A Very Merry Bromance (Bromance Book Club #5) (4)

“Surprisingly good. Why?”

“Elena says I have to dress up as Santa for our Christmas party to hand out presents to all the kids.”

Vlad and his wife, Elena, were hosting their first-ever Christmas party in a couple of weeks. Normally, Vlad would never have had time because of his hockey schedule, but he was still recovering from a broken leg suffered during last year’s Stanley Cup playoffs. So when the guys decided to organize a Bromance family holiday party, Vlad jumped at the chance to host it because it might be his only chance.

“I’ve never played Santa before,” Vlad said. “We don’t do Santa in Russia.”

“No Santa?” Gavin gasped and looked up from stretching his quads as if Vlad had just admitted to barking at the moon on Christmas Eve.

Del smacked the back of Gavin’s head. “Damn, dude. Get out of your American bubble every once in a while.”

“We call him Grandfather Frost,” Vlad said.

Gavin sat all the way down, crossed his legs under him, and began to bounce them butterfly-style. “How is he different from Santa?”

Vlad started stretching as he spoke. “Well, he has a white beard, so that is the same. But he does not wear a red suit. He wears long robes. And he does not have reindeer. His sleigh is driven by three horses. And he is not just about giving gifts. He is about good deeds. He gets cold when he is around bad people.”

“I like that. Maybe you should play him, instead,” Colton offered. “No reason to change your own traditions.”

“But Elena says that will confuse the kids and make them question if Santa Claus is real.”

Del shrugged. “Tell them that he and Santa are friends and help each other out.”

“I don’t know,” Gavin said. “I do kind of want to see Vlad in a Santa suit.”

Vlad got a panicked look on his face. “What if I screw it up?”

Colton patted him on the back. “You’ll do fine. We’ll help you get ready. Just practice saying ‘Ho, ho, ho.’?”

Mrs. Porth clapped her hands loudly and walked to the front of the room. Next to her stood a woman about ten years younger. “Those of you who are new to the class,” she said, staring directly at Jake, Felix, and Brad, “can follow a modified version of all of our exercises.”

As predicted, the three new guys snorted because, of course, professional athletes would have no reason to follow a modified workout routine. They had no fucking idea what was coming.

The guys spread out in a long line extending from one side of the room to the other. In front of them, roughly thirty-five other exercisers took their places next to their own mats and bottles of water. Later, they would all grab an aerobics step for the part of the class that truly separated the women from the men.

“All right, everyone. We’re going to start with some light stretching and warm-up,” Mrs. Porth said. The speakers began to play a quiet, calming music, like the kind you’d hear in a day spa. “Let’s get those arms loosened up with some nice, easy shoulder shrugs . . . That’s it. Now start to roll them back and forward . . . Very good. Now some arm circles.”

Colton spread his arms out wide and smacked hands with Felix. Colton gave him a sharp look, and Felix inched sideways with a quiet Sorry.

“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Porth said. “Now for some easy yoga poses to get those legs nice and ready to work.”

Colton followed her instructions into goddess pose and several others. A moment later, he looked up from his mat to a disturbing sight. “Dude, get your downward dong out of my face.”

“Isn’t it called downward dog?” Brad whispered back, his face upside down between his legs.

“Not when you do it.”

Brad crab-crawled a few inches away.

“Okay, everyone, excellent job,” Mrs. Porth said. “Now, everyone grab your step and place it in front of you. Remember that you can adjust it to whatever height is most comfortable for you.”

Mrs. Porth had the highest setting.

A moment later, Jake groaned. “Shit, you didn’t tell me it would be this hard.”

“What did you expect?” Colton snorted. “This is the Jazzercise generation. They’ve been kicking asses in leotards since the dawn of MTV.”

“So what time is the meeting with the label?” Noah grunted.

“Three.”

“You worried?”

Colton glanced over quickly. Did they suspect something? “No. Why would I be worried?”

Noah shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, just that you’ve never had a meeting like this since I’ve known you.”

“It’s just a formality,” he said, adopting the no big deal attitude he’d perfected at ten years old. No one wanted to see him worried. Or mad. Or anything other than the carefree, aw-shucks playboy who had sold millions of records around the world.

Because Colton Wheeler had one job, and one job only. To make other people happy.

Even if it killed him.





CHAPTER TWO


“Your honor, may I approach?”

Gretchen Winthrop fought to keep her tone neutral as she waited for the federal judge to respond to her request. Inside, however, she was raging. It never ended, the indignities that her clients were forced to suffer. The judge nodded and waved his fingers in an annoyed make it quick way, and both she and the attorney for the government left their respective tables. The judge looked down from his desk, hand over the microphone that recorded the deportation proceedings of the Memphis Immigration Court.