Praise for the Bromance Book Club series
“Nothing about Adams’s novel is simple, as it unfurls its catchy premise with surprising wisdom and specificity.”
—The New York Times Book Review
“The Bromance Book Club is a gloriously tongue-in-cheek celebration of all the things that make romance so entertaining.”
—Entertainment Weekly
“A fun, sexy, and heartfelt love story that’s equal parts romance and bromance.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Sweet and funny and emotional. I zoomed through this one Sunday, totally compelled by the romance (and the bromance!). I’m so looking forward to seeing more of this book club.”
—New York Times bestselling author Nalini Singh
“The Bromance Book Club is a delight!”
—Alexa Martin
Titles by Lyssa Kay Adams
The Bromance Book Club
Undercover Bromance
Crazy Stupid Bromance
Isn’t It Bromantic?
A JOVE BOOK
Published by Berkley
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © 2021 by Lyssa Kay Adams
Penguin Random House supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin Random House to continue to publish books for every reader.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Adams, Lyssa Kay, author.
Title: Isn’t it bromantic? / Lyssa Kay Adams.
Description: First edition. | New York: Jove, 2021. | Series: The Bromance Book Club; 4
Identifiers: LCCN 2020058550 (print) | LCCN 2020058551 (ebook) | ISBN 9780593332771 (trade paperback) | ISBN 9780593332788 (ebook)
Subjects: GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PS3601.D385 I86 2021 (print) | LCC PS3601.D385 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020058550
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020058551
First Edition: July 2021
Book design by Elke Sigal, adapted for ebook by Kelly Brennan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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To my daughter
You’re the light of my life
CONTENTS
Cover
Praise for the Bromance Book Club Series
Titles by Lyssa Kay Adams
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
The Backstory
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
THE BACKSTORY
Six months ago
It’s all fun and games until someone shits their pants.
And for once, Vlad Konnikov wasn’t the culprit.
Luckily, however, he knew what to do. Because Vlad—a.k.a. the Russian, as his friends called him, since he was, in fact, Russian—had an unfortunate history of gastrointestinal catastrophes for which he’d only recently gotten a diagnosis. Now the man with an official gluten allergy and occasional irritable bowel symptoms never left the house without an emergency kit.
And this was definitely an emergency.
Vlad grabbed his bag from his hotel room five stories above the ballroom where he was a groomsman in his friend’s wedding and then raced back to the mezzanine floor. He found another groomsman guarding the door to the main bathroom.
“He is still bad?” Vlad asked, his heavy accent more pronounced than usual because he was out of breath and slightly tipsy. It was a wedding, after all, and his stomach be damned, he was Russian. Russians drank at weddings.
“Bad,” said Colton Wheeler, fellow groomsman and a country music star. “We’re talking full machine gunner.” Colton held up his hands to mimic the handles of the weapon and made a rapid pffft-pffft-pffft noise. “I wouldn’t go in there yet if I were you.”
“I have to. He is the best man. He must give the speech.”
“Unless he’s giving it from the toilet, I don’t see it happening anytime soon.”
The sound of dress shoes slapping on tile floor brought Vlad about-face. The groom, Braden Mack, slid to a stop. “Where the fuck is my brother?”
Colton hooked his thumb over his shoulder with a grimace.
“Still?” Mack wiped his hands over his head and then cursed, realizing he’d probably just messed up his hair. Mack was very particular about his hair. “Jesus, what’d he eat?”
Vlad shrugged. “Probably cheese.”
Cheese used to be Vlad’s nemesis, too, until he realized it wasn’t. He’d just been eating the wrong kinds of cheese and the wrong things with cheese. Now, he had a strict diet and daily medicine and could eat as much cheese as he wanted as long as he was careful. He was officially a new man.
“I know what to do,” Vlad said. He opened his emergency bag, pulled out a box of peppermint tea bags, and handed them to Colton. “Fast. Go ask the hotel staff to make a mug of tea with these.”
Colton studied the box. “Seriously?”
“Just go.” He shook his shoulders and stretched his neck. “Okay. I am ready. I am going in.”
Colton held up his hands in surrender. “It’s your nose.”
“I’ll go with you,” Mack said, tugging down on the jacket to his tuxedo. “He’s my brother. I can handle it. I grew up with that little shit.”
“Big shit,” Colton said, moving aside, hands still raised. “Trust me. Big shit.”
The heavy door creaked as Vlad pushed it open. “Liam?” he asked gently, approaching the row of stalls like a hostage negotiator closing in on his suspect. “It is Vlad. Mack and I are here.”
