Page 50 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Jude swings his gaze my way, looking at me with a whole new kind of smile. It’s dirty like he’s still thinking of me in that towel. But it’s also... private. Like he knows on some intrinsic level that I told Helen about him that first day because he enthralled me.

If he only knew I was so enthralled, a spark is sliding down my back from his smile. Yeah, it’s devastating, all right.

“We did find each other,” Jude says.

“I had a feeling you two lovebirds would,” she says, singsong.

“It’s not like that,” I put in quickly, needing to dispel that for my own sanity. Hell, for my hold on reality.

“Yeah, it’s not like that at all,” he echoes, quickly too.

“Why not?” she asks in disbelief.

Jude drapes an arm around her, then sighs heavily. “We live together. TJ’s my roomie,” he says, and that warning is for her, maybe, and possibly for me, but mostly I can tell it’s for him.

He’s underlining the roomie rules we need to follow.

Rules I will follow because I care deeply about his dreams.

Helen sighs, aggrieved. “I can’t listen to such rubbish.”

Jude kisses her cheek. “Gotta go, love. Doesn’t TJ look smashing in his new shirt?”

“He’s the scrummiest,” she says.

“I know,” Jude says with a note of pride.

We leave, and once we’re out on the street, I’m a little lost as to what’s next. I want to hug him. I want to congratulate him.But I also don’t want to fuck things up. Awkwardly, I offer a hand for him to shake.

He scoffs. “You want to shake my hand?”

“I’m congratulating you. I’m really fucking excited for you,” I explain.

“Then congratulate me properly.”

With a blow job, I say to myself. “With a hug?” I ask out loud.

“A hug and a beer and a dinner so fucking filling that it will take sex off my mind,” he says.

Cracking up, I step in for a hug. It’s thoroughly bro-dude style. A clap on the back. A pat on the shoulder. I do not linger.

I hope it takes sex off both our minds.

“Tell me everything about the gig,” I say when I let go.

We walk, and he launches into the details. The shoot starts next week. The show is running on a streaming service that’s gaining some traction. The actress is great. The director is too. “I’ll be busy every day for a couple of weeks. And every night at the bookshop. And the pay is seriously not bad. Also, they said our chemistry was electric.”

“Good,” I say, and I don’t push the topic. I don’t ask if it’s because he was thinking of me. I don’t have to ask because I know.

And knowing does something to my heart that I haven’t felt before. Not like this. Not this intensely. Or this deeply.

And definitely never this dangerously.

“So, this is a big break for you?” I ask, keeping the conversation only on work.

“It could be. I mean, it’s not like I was cast in an American TV show or a BBC one. Or on the West End or in a Hollywood film.”

I stop, put a hand on his arm. “Don’t put it down. Don’t compare it. It’s amazing in and of itself. This is a big deal, Jude.”

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