Page 18 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

And in walks the American I planned to shag.

7

THE CONSOLATION PRIZE

TJ

I’m a ponderer.

Every spare minute I’m asking myself questions.

Like right now.

Did I hallucinate or time travel to eight-thirty tonight when I hoped to bring Jude back to my place and have my wicked way with him?

Because... why the hell is he sitting on my couch?

“Hi, Jude?” It’s a question. Or really, it’s a slew of questions that all spill out at once. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my flat? Aren’t we meeting later? How did you get a key?”

Behind all those questions is the mother of them all, sitting leaden in my gut. I wish it were the dreadful coffee and not the feeling that I know the answer already to this question.

Are you the queer-friendly non-smoker I’m living with for the next year? Because I never got your name, and please, please, please tell me this is a giant mix-up or maybe a hilarious practical joke we’ll laugh about later.

“I’m here because this is the flat I’m sharing with... someone named Terry?” Jude sounds as if the floor just fell out from under him too.

I groan and rub my face with my free hand, still standing on the threshold. “24News used my real name with the flatshare?”

“Seems they did.” Jude hasn’t moved either. He’s still spread out on the couch, one arm casually draped over the cushion, looking too fucking good to be my roommate.

Stepping inside, I shut the door and face the inevitable. “So, you’re definitely...?”

I can’t even finish.

“Your new roommate?” Jude asks, going up at the end like maybe, possibly, this could be a case of mistaken identity.

“Do you think maybe there’s a misunderstanding? Like maybe it was another flat in this building?” I offer.

“That could be it,” Jude says, hopeful, then he grabs his phone from his pocket.

I set down my coffee and do the same, swiping to the email from 24News. I read off the address.

So does Jude.

This building.

And at the same time, we both say, “Flat 5E.”

I open the door and check the number, just to be certain. This is undoubtedly 5E, and we both have keys that work. Ergo...

Jude slumps into the couch. I slump against the wall.

“The universe is fucking with me.” I wince at my word choice; it seems insult to injury when my forecast has plummeted to zero percent chance of boning.

“I’m not fucking with you, Terry.” He grimaces and I’m guessing his boning app has the same grim prediction. “I’ve been living an hour away, trying to get a place in the city for a long time. This came through from the flatshare service, and it’s a total steal. I need this apartment.” He sounds a touch desperate.

It dawns on me that maybe he’s worried I’ll bail and he’ll have to pay the freight until the flatshare service finds someone else. I don’t know how these situations work—24News handled the lease and is covering my rent.

Which is why I can’t move out. I don’t want to rock the boat at work, especially not when I’m just twenty-three and building momentum up the ladder. “My company rented this for me,” I say to Jude. “I can’t tell them I was going to...”

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