“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 dug into his wallet and shoved a twenty-dollar bill at the Russian.
“What the fuck is that? What are you doing?”
They jumped with matching expressions of guilt. “He owed me money,” the Russian said, shoving the twenty in his pocket.
“Bullshit. What are you guys talking about?”
The Russian’s shoulders drooped like a puppy who’d just been scolded for pissing on the carpet.
“He won the bet.”
Mack’s eyebrows furrowed. “What bet?”
“That you would choose a romantic suspense,” Del said quickly.
Mack folded his arms over his chest, tucking the book under his armpit. “You expect me to believe that you made a bet about what kind of book I would choose?”
The Russian whistled and looked around. Del smacked him upside the back of the head.
“For fuck’s sake.” Gavin sighed. “They have a running bet over how long until you dump Gretchen.”
Mack blinked. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“It was his idea,” the Russian said, pointing at Del.
Del didn’t deny it. Instead, he shrugged. “I’ve lost a lot of money, but I’m impressed that you’ve stuck with her this long. This has to be a record or something.”
Mack gaped, trying not to be insulted, but what the fuck? Sure, he probably deserved his reputation as a one-and-done bachelor, the kind of guy with a different woman on his arm every weekend. He’d just never met anyone he could imagine settling down with. And despite what most people thought of him, he did want to settle down. But his own friend was betting against him? If that wasn’t a kick in the balls, he didn’t know what was.
Mack pointed at Del. “I’ll have you know, douchebag, that I’ve stuck with her this long because I like her. She’s beautiful, smart, and ambitious.”
“And totally wrong for you,” Malcolm interrupted, entering the conversation for the first time. He’d been studying the shelves during most of the exchange but now turned around with four books tucked in his massive hands.
“Excuse me?” Mack sputtered. “How is she totally wrong for me?”
“Because all the women you date are wrong for you,” Gavin snorted.
Mack sputtered again before responding. “Dude, you’ve known me for less than six months.”
“Yeah, and in that time you’ve dated six different women. Amazing women. All smart, talented, gorgeous. Perfect.”
“And that’s a problem?” He sounded defensive, which made him feel defensive. Dammit, he was defensive. They were supposed to be buying books, not analyzing his love life.
Gavin shrugged. “You tell me. You dumped them all.”
“Because it didn’t work out with them,” Mack said in a growl.
“And it’s different with Gretchen?”
“Yes,” Mack said.
“How?” Malcolm asked.
Mack had no response to that. It was different with Gretchen because, because . . . dammit, because he was ready for it to be different. Wasn’t that enough? He was tired of watching his friends live happily ever after while he fruitlessly searched for the future Mrs. Mack—someone he could spoil, grow old with, and cherish forever. He was the founder of the damn book club but the only one who’d never experienced the real thing. So, yeah, he was working extra hard this time to stick with it because, dammit, he wanted his own happily ever after.
Gavin held up his hands in a truce. “Look, all we’re saying is that for all your talk about being the expert, it seems like you miss the most important lesson of these books.”
“Which is?” His tone now edged toward petulance, but he didn’t like being lectured about the lessons of the manuals—which was what they all called romance novels—by the newest member of the club.
“There’s a big difference between romancing someone and loving someone.”
Mack rolled his eyes. “Easy for you to say. You fell in love at first sight with the perfect woman.”
Gavin sobered. “My wife isn’t perfect. She’s just perfect for me. And there’s been nothing easy about our marriage.”
Tension once again tugged at Mack’s gut, this time from guilt. Gavin and his wife, Thea, had nearly divorced six months ago before the book club stepped in to help Gavin get her back.
But rather than apologize for being an asshole, he dug in. “I’m going to prove you wrong,” he seethed.
Mack yanked his wallet from his back pocket, heart pounding with the arrogance of something to prove. He shoved a hundred-dollar bill at Del.
“Five-to-one odds that after tomorrow night, I officially have a girlfriend.”
CHAPTER TWO
“You look beautiful tonight.”
Mack reached across the table for Gretchen’s slim fingers. She smiled as he brushed his thumb across her knuckles. The earrings he’d given her last week for her birthday hung from her delicate earlobes and sparkled in the candlelight.
“Thank you,” she said. “You certainly say it enough to make me feel beautiful.”
“New dress?”
She laughed and looked down at herself. “Um, no. I got this at Macy’s a couple of years ago. Clearance rack.”
“It’s beautiful.”
She tugged her hand back. “Thank you. Again.”
Gretchen tore her gaze from his and looked around at the restaurant. Their VIP table in the loft gave them a full view of the urban-chic decor. Wrought-iron chandeliers hung from the high ceilings, and exposed-brick walls gave it an unfinished feel. But when paired with the dark woodwork and the ornate gold, it also had an old-world opulence to it.
“I always wondered what it looked like in here,” Gretchen said.
“What do you think?”
“It’s, um . . .” She winced as if reluctant to criticize. “It’s a little over the top.”
“So is Royce.”
“You know him?”
Mack adjusted his sport coat as he sat back in his chair. “We’ve met several times. Charity golf tournaments and that sort of thing. We tend to run in the same circles as business owners.”
“Ah. Of course.” She squinted. “I don’t really run in those circles, you know.”
“You run in more important circles.” Gretchen was a public defender specializing in immigration cases.
Their waiter approached the table with a bottle of chilled Dom Perignon. Mack had ordered it when he’d made the reservation, along with the signature dessert—the Sultan cupcake. It was so elaborate and expensive, it had to be ordered in advance. He couldn’t wait for Gretchen to see it.