Isn't It Bromantic (Bromance Book Club #4) by Lyssa Kay Adams

            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.