Page 170 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

I don’t entirely know what that means either, but I’m pretty sure this is a good first step—communicating about what we want and what we don’t want.

“I’m good with that,” I say.

He gets up, offers me a hand. Taking it, I stand, lifting my brow. “Let’s wash the cover,” he says, answering my silent question.

“Yessss. Laundry is so sexy,” I say.

“When you and I do it, absolutely. And you better put a laundry scene in your book.”

It’s a clear order, but I don’t want to wind up in a hot mess of misunderstandings like the last time, so I need a little clarity. “So, let me get this straight. I can use you as inspiration for my story, from your high-heat washer/dryer to the high heat of?—”

“—the way we fuck?”

Whoa. I’m an inferno again. “I was going to say how we are in the bedroom, but I prefer your word choice.”

“Then take it. Use it in the scene you write tomorrow,” he says, a little smug. Maybe he has reason to be.

But just so I’m sure where he stands, I say, “And that’s not my books coming between us?”

Jude tugs on the waistband of my boxer briefs with a lift of his brow. “No. Especially since you still owe me a big-cocked Jude in one of your stories,” he says, then squeezes my dick before he heads down the hall.

I smile privately as I watch him.

The dryer rumbles softly in the hallway as Jude yanks open the linen closet next to it. Tapping his chin, he studies the options on the shelves, from a sapphire blanket to an emerald one to a ruby red fleece. He selects the last one, tosses it on the bed, then spins around and grabs another from the closet. Once he’s draped the sapphire blanket on the bed too, he flicks off the light then slides under both.

I join him under the fleece, fingering the red fabric. “So, I’ve gotta ask something. How many blankets do you have?”

“It’s March,” he says, faux defensively.

“That’s not the question.”

“Not enough.”

I crack up. “There are stores to fix that problem for you.”

“Thanks. I had no idea.”

“See? I’m helpful like that,” I say, darting a hand under the blanket to squeeze his waist.

“Are you trying to finagle a blanket-shopping date? I can see it now,” Jude says, then spreads his arms out wide like he’s lighting up a movie marquee.

I can see it too.

Holy shit.

I can see it so clearly. Maybe in a Bed Bath & Beyond, a Target, a T.J. Maxx. One guy teasing the other. They’re flirting, but they won’t give in. Theycan’tgive in. That’s one of the rules of fake dating your ex.

Jude laughs, moonlight streaking across his handsome face, sounding incredibly content. “Slade would be all over a blanket-shopping date.”

Maybe my characters will too.

Maybe that’s part of the hero’s recurring dirty daydreams.

“Yeah, he definitely would,” I say with a smile, filing this conversation away in a drawer I’ll open very, very soon.

With a big, hearty yawn, Jude stretches, then glances at my discarded shirt on the floor. The one covered in the cartoon mushrooms. “All right. I have to know. Why mushrooms?”

This is easy to share. “Maybe because I have good memories of the last time I wore that shirt. I had it on when I saw my brother in the fall in San Francisco. His team had lost in the playoffs, and he didn’t want to deal with random fan sympathy, so we switched shirts in a Lyft on our way to dinner. He’d grown out his beard so I pretended to be him when we went out to grab burgers.”

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