Page 138 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Before I can say no, or maybe yes, since I’monlyseeing Jude tonight for work, the owner of Two Bits on Madison Avenue raises a hand to silence me. “Nope. I was reading your energy all wrong. Let me try again.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got all evening for you to figure it out.” There’s no way he’ll guess the truth—you have a fake date with the only guy you ever loved, and you were right to be jealous about the rock star after all.

I introduced my former barista to Jude. Serves me right—William pretty much warned me back in London that he crushes hard.

You win, William. You got the guy who got away from me.

Except, I let Jude go. I couldn’t handle any more of his particular brand of devastation. I couldn’t even pick up thephone when he called a few days after I left Los Angeles because I knew I’d cave if I heard his voice.

But I have to go through the motions tonight. I doubt Mason’s right. I don’t think fake-dating Jude will inspire me whatsoever. But maybe theactof dating and all the assorted prep for it will unlock some ideas.

Hence, the haircut. Aspen is a wizard with scissors. As Astronaut Food’s newest tune plays in his upscale shop, I wait for him to guess again. “You’re finally going to ask me out, and you want to look your finest,” he says, gesturing to his frame. A fun and handsome Black man, with arty tattoos of flowers curling around his arms, and clothes plucked straight from the designer racks, Aspen is not short on dates.

I laugh. “Somehow I think that whoever your new boyfriend is would take issue with that.”

“Oh, hush. I’ve only been seeing Tommy for one week. Who the hell knows? But he’d take pride in it,” Aspen says with a wink.

“As well he should,” I say.

“Let me try one more time to read you.” He draws a big breath. Then smiles victoriously. “You’re desperately in need of an emergency cut for the one reason every client desperately needs one. You have a hot date tonight.”

I roll my eyes, about to sayno way.

Except, fuck.

I do need to say I have a hot date tonight. I need to be all giddy and excited, as per Slade’s orders to sell this fake romance to, well, everyone in the world. Including my barber since he’s not in the vault. The vault has maybe four or five people in it—my agent, Jude’s agent, Slade the publicist, and my friend Hazel, who pretty much knows everything since we have the same type of brain.

Overactive writer brain.

Aspen taps his toe. “Sooooo. Is it a hot date, Hardman?”

I meet his gaze in the mirror, plaster on a smile, and prepare to lie when the door swings open with a loud clang.

“You will not believe this!”

Saved by Hazel.

The redheaded Tasmanian devil marches to Aspen’s station, brandishing her phone, red clouds of Internet rage surrounding her.

This isn’t my first time at the someone-online-irritated-Hazel rodeo. “Ten bucks says some jackass pissed you off on Twitter?”

She thrusts an arm skyward. “Close! Instagram! And I officially have a new nemesis.”

Aspen smacks my shoulder. “Move it, TJ. Hazel sounds like she has better tea.” He pats the arm of the chair and bats his lashes at my friend. “Let me do your hair first, honey.”

“Seriously? I have to be at this restaurant thing in an hour and a half,” I say to them.

Aspen scoffs. “As if I can’t do your whole beauty routine in thirty minutes, handsome. And to answer your question... yes, seriously. Hazel’s up first. I love gossip. It replenishes all my electrolytes.”

I get out of the fancy leather chair with a huff and snap off the smock. “Regale us with the tale of your new enemy, Hazel.”

Like a queen, she takes the seat and lifts her face to Aspen. “Thank you. Just the usual trim. But make me look pretty.”

“As if I’d do anything else. Now, give us the deets,” he says as he grabs my smock and puts it on my romance writer friend.

“Malcolm Mann,” she seethes.

Aspen makes anewface. “Malcolm Mann as inTheMan’s Man?”

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