Page 143 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

8

BLOWING IT

TJ

The restaurant is packed now. A Grammy-winning singer chats with a reporter at the bar, a TV actor poses for photos, and a YouTube star shoots a video.

Jude grabs my hand, speaks softly. “Plenty of press over there by the bar. We’ll keep it simple. We can’t act like we’re kissing for the camera. So we’ll stop in a few seconds before we reach the bar, and we’ll kiss.”

My heart jackhammers inconveniently at the last word. I still want to kiss those lips. I hate wanting him. I’m embarrassed that after all this time, he turns me on.

But he does. So damn much.

Which means the only way to handle tonight is to take back control. I tug on his hand and stop his pace. I close the distance, and in the middle of the restaurant, I press a kiss on his cheek.

The first night in London, when Jude and I went out, I kissed his cheek, and it’s as enticing now as it was back then. I linger on his skin, savoring the way he tastes and smells. He sighs gently, a sexy sound that thrums through me.

“Did we sell that?” I murmur just for him.

“Not at all,” he breathes, all low and sensual.

“You want me to do a better job?” I tease.

“I don’t know if you can,” he taunts.

It is on.

I lift a hand, hold his cheek, turn his face, and drop my lips to the corner of his. I give Jude Fox a trace of a kiss.

It’s magic once again.

When I let go, his eyes glimmer. His breath shudders. Maybe he’s acting like he’s into the kiss, but the flush on his face looks all-too-real. Makes me want another kiss.

“Sold now?” I ask, voice rough from the contact.

“And for a very good price,” he murmurs, then glances around the restaurant. All the bloggers and photographers are otherwise occupied. They missed our charade.

Jude blows out an annoyed breath. “Well, that was much ado about nothing,” he says.

Does that mean we need to try again? I’m game but wary too. The more we fake kiss, the more I’ll think it’s real. “Should we hit the bar?”

He scans the crowd once more—a little lost in thought. “I guess if we keep it up, it might look like we’re acting.”

“Drinks it is,” I say, and at least we’re on the same page about liquor. That’s gotta count for something.

Once we grab stools at the end of the counter, he asks if I want an old-fashioned.

“I do,” I say.

And if I were writing this scene, that’d be a sign—the ex remembering the other guy’s drink order. But really, this just means Jude has a good memory.

But so do I. “And for you? Beer? Champagne or Negroni?” I rattle off his three favorites.

“Show off,” he says, rolling his eyes. He’s playful this time, though, not annoyed. I like that better. Maybe we can try to get along.

“I’ll have a Negroni,” he says.

I order, and as we wait, I meet his gaze. We both have a lot riding on this ruse, so I start over. “I’ll do a better job.”

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