for a night of honky-tonks. They drove for nearly fifteen minutes until Del exited near Brentwood, a subdivision outside the city where many athletes and country stars lived.
Gavin preferred Franklin. A lot of celebrities lived there too, but the historic, tree-lined streets gave it a small-town feel. They lived in a normal neighborhood, not a stuffy mansion-filled subdivision. Their house was within walking distance of a little downtown where the girls could get a library book and an ice-cream cone, and where they had become regulars at the local diner with its cracked vinyl booths. The only tourists they ever got there were Civil War buffs who wanted to tour the local battlefield.
Gavin was skeptical at first when Thea suggested they live there. His salary could afford something more lavish. But when he saw the way her eyes lit up when she pulled up the listing for the 1930s brick Craftsman on her phone, there was no way he was going to push for anything else. And now he wouldn’t give up their small-town lifestyle for anything.
Except he almost had.
Five minutes later, Gavin balanced five boxes of pizza and four cartons of wings up a manicured sidewalk. “Whose house is this?”
By the ostentatious display of sports cars in the garage, Gavin feared they were at Asshole-Ate-His-Apple’s house.
He was right. The door swung open, and Mack greeted them with a snort. “Hey, look who’s finally sober.”
Gavin shoved the pizzas and wings at him. “Hey, look who’s still a dick.”
“You two need to knock that shit off,” Del growled, walking in.
Mack swung the door shut with his foot. “All in good fun, right, man?”
“No. I kind of hate you,” Gavin said.
Del turned around. “Everyone here?”
“Yeah,” Mack said. “In the basement. Is he ready for his initiation? I have to get that sheep back to the farm by midnight.”
Gavin scowled at that, but he trailed behind them through the soaring entryway and past a wide, curved staircase. Beyond that, they entered a kitchen twice the size of his and Thea’s. The sound of voices grew louder as they approached a door that led to the basement.
Gavin waited for Mack and Del to go first.
“Food’s here,” Mack announced, turning a corner at the bottom of the stairs. A round of voices harrumphed manly approval followed by several about times.
“Are we late?” Gavin asked Del’s back.
“Nah. They just got here early to finalize the plan.”
Gavin grabbed the back of Del’s shirt. “Hold up. What plan?”
“The plan to get Thea to take your stupid ass back,” Del said, turning the same corner that Mack had disappeared around. “A plan you made a helluva lot harder today.”
Gavin sucked in and let out a breath, hovering on the last stair. Finally, mustering his courage with a reminder that this was about saving his marriage, he followed Del.
Ten of Nashville’s movers and shakers—professional athletes, business owners, and city officials—stood around an elaborate bar, shoving one another aside as they dove into the pizza and wings. Del dumped the paper bag of other snacks. Several bags of chips fell out. A single green apple rolled onto the floor.
Mack shook his head as he picked it up. “You are one petty bastard.”
“Everyone hurry up,” Del said. “We gotta get started. Dipshit here kissed his wife today.”
The room exploded. Heads swiveled. Chairs toppled. A hockey player in the corner swore in Russian.
“What the fuck, man?” Mack barked. “We told you not to go see her!”
A dude he recognized as Malcolm James, running back for the Nashville NFL team, choked on his beer. “Did you at least ask permission first, or was it a sneak-attack kiss?”
“Sneak attack, I guess?”
Yan smacked the back of his head. “That’s grand-gesture shit, man! You can’t do that yet.”
“Grand gesture what?”
The guys gave him varying degrees of dirty looks as they gathered their plates and headed for a massive game table on the other side of the basement.
The Russian grumbled over the remains of the food, finally settling on a bag of pretzels. He tucked it under his arm as if someone might steal it. “Too much pizza,” he said, glaring as he walked by Gavin. “Cheese. It shoot straight out my ass.”
That was a visual he didn’t need.
“Gavin, come on. Time to get started.”
Swiping his apple off the counter, he dragged his feet toward the one remaining chair.
Del cleared his throat and stood. “Everyone ready?”
The guys nodded, mouths full.
“Good. First rule of book club?”
They finished in unison. “You don’t talk about book club.”