But it didn’t happen. He looked up and found nothing but sympathetic faces.
“She faked . . . orgasms?” Mack asked.
“No, genius. The moon landing.”
“Wow, man. That sucks,” Del said. “I’m sorry.”
“She faked it all the time?” Malcolm asked. “Or just sometimes?”
“All the time.” Bitterness stung his tongue. “As far as I know, I’ve given my wife exactly one real orgasm our entire marriage.”
Mack swore under his breath. “Shit, man. I’m sorry. All the fucking jokes about sex . . . I didn’t know. I’m a fucking prick.”
The apology was surprisingly heartfelt. “There’s no way you could have known.”
Del coughed discreetly. “So, I’m assuming that you figured out she was faking it because . . . ?”
His neck got hot. “Because one night she didn’t fake it, and it was obvious.”
“I don’t understand,” Mack said. “She kicked you out because you gave her an orgasm finally?”
Gavin bristled at the word finally. “No. She kicked me out because I didn’t react well to learning the truth.”
“Meaning?” Del prompted.
“Meaning I moved into the guest room and stopped talking to her.”
The room finally erupted like he knew it eventually would. Every man jumped to his feet. Del began to pace, punching his fist into his other hand. Malcolm stroked his jingly beard and starting chanting like a monk. Mack shoveled angry forkfuls of brown noodles into his mouth, alternating between eating and pointing a silent, angry finger in Gavin’s general direction.
“You dumb fuck!” Del finally said.
“I know I didn’t handle it well,” Gavin said, defending himself instinctively. “I tried to apologize when I went to the house after she asked for the divorce.”
“Gavin, you have a lot more to apologize for than that,” Malcolm said. “Women don’t fake orgasms unless they’re faking other things too.”
Christ. Back to the fucking riddles. “Just . . . just tell me wh-what to do.”
“You need to stop focusing all your attention on the fact that she faked it and start asking yourself why the fuck you didn’t notice.”
Malcolm’s words landed with a thud in his gut.
“Yeah,” Mack said, wiping his forearm across his grease-covered lips. “And why you didn’t have the fucking balls to talk to her when you learned the truth.”
“And then you need to open a vein,” Del said. “She might have been dishonest about the orgasms, but how honest have you been with her? You can turn this around, but not if you don’t take the same kind of emotional risk that you’re asking of her.”
“She’s moving on without you, man,” Malcolm said. “She has plans. Goals. She’s starting school again, and she doesn’t need you. Not unless you give her a reason to trust that you—”
A sudden yellow glow through the front curtains stunned them all into silence. Then a collective oh, shit sent them scrambling.
“I thought you said she’d be gone until ten,” Del barked.
“That’s what she said!” Gavin looked at the floor. “The books. Hide the fucking books.”
Gavin and Mack dropped to the floor and started grabbing and piling paperbacks.
The headlights went dark outside. “Under the couch,” Gavin hissed.
“My nails are still wet,” Mack whined.
Gavin glared and started shoving books under the couch. Thea’s footsteps sounded on the porch.
“Put some behind the cushions,” Del hissed.
The Russian farted and held his hand to his stomach. “I need bathroom again.” He ran to the basement.
The door swung open. Gavin threw the last several books under a blanket and knocked Mack down to sit on them.
Thea walked in, followed quickly by Liv, and every man froze.
Gavin cleared his throat. “Hi. Hey.”
Thea’s eyes darted around the room. “Um . . . ?”
Gavin remembered their costumes. “Oh, uh, the girls w-w-wanted to play dress up.”
“I see.” She looked around again. “And where are the girls now?”
“Asleep upstairs.”
“I see.”
Mack looked over the back of the couch and blew on his nails. “Hey, Thea. Congratulations about school.”
Liv moved into the room and immediately spotted the take-out container. “Who ate my Chinese food?”
Gavin pointed at Mack.
Who had gone strangely still. He stared at Liv with wide eyes. Like, wide eyes. “Hi,” he said stupidly. “I’m, I’m Braden.”
Liv shot him a glare that could have ignited a brush fire, and then she stomped toward the kitchen. In her wake, she left an unnatural, disbelieving silence, like the kind after a streaker runs naked across the outfield.
A woman had just walked away from Braden-Fucking-Mack.
“Never thought I’d see that,” Malcolm said in his calm baritone.