Page 222 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Is he joking?

I laugh humorlessly.

He smiles simperingly.

Ohhh.

He’s serious.

He truly thinks Imightwork with him again.

Wow. That’s taking ballsy to a whole new level. Ballsy and shameless, as he attempts to hitch a coattail ride.

And just like that, I do know what to make of him.

Little.

He’s just someone I used to work with, nothing more. I don’t need people like him in my life. People who hurt me. Harry doesn’t deserve another second of my time or thoughts. “No. I’m not interested in signing with you. Goodnight.”

I pop in my earbuds and walk on, replaying that moment to share it all with TJ when I call him from the hotel. Then the Ellie bit. And Slade’s ridiculous rules. I want to tell TJ everything and then make plans to go people-watching with Ellie and him in New York. I want him to be a part of my new world there, just as he’s invited me into his big and wonderful one, with all his friends.

I bound up the steps to my hotel room, mobile in hand, ready to hit his name the second the door shuts behind me. But it rings and rings.

When I reach his voicemail, I’m more disappointed than I’ve ever been to hear a recording.

I hang up, lonely. So damn lonely. I miss him more than I could ever expect. I should get used to being apart from him. My job is nomadic. But it’s like I left something behind that I desperately need.

Him.

I flop onto my bed, take a selfie, then pop the image of a rumpled, tired, half-undressed me in a draft, typing the words.If you were here, you’d rip this shirt off me, right?

But that’s not what I want to say to him.

I delete the sexy note and begin again.Wish you were here.

That’s closer, but it still only scratches the surface.

32

DEFINITELY LIAM

TJ

On Thursday morning, I walk along the promenade in Santa Monica and duck into a coffee shop.

I’ve got a final meeting with Webflix in an hour to go over my revisions. I’m this close to cracking the code on the script. But I’m still unsettled about something.

I order a coffee, and while the barista measures the beans, I stare out the window of the shop, contemplating my fictional heroes. Is the unease about them?

The script problem was, frankly, easy to diagnose. The adaptation veered too far from the book. In my revision, I went back to the basics of the story itself—the dialogue on the pages of the novel.

Still, a couple of details about the heroes nag at me. Have I done enough with them in the adaptation?

I’m close, but not quite there.

Sort of like . . . my situation with Jude.

Theoretically, I should feel better about my romantic life after we made it official between us Sunday morning in LasVegas. Plus, we’ve been texting all week. I click on our texts, re-reading some of them, like his:Wish you were here.

---