“Go away,” came the groaned response.
Vlad pointed silently to the last stall. Mack nodded, grimacing as he inched closer.
“How’s it going in there, man?” Mack asked.
Liam answered with another groan. Mack smothered a laugh behind his hand.
“Leave him alone,�
� Vlad whispered. “It is very not fun to have a stomach problem. Not funny like you think.”
“You’re right, man,” Mack said, straightening. “We’ve made fun of you too much for that. I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Mack patted Vlad’s stomach through his tuxedo shirt. He lifted an eyebrow and backed up. “Damn, dude. You’re hiding some steel under there.”
“I am a professional athlete,” Vlad said, shoving Mack’s hand away. “What did you think I had under there?”
Vlad was a defenseman for the Nashville professional hockey team, which is how he’d managed to meet and befriend this crew of star-studded degenerates. Colton was by far the most famous, but the entire crew was a who’s who of Nashville’s movers and shakers. Vlad wasn’t even the only professional athlete in the wedding. Three others—Gavin Scott, Yan Feliciano, and Del Hicks—were members of the Nashville Major League Baseball team, and Malcolm James played football for the local NFL team. In the six years since Vlad had immigrated to America to play hockey, these guys had grown to be the best friends of his life, and Mack was the glue that had brought them all together through the Bromance Book Club. Together, they read romance novels written by women to learn how to be better men. This group, these men, the books—they had changed Vlad’s life. He was not going to let Mack down by allowing his brother to miss the most important toast of the night.
“I can’t believe this,” Liam moaned from inside the stall. He followed it with a noise that made Mack reel back in horror. “What am I going to do?”
Vlad stood in solidarity on the other side of the stall door. For years, he’d been known among his friends as the man most likely to clog their pipes. A reputation he was happy to put behind him. No one understood what it was like to be at constant war with your own body. Yeah, yeah, nothing funnier than an ill-timed fart, unless you’re the one doing it. Nothing quite like the panic of being in a public place and suddenly having your insides seize up in warning with nary a public bathroom in sight. “I can help,” he said simply.
“You don’t have to stay in here,” Liam said. “In fact, I’d kinda rather you didn’t.”
“Friends do not let friends suffer bad bowels alone.”
“They do, actually,” Liam moaned. “Just go.”
“You are the groom’s brother. The best man. You have to give the toast.”
“I can’t.” He made a noise that proved it.
Vlad winced in empathy. He opened his emergency kit and pulled out a vial of essential oils. He slid it under the stall door. “Rub some of this on your belly.”
“It’s my goddamned asshole that hurts!”
“This will ease cramping,” Vlad said. “Trust me.”
Next, Vlad pulled out a packet of fast-acting Imodium capsules and slid it under the stall door. “Take two of these now. They will not work immediately, but they will help.”
A shiny black-shoed toe dragged the packet out of sight. “Thanks, man.”
Lastly, Vlad pulled out a brand-new package of men’s underwear. He slid those under the stall. “Just in case,” he said, standing.
The door swung open, and Colton walked in, mug in his outstretched hand and a napkin tied around his face like a mask. “Here’s your peppermint poop tea.”
Vlad scowled and took the mug from Colton’s hands. “Liam,” he said calmly. “I am leaving some tea on the counter for you to drink. It will soothe your gut.”
“Mack,” Liam groaned. “What am I going to do about the toast?”
“You can give it later, if you feel up to it.”
“Yeah, about that,” Colton said, his voice muffled through the napkin. “Liv is outside. She wants to know what’s up.”
Mack and Vlad tensed in unison. Liv was Mack’s bride—an amazing, badass woman who scared the shit out of every man in the group. Mostly Liam, apparently.
Mack clapped his hands on either side of Vlad’s shoulders. “You feel like giving a toast?”
Vlad’s stomach seized. “M-me?”
“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have fill in for my brother, man.”
“I—I haven’t written anything,” he said, voice thick as tears turned his vision blurry. It was the other thing he was known for in the group—spontaneous displays of emotion. It was the Russian in him. He couldn’t help it, and there was no medicine or diagnosis that could cure it. He cried at weddings, books, songs, commercials, cute animals. But this? Giving a toast at Mack’s wedding? He’d never make it through.
Mack looped his hand around the back of Vlad’s neck and squeezed. “I’d be honored to have you say whatever comes to mind. No one has a heart like you.”
Vlad wiped a tear away. “I am the one who is honored.”
