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

            “It’s good?” she asked, her voice strangely tinny.

            “Better than good. I’m going to eat the entire pot.”

            That was exactly the response she’d been hoping for, and she couldn’t hide her satisfied smile as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “Well, save room for dinner. I’m making beef stroganoff tonight, and tomorrow I am going to make pelmeni.”

            “You are going to spoil me.” He shook his head, but as far as protests went, it was a weak effort. “Pelmeni is a lot of work. You don’t have to do that.”

            She shrugged. “I want to. You’re going to need to eat well if you’re going to heal, and I like cooking.”

            “I know you do.” He swallowed another heaping spoonful and then looked at her. “Did you already eat?”

            “Not yet.”

            “Go get some and eat with me.” He then added in a rush, “If you want.”

            “I— Yes. Okay. I’ll be right back.”

            She served herself a smaller portion and returned to her spot on the couch. After tucking her legs beneath her, she dug in. The flavors exploded on her tongue. Spicy and sweet and sour. She could have made this for herself in Chicago, but the memories it conjured were too powerful. Like now. “This was the first thing your mom taught me to make.”

            He looked over quickly. “It was?”

            “Whenever she made it, I would eat so much that she finally offered to show me how to make it for myself.” She smiled into her bowl. “I started cooking it for my dad almost once a week after that. I think he got sick of it, but he didn’t want to hurt my feelings, so he ate it.”

            Vlad tensed next to her. “He should’ve been making it for you.”

            “I would’ve starved. He could barely fry an egg.”

            “He should have learned like a normal father.”

            She stirred her soup. “My father was never going to be that.”

            “He could have if he’d tried.”

            The stern gruffness of Vlad’s tone plucked a familiar chord of resentment, and the disharmony that hummed between them was an old song. Vlad had never hid his anger at her father for how often he was gone when she was a child, because Vlad had never understood the importance of her father’s job. Which was one of the reasons she didn’t want Vlad to know she was trying to finish her father’s story. He would never, could never, comprehend why it was so important to her.

            The scrape of spoons against bowls was the only sound in the suddenly and uncomfortably quiet room.

            “Let’s watch TV,” she suggested.

            Vlad picked up the remote from where it rested between them and hit the power button. It was tuned to a local sports channel, which was showing a preview of that night’s game of the Nashville Legends, the team that Gavin, Yan, and Del played for.

            “Do you ever go to their games?” Elena asked, grateful for the chance to change the subject to something safer.

            “Once my season ends, yes,” Vlad answered. “I went to a few games last summer with the rest of the guys.”

            “Do they ever come to yours?”

            “Of course. We are very supportive of one another.”

            He probably hadn’t meant it as a dig against her, because Vlad never said anything intentionally harsh, but it stung all the same. As if reading Elena’s mind, the sportscasters suddenly changed direction and began to talk about Vlad’s team.

            “For the first time in franchise history, the Nashville Vipers have won the Western Conference finals and earned a spot in the Stanley Cup championship. The Vipers defeated the Vancouver Canucks last night four to three in game seven of the conference series.”

            Elena reached for the remote.

            “It’s okay,” Vlad said, covering her hand with his. The unexpected touch strummed an entirely different tune inside her, and she discreetly slid her hand from beneath his before she gave herself away. Vlad didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were locked on the TV.