Page 180 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Slade practically squeals. “See? That’s what I’m talking about. This whole FoxMan vibe is gold. And I’m going to sell this gold for a fat profit.” He explains he’s sending us on a little trip to visit three cities—Las Vegas, Paris, and London. And we leave on Thursday to attend a charity concert this weekend in the city of sin. “Think you can swing it? TJ, you can write as you travel, right?”

Of course Ican.

But this idea is wildly dangerous. Talk about from the frying pan into the fire. Jude and I agreed this thing between us is difficult, so I’m sure that forcing the two of us to not only fake a romance for the cameras but to fake it while sharing a plane, train, automobile, and, oh, hotel room is like jumping from a stroller to a speedboat.

But I also doubt we have a choice. “Have laptop. Will write,” I say, answering the latter question, but not the former.

Can we pull off the fake boyfriend game without combusting? It’s anyone’s guess.

“Jude?” Slade asks. “Your schedule is clear, I trust? Especially since you’ve already got the London press junket on your schedule, and we’ll just squeeze in a day at a film festival in Paris. No hardship, I presume?”

“Absolutely. Everything sounds grand,” he answers eagerly, the rising star happy to please. But I can’t tell if he’s actually worried about the real risks of all this sardining or if he’s just excited we’re finally clicking for the cameras.

Slade looks at his watch. “All right. I’ll send you deets. Right now, I’m gonna jet. I have a date with a lovely lady. I’m going to have the driver drop me off at a trend-ay new sushi joint.”

My mind snags on one word he just said. “You have a date with a woman?”

Slade’s eyes bug out. “That surprises you?”

“I thought...” But I shut up. I shouldn’t make assumptions about his orientation.

“You thought I was gay because of the comment I made about the sexy guys on the Leopards and because of the hot piece of man I took to the theater?”

I feel a little foolish now for assuming. I should know better. “I did,” I say quietly.

“Not a bad guess, but guess again. I float down the pansexual river, and it’s glorious to ride,” he says as the car stops, then he scoots out of the backseat, patting the open door. “Feel free to take my wheels all the way to Jude’s place right now.”

I only have to guess once as to his meaning—he wants us to keep up the appearance of banging.

And banging is the kind of sardining risk I’m more than willing to take.

Jude scratches his jaw, all casual and cool. “You know, TJ, the man has some good ideas.”

Twenty minutes later, I am definitely all talked out.

Good thing I have other uses for my mouth.

We’re in his bedroom, and Jude’s still in his jeans, but his shirt is off. I lick my way down his chest when I get the bright idea to scrape at his nipples with my teeth. See if he likes it a little rough.

The answer? He curls his hands tight around my skull, fingers threading into my hair. “Yes, harder,” he urges.

Pretty sure that’s new. Jude’s interest in teeth. Since I don’t fuck around with his orders, I bite down on a nipple.

With a carnal groan, his hips shoot up. His hard-on rubs against my pecs giving me a very clear sense of how much he likes teeth. But I’m eager to know something. “Have you always been into nipple play?”

“Shut up and do it again,” he tells me.

I obey as I lick my way over to his other nipple, swirling my tongue along the tan disc then nipping.

“Unghhh,” he grunts.

I want to ask if he liked it this much the last time we were together. Except... I don’t think I’ve ever done this to him with so much intent.

When did he discover his biting kink? Who helped him?

I kick away those jealous thoughts as I climb up to him, kissing along his collarbone. I focus on making him lose his mind rather than analyzing every detail of how he’s acquired his likes and dislikes in bed.

I bite his shoulder.

---