Page 100 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

“You’re right,” he says slowly after a beat, linking our fingers. “Sorry. I was an arse.”

I point at him with my free hand. “You said arse.”

He laughs. Finally, he laughs. “I did it for you. I’m not annoyed with you, TJ. I get annoyed with myself sometimes. Over...thingsI’ve done,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate on those things. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

I squeeze his hand harder. “It’s all good. But please know this—I do understand you. I like to think I always have.”

Jude squeezes back. “You have. I was a dick to get annoyed.”

I wag a finger at him. “Dick is a good four-letter word. It’s not like carb.” The waitress swings by with the pot of coffee, offering a refill.

I say yes, and when she leaves, Jude points to the cup. “Seconds at a café? I figured you’d turn up your nose. Have you given up your coffee snobbery?”

“Fuck no.” I shake my head. “The coffee’s horrid, but I like to punish myself with bad coffee.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “Nothing, nothing in the whole world, could be more you than that.”

“You get me,” I say.

“I do.”

We both laugh, and this direction feels so much better. Still, I have one more thing to say on the prior topic. “Just know you don’t have to compare yourself to me or anyone else. You’re you. And comparison is the thief of joy.”

“Is that from one of your books?”

“Please,” I scoff. “It’s from a mug or a pillow or a fucking Instagram post. But originally, it’s from Teddy Roosevelt. Point is, you’re going to keep chasing your dreams. You’re going to land job after job. You said you have meetings while you’re here, right?”

His blue eyes twinkle. “I do. Holly set up a number of them. One with a network about a show. Another with a studio. Then there’s one on Friday about a possible streaming opportunity.”

“Yeah?” I ask, already excited for him.

He crosses his fingers. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but they’ve been talking about maybe developing a show around me, and the best part is that it’s got some ofmein it. It’s a queer romance. Supposedly, they’re talking to Christian Laird too. Not for the same part, though, since he’s American of course. But I’d love to work with him.”

I keep my mouth shut about my publisher going after the same guy. This is Jude’s moment, not mine to humble brag about a slim-to-nil chance of himrecording my books. “That’s perfect. I’m telling you, queer romance isthething.”

“That’s whatThe Hollywood Scoopsaid in an article the other week, and I say it’s about time. What took Hollywood so long to figure out there’s nothing better?”

I shrug,what givesstyle. “No idea, but I’m glad they did, because I love it. And it gets me hot.”

Jude leans a little closer, whispers in his most seductive voice. “Tell me more about why it’s so damn sexy.”

“How about I show you later?” I tease, then slide a hand under the table and squeeze his thigh.

“You better show me tonight after the show.”

I’m tempted to bring up something I want to do in the bedroom. But now isn’t the time after that minor disagreement. I’ll wait till the mood seems right. I’m patient like that. “I will, Jude Fox.”

“Speaking of names, TJ Hardman, where did you come up with that perfect pen name?”

He truly doesn’t know? Oh, this will be fun. This may jolt him further out of his funk. “At first, I considered TJ Cummings,but then you have to get into the whole is it c-u-m or c-o-m-e debate.”

“Is this like the whole ass/arse debate we had before?”

“Oh, it’s bigger, Jude. So much bigger.”

“Gee, I wonder if I can figure out which one’s right in your world,” he deadpans, then stares. “I know the answer. I’ve read your books.”

I snap my fingers, playing along. “Dammit.”

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