Vlad lowered his arms and stood still as Colton went down the row of black buttons of the coat and then refastened the belt. He stepped back and nodded. “Perfect. Go look.”
Vlad patted his midsection and walked to a full-length mirror. “Yes. Much better.”
“Good. Now, let’s hear it,” Colton said. “We know you’ve been practicing.”
Vlad turned around, put his hands on his stomach, and bellowed out a perfect “Ho ho ho.”
The guys clapped and cheered, so Vlad did it again.
“You got this, man,” Noah said. “You’re going to be great.”
“Okay, so let’s review the plan,” Colton said. “Yan will stay up here to help put all the presents in Vlad’s sack—”
“Vlad’s sack,” Mack snorted. Del smacked him on the back of the head.
“And the rest of us will go downstairs and round up the kids,” Colton finished.
“How do I know when to come down?” Vlad asked.
“When you hear me playing ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.’？”
Colton started for the door, but Mack grabbed his arm. “Hold up.”
Colton spun back around. “What?”
“You can’t go down like that.” Mack reached up and messed around with his hair.
Colton swatted his hand away. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing you up.”
“You made it worse,” Noah said. He came over then and rubbed his hand over Colton’s hair. He winced. “Okay, I made it worse.”
Colton ducked down to see his reflection in the glass of a picture frame on the wall. His hair stood on end in front as if he’d stuck a fork in an outlet. “What the fuck?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Noah said. “She’s not going to leave you for Cheese Man because of your hair.”
“She might.” Malcolm winced. “Someone get him a comb.”
Yan whipped one out of his back pocket. Everyone grew silent and stared at him. Yan shrugged. “You never know when you will have a hair emergency.”
“I didn’t have a hair emergency until you dumb fucks started messing with it.” Colton took the comb, ducked down again, and started straightening his hair to something a little less just went skydiving.
“Good enough,” Mack said, grabbing the comb from his hands.
Noah gave him a thumbs-up. “You look good.”
“You’re gorgeous, brother,” Gavin said, patting his shoulder.
“Go impress your girl,” Del said.
“Look, you guys can’t make a big deal out of us being together, okay? Just be cool.”
“When are we ever not cool?” Mack asked.
“Every fucking day since I’ve known you.” Colton turned once again to leave, but again, he was stopped. This time by Malcolm.
“She’s here for a reason, Colton.”
“At the party?”
“In Nashville.”
Frustration laced his voice with impatience. “What’s your point?”
“That maybe she doesn’t want to run away. Maybe she just wishes someone would ask her to stay.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Hypnotic, isn’t it?”
Gretchen barely heard Liv’s voice. She was in a trance. A cheese coma. All thanks to the man standing on the other side of the island in Vlad’s kitchen. They said his name was Roman, and he was the elusive Cheese Man she’d heard so much about. But the moniker was wholly inadequate for the leather-clad seducer standing before her. He was the God of Gouda, the Prince of Provolone, the Captain of Curd.
And right now, he was holding a slice of Havarti close to her lips. An invisible force propelled her forward in her chair, lips parted.
“I promise,” Roman murmured in a voice that turned her insides to the consistency of fondue, “that you will never know such pleasure as this.”
“Down, boy,” Liv said sarcastically. “Don’t you know she’s officially off the market?”
The Havarti hit a dry spot in Gretchen’s throat, and she nearly choked. From the moment Liv dragged her in with a shriek that could’ve interfered with air traffic control, Gretchen had been doing everything possible to avoid questions about her and Colton. Secrecy about her private life was a habit at this point. It was hard to open up to people when you’d been on guard your entire life to ensure that no one ever got to know the real you.
She choked again, this time on self-awareness.
Food. She obviously needed more food.