covers. And if anyone asks, you are not buying it as a present. You’re buying it for yourself. Any questions?”
“What if someone recognizes us?” Gavin grumbled. Of all the guys, he was probably the most famous and recognizable right now. As a player for the Nashville Major League Baseball team, the Legends, he’d skyrocketed to national fame last year when he nailed a walk-off grand-slam homer in a playoff game.
“Who cares if we’re recognized?” said Malcom, another famous face. He was the running back for the Nashville NFL team. “We spend a lot of time talking about the unfairness of how our toxic masculine society forces us to be ashamed of embracing romance novels. Yet we buy our books in secret. It’s time we practice what we preach.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Mack said, standing tall.
“Of course not,” Gavin snorted. “Malcolm has a genius IQ, dumbass.”
Mack flipped him off.
Gavin returned the gesture.
Del sighed and opened the door. “I’ll go first.”
They attracted attention as soon as they walked in, but Mack doubted it was because anyone recognized any of them. How often did a group of hulking, good-looking men walk into a bookstore together? They were like an offensive line for the Literary League of Tennessee.
“Where’s the romance section?” Del asked quietly.
Mack shook his head, eyes searching the signs that hung from the ceiling. “I don’t see it.”
“We’re going to have to ask for help,” Malcolm said.
Gavin cursed and tugged the brim of his cap lower to hide his face.
They approached the information desk, and a woman in an I Read Banned Books T-shirt looked up from her computer screen. “Can I help you?”
“Can you tell me where the romance section is?” Malcolm asked.
She squinted. “Like marriage and self-help?”
“No,” Mack said, sidling up next to Malcolm. He propped one hand on the desk and leaned toward her with a smile. “We mean romance novels.”
“You guys are looking for the romance novel section,” she said, skepticism hanging on every word.
“We sure are.” Mack winked.
The woman’s cheeks flushed under his attention. “I’ve never had men ask for romance novels.”
Mack leaned closer and lowered his voice to a level somewhere between seductive and conspiratorial. Her blush deepened. “There are a lot of us,” he murmured.
She pointed toward the back of the store. “Last shelves on the right.”
Malcolm led them through the store. Gavin made a disgusted noise. “Is there anyone you don’t flirt with?” he asked Mack.
Mack shrugged. “Not my fault if I’m born with natural charm.”
They stopped at a single aisle in the back with a meager selection of paperbacks. Just one wall had been set aside for romance. “This is a disgrace,” Malcolm said, shaking his head.
Gavin glanced around nervously. “I wouldn’t mind if we were still shopping online.”
“Have some pride,” Mack said, turning his head to read the spines of the books.
The Russian returned. “Good bathroom here. Very clean.”
The Russian could identify the best public bathrooms in every major city in the United States. If he ever retired from hockey, he could create an app ranking them and make more money than he ever did as a player.
Mack found his favorite author and pulled The Protector, her newest book, off the shelf. A romantic suspense about a Secret Service agent and the president’s daughter. He loved a little danger with his romance, and he especially loved an enemies-to-lovers story. There was just something satisfying about two people discovering that what makes them fight is also the thing that makes them perfect for each other.
“Are we meeting Friday night?” Gavin asked, glancing at a book with a red spine. “The game doesn’t get out until probably seven, so Del and I can’t meet until late.”
“It’ll have to be Saturday,” Mack said, cracking open his book to read the first page. “I have a date with Gretchen Friday night.”
A knot of tension unfurled in his gut. Tomorrow night would officially be three months with Gretchen, a local attorney he’d met at a party, and he wasn’t sparing any expense to make it special for her. He’d pulled every string he had to make an impossible-to-get reservation at Savoy, one of Nashville’s swankiest restaurants, which was owned by a celebrity TV chef. And if all went well, he planned to do the thing he’d never done before—have the talk. The let’s be exclusive talk.
The silence behind him was suddenly too obvious to be a coincidence. He turned around and found the guys having a silent conservation with raised eyebrows and hand gestures. Del