Page 74 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

“Yes! That’s how you do it, Ashford!”

My buddy Nolan shakes his head, laughing lightly. “TJ, you are playing with fire.”

I know, and I don’t care. I’m at the New York Comets Bronx ballpark, and I’m rooting for the enemy, and I’m good with that. I’ve got on a Cougars jersey and a ball cap too. Take that, home team. “It’s just a game,” I tell Nolan.

“And fifty thousand Comets fans are sooo rational,” my friend mutters.

But I’m not rational right now either. How could I be? My brother is pitching at the bottom of the ninth. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Strike ’em out, bro.”

“How ’bout we kick you out?” the New Yorker behind me suggests.

“That won’t be necessary when my brother closes this game,” I say because trash talk doesn’t scare me.

Besides, this game is my brass ring. I’ve been counting down to it since I flew across an ocean thirty days ago.

This is the goalpost I wanted to reach.

It’s the one-month post-London mark.

The first few days back were the hardest. I met up with some of my college friends. They all asked about London. I didn’t mention the guy who captured my heart and mind.

Once I put Jude out there for my friends to analyze, someone will tell me to call him, text him, or worse, FaceTime him.

And I might be tempted.

More than I am already. At some point each day, my fingers hover over his name on my phone.

But I haven’t caved. I won’t cave to the Comets fans either. Rooting for the enemy in the home team’s ballpark is my little act of defiance, and it makes me feel good.

Three batters later, my brother strikes out the side. “The Last Chance Train is pulling out of the station,” I shout, jumping to my feet, punching the air.

“Yo, Bozo. You want to take it outside the ballpark?” This offer comes from Mister New