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

            “Congratulations,” Noah said.

            “And you’re planning to go back to Russia,” Colton said. His tone was flat, careful. Probing without being accusatory.

            “Yes,” she said. “To be a journalist.”

            “We need good journalists, now more than ever,” Noah said.

            “Yes, I agree.” She carried the crackers and two boxes of gluten-free cookies to the walk-in pantry. The silence outside the small space became unbearable, like a heavy humidity had descended on the kitchen. She didn’t need to walk out to know they were likely having another one of those eyes-only conversations about her.

            “Vlad told us about your father,” Malcolm said when she reemerged. “We’re very sorry about what happened. We had no idea.”

            Guilt forced her gaze downward. “He has kept a lot of secrets for me. To protect me.”

            “It’s great you could be here now to take care of him,” Del said. “How long do you plan to stay?”

            “Until he doesn’t need me anymore.”

            They did it again. Looked at one another meaningfully, as if they could read one another’s thoughts. It was quickly becoming annoying.

            “Well,” Mack said, standing tall. “We’ll get out of your hair now.”

            “Thank you again for coming,” she said.

            “Some of us will be back tomorrow to hose him off again,” Colton said. Del smacked him upside the head as they walked out. The rest of the guys bid her goodbye and filed from the kitchen. Only Malcolm remained behind.

            He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Vlad is one of the best men I’ve ever known.”

            Her heart hammered. “Me too.”

            “He’s been here for every single one of us during some of the hardest times in our lives. We will be there for him too.”

            “I’m glad. He’s lucky to have friends like you.”

            “To be honest, I’m not sure we deserve him.”

            To her horror, tears turned her vision watery. She quickly looked away. “I know exactly what you mean.”

            He studied her a moment longer and then said he’d see her tomorrow. As soon as she heard him leave, she gripped the kitchen counter and leaned against it. They hated her for what she’d done to him. Sure, they’d been polite, but it was obvious that they held her in no greater esteem than the Loners. She wished it didn’t matter, and really, it shouldn’t matter. She was leaving. And though she was relieved Vlad had such a strong group of friends, being surrounded by them filled her with loneliness. She was his wife, but those men were his family.

            She quickly finished putting the groceries away and then went upstairs to check on Vlad. Just as they said, he was sound asleep. A blanket covered most of his lower half, but once again, his broad chest was open to her thirsty stare. It lifted and lowered in a steady rhythm with every deep breath. Her fingers itched with a sudden, insane urge to touch him. To feel that coarse chest hair beneath her soft palms. To curl up next to him and press her cheek to the place where his heart beat strong and sure.

            A heat rash rose up her neck as she backed out of the room, clicked the door shut, and leaned against it. She had to get over this, this . . . lust. There was too much to do to stand around ogling him. She’d bought enough food to make several of his favorite meals this week. For her, nothing was as distracting or as comforting as cooking. So she headed back to the kitchen and got to work.

            She wanted to make his favorite soup for lunch—solyanka, a thick, briny broth with sausage, pickles, and dill—and then beef stroganoff for dinner. She also wanted to get started on the pelmeni for tomorrow’s dinner. The Russian dumplings were another of his favorite. His mother used to fill them with potatoes, mushrooms, and onions, but all the gluten-free recipes she’d found recommended letting the dough sit overnight. The dumplings were a lot of work, but she’d cook all night if necessary to make them perfect for Vlad. The distraction would be welcome, too. Anything to keep her mind off the delicious man he’d clearly become.

            How could she still be so affected by him? Clearly, her libido had not caught up to reality. Maybe she was just sex starved, but if that were the case, she would have the same reaction to every good-looking man she encountered or any man who showed interest in her. But she didn’t. Only Vlad had ever made her stomach flutter, and she’d never forget the first time it happened. That first whiff of womanly awareness, of gut-tugging breathlessness that forever changed him in her mind from boy to man, from friend to . . . something else. She was sixteen, and he was eighteen, and like a million times before, he whipped his shirt off in front of her to jump into the pool. But unlike the million times before, she saw him. Really saw him. Gone was the lanky boy from childhood, and in his place was someone who made her heart jump around.