Liam squeezed out a noise that brought an abrupt end to the tender moment.
“Maybe we should continue this outside,” Mack suggested.
Vlad nodded, and Mack called out to Liam, “We’ll be back to check on you later, okay?”
“Love you, big brother,” Liam groaned.
“Love you too—”
Another noise sent them scurrying for the door.
Outside, Liv was pacing in her wedding gown, arms crossed. “Finally,” she said, throwing her hands up. “I was about to come in there. Is he okay?”
“He will be,” Vlad said, “but not for a while.”
Mack patted his back. “Vlad is going to give the first toast so we can keep things moving.”
Liv’s face softened into the kind of smile that he knew was the reason Mack fell in love with her. Beneath her tough exterior, she was as soft as a baby chick. She hugged her arms around Vlad’s chest. “I’m going to cry.”
“So am I,” he said, squeezing her back.
“I hate crying,” she said.
“I know you do. I will cry for us both.”
Mack tugged her away and plopped a heavy kiss on her upturned lips. “Let’s get this party started.”
Back in the ballroom, the DJ made a quick announcement that there was going to be a minor change in the night’s festivities. Everyone accepted a flute of champagne from the serving staff who wandered through the crowd, and then Vlad took the microphone.
He scanned the room, and a different kind of emotion washed over him, one he’d become too familiar with lately. Envy. His best friends nuzzled their wives and girlfriends as they waited for him to impart a bit of wisdom for the new couple, but Vlad had none to give. He was a fraud. He’d joined the book club because Mack had said “the manuals,” as they called the romance novels they read, would help him be the best husband he could be to his wife, Elena, but, of course, he had failed.
Because his marriage had never been real.
And though he hated deceiving his friends, the idea of telling them after all this time that Elena had only married him to find a way out of Russia and to attend university in America was too humiliating to consider.
He’d learned one important thing, however, from the manuals. He’d learned that he deserved more than this one-sided relationship. He wanted love. He wanted a family. He wanted the grand gesture and the happy ever after. So, one month ago, he’d finally taken a step toward a new story for his life. He’d done the scariest thing he’d ever done. Scarier than his decision to leave Russian professional hockey to play for the NHL. Scarier than his hasty proposal to Elena. Scarier than his decision to let her leave him for school in Chicago after they’d moved to Nashville.
One month ago, he’d mustered every lesson he’d learned from the manuals and told Elena that when she was done with school next spring, he wanted them to have a real marriage.
He had hoped she would throw her arms around him and kiss him. Tell him she had loved him all along and just never knew how to tell him. Instead, she’d just quietly told him she needed time to think about what he’d said. And though that broke his heart, he felt more
hopeful than he had in a long time. He’d finally done something to push beyond the state of limbo he’d been living in for nearly six years.
“My friends,” he finally started. Everyone quieted and turned their smiles his way. “I am Russian—”
“No shit?” one of his friends shouted.
He held up his hand appreciatively. “I am Russian, so I will not make it through this without crying. I must warn you of that. When I came to America, I did not know what to expect, and the first few months were . . . they were lonely.”
He looked to his right, where Liv and Mack had their arms around each other as they listened to him speak. “But then I met Mack. He is very, how do I say this, annoying.”
A collective burst of laughter filled the ballroom.
“That is not what I mean. Confident is what I mean. He is very confident. I myself was not.”
This time, the crowd said, “Aww,” together.
“Mack was the first person who made me feel like leaving my country and coming here was a good idea. He was my first friend in America and my best. But he was really, really bad with women, you know.”
More laughter.
“He was, as Americans say, all talk. Big confidence but no game, like, like the sportswriters who say they play hockey better than us, but then they get on skates and break their faces.”
He looked at Mack again in time to see Liv kiss his cheek as the crowd roared with laughter. Mack was scowling playfully in his direction.
“But Mack, he was lonely too. He never found the right woman, until he met Liv. And we all knew the first time they met, we knew, she was going to be the one for him because she did not like him at first. She thought he was annoying. And I do not mean confident. Annoying.”
Liv laughed and buried her face in the crook of Mack’s shoulder. Vlad smiled as he watched Mack drop his lips to the top her head.
“It has been the honor of my life—”
Vlad stopped and cleared his throat, and the crowd once again let out an aww. Vlad sniffed. “It has been the honor of my life to be part of Mack’s life and to watch him become an even better man than he already was because of Liv.” Vlad wiped away a tear. “I love you both so much.”
Isn't It Bromantic? Page 1
