Page 212 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Dear book gods and goddesses—please let him use “Bloviators weigh more” in his novel. I will burst from delight.

“Anyway, so when I finish it, I want to get in good with book bloggers. What broke you out? I bet it was going viral. Was that breakup staged for TV? You and the chicken guy. You planned that wholejust love me for my chickenbit, right?”

Wow. I am speechless. I did not stage getting dumped on TV. “Nope. All real,” I say.

And all awful.

He gives me ac’monlook. “Just admit it. That stunt made your book soar. It was on TikTok and everything and you just took off,” he says, whistling like a rocket launching.

“It was not scripted.”

Malcolm winks. “Whatever you say. But dude. You’re so gonna do that with Jude, aren’t you? Have a nice public split to send your next book up the charts?”

My stomach twists in a sour knot. He’s hitting way too close to home. “No,” I bite out.

He wiggles his fingers, wanting more dirt. “Man to man. Just tell me. Because I’ll do it too. I will stage a split with my girl Belinda.”

This asshat has a girlfriend? I feel so sorry for Belinda. He snaps his fingers at a passing woman in a silver sequined dress, summoning her over.

“Hey there. What is it, MM?” she coos.

“You’ll break my heart on TikTok if it helps me sell my books, right, hon?”

“Course I will,” she says, then plants a loud kiss on his cheek. “You can even say I was using you for your money.”

“Perfect,” he says with an appreciative smile. “You’re so smart.”

She runs a lacquered nail down his arm. “Ooh! What if you play it up and say I ran off with another guy? Make me sound like a gold digger, MM.”

“Love the way you think,” he says, squeezing her butt. Then he looks at me, pleased. “She calls me MM. Makes me think of the candy.”

“Huh,” I deadpan. “MM does not make me think of candy.”

“TJ, maybe you need to bone up on your pop culture references,” he chuckles.

Yeah, I don’t think that’s the problem, pal.

Belinda gestures to the casino. “I’m going to play some more slots before the show.”

He hands her some dough, then she blows him a kiss and slinks off. He watches her go, then sighs contentedly. “Smart cookie. So many women are after us for our money, so everyone will buy that breakup line. Just like that dude iced you because you were too popular. So, I just need to stage a breakup like you did and I’m in the romance club?”

This guy takes callous to a new level.

And he’s not worth my time. I push back from the stool, grab some bills from my wallet, and toss them on the counter. I’m tired of his bloviating. I’m tired of his sexism. I’m tired of his veiled homophobia. “Malcolm, I appreciate your interest in the romance genre. But I didn’t stage a breakup with Flynn to sell books. It happened and it was embarrassing. You want a silver bullet for success? Here it is. Write a good book. Make your readers feel. Give them some conflict, some heart, some emotion. And maybe consider a new tagline becausestraight-up romance with a man’s touchmakes you sound like both a sexist and a homophobe.” I take a big breath as if ten tons lighter. Guess I needed to get that off my chest. “Enjoy the show.”

I leave the bar feeling better, thanks to giving Malcolm a piece of my mind, and worse, courtesy of the news that my Webflix project needs a lifeboat.

28

WELCOME TO THE CLUB

TJ

Jude says I deserve blow jobs for life. He tells me so after I recap the scene with “MM” while we wait for the concert outside The Extravagant theater. An alcove near the entrance affords us some privacy as the crowd streams into the venue.

“I mean it,” Jude says, utterly delighted with my Malcolm report. “You have earned a lifetime of BJs by calling out the ultimate jackass. How did that feel, stud?”

Giving Malcolm some real talk was fantastic, I admit. “On a scale of one to your favorite carbs? This was chocolate biscuits level.”

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