Crazy Stupid Bromance (Bromance Book Club #3) - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,30

throw up.

Standing in front was a man in a baggy pair of sweatpants and a black tank top that read Music City Dance Factory. Tattoos covered both of his arms all the way to the wrist.

“That’s Clive, our choreographer,” Mack explained. “He owns a dance academy in Midtown.”

Noah shook the man’s hand, apologized for being late, and then purposely walked to the far back of the dance floor.

Clive clapped his hands. “Are we ready, then? Let’s get back to working those shoulders. We don’t want to pull any muscles.”

Noah did. He desperately wanted a pulled muscle. He’d break his own goddamned arm to get out of this.

Clive moved into some kind of hip gyration, and Noah knew without even trying that his body was not going to move like that. Not with any amount of practice. Dear God. This was going to be beyond humiliating. This was going to be cruel and unusual punishment. There was no way in hell he was going to do this in front of Alexis.

From his spot in the back, though, he could see that he wasn’t the only one who was going to look ridiculous. Colton, Malcolm, and Gavin were surprisingly good dancers, but everyone else looked like those windup singing animals that people bought at holidays to scare their dogs. They were all stiff-armed and robotic. This was going to be a disaster.

“Noah, like this.” The Russian turned around in front of him in way-too-short shorts and a ribbed white tank top. Black hair poked from every opening, and bulging muscles gave the overall effect of a bear in a human costume. The Russian planted his hands on his hips and swiveled from left to right and then back to front.

“From here,” he explained, gesturing just short of his junk. He then began to pump his hips. Dear God, Noah would never be able to unsee that.

Noah looked at Mack. “You could just shoot me instead, you know.”

The Russian grabbed Noah’s hips and tugged. “Like this.”

“I got it,” he snapped, knocking the Russian’s hands away. “I’m fully capable of thrusting my hips at the appropriate time.”

He just hadn’t done so in a while.

A long while. Just over eighteen months, to be exact.

“You are in bad mood,” the Russian said. “You sleep bad?”

Yeah. Horrible. He’d been tormented all night with alternating dreams of Lexa on an operating table and Lexa caressing his chest. Thrusting his hips was not helping matters.

For the next hour, Clive led them through a dance workout that left Noah panting and sweaty. By the time they were done, he felt like he’d just biked uphill for an hour straight. But just when Noah was close to running into the traffic outside on Broadway, Clive stopped and killed the music.

“Great job,” he said. “We’ll learn the second half next weekend.”

Second half? Noah groaned and wiped his forearm across his brow. Ahead of him, Sonia bent and braced her hands on her knees while Mack leaned against a table to catch his breath. Gavin, Del, and Malcolm collapsed on the floor. Clive had even killed the professional athletes.

Colton sauntered over. “You look like shit today. Worse than normal, even.”

“Fuck off.”

“What’s wrong? You and Alexis get in a fight or something?”

Noah curbed the urge to flip him off and instead stomped to the bar. Sonia tossed him a bottle of water.

“What was that?” Mack asked, jogging to the bar. “You got in a fight with Alexis?”

Noah barely had time to swallow. “No—”

“What was the fight about?”

“We did not get in a fight. Jesus.”

“Well, something obviously happened,” Mack said. “You were late, you do look like shit, and you’re stomping around like someone broke your favorite Star Wars collectible.”

Colton leaned on the bar. “I’m sure it was nothing, Mack. They’re just friends, remember?”

Noah dug in his pocket for his keys. “I’m out of here.”

Mack grabbed the back of his shirt. “Wait. We’re going for breakfast at Six Strings.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I need your opinion on a couple of things, and you obviously need to talk.”

Gavin and Del both hollered from the floor that they had to go home for family stuff. Sonia said she had to go walk her dog, and two other guys—Derek Wilson and Yan Feliciano—said they had other stuff to do too. Nothing specific. Just stuff.

Cowards. All of them.

That left Malcolm, the Russian, Mack, and Colton to stare at Noah with eyebrows arched.

“I’m not going,” Noah repeated. “I have stuff too.” Which was true. It was just that his stuff