The Bromance Book Club (Bromance Book Club, #1)(10)

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 hours that she’s fine?” Malcolm asked.

“Yeah.”

“Or say something you thought was funny only to have her get super offended?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

Yan piped in. “Or tell her that you put the dishes in the dishwasher only to have her get all pissy about how you shouldn’t expect a gold star for doing what should be the responsibility of any adult in the goddamn house?”

A chill ran down his spine. “Have you guys been talking to her?”

Yan snorted. “You guys speak different languages to each other.” He pointed at the book. “You’ll learn hers by reading romance.”

“But Thea doesn’t even read these kinds of books!”

The guys exchanged glances and then burst out laughing. Del patted him on the back. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this in the house.”

Derek Wilson, a local businessman he recognized from his TV commercials, spoke up. “She have one of those e-reader things?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t know. I think so.”

“It’s full of romance novels. Trust us.”

Gavin looked at the book in his hand. “So you’re saying I need to d-do w-what the guy in this book does?” Good God, was he actually starting to listen to them?

“Not word-for-word, no,” Del answered. “The point is to fit the lessons of it into your own marriage. Plus, that’s a Regency, so—”

“What the hell is a Regency?”

“That means it’s set in eighteenth-or early nineteenth-century England.”

“Oh, great. That sounds relevant.”

“It is, actually,” Malcolm said. “Modern romance novelists use the patriarchal society of old British aristocracy to explore the gender-based limitations placed on women today in both the professional and personal spheres. That shit is feminist as fuck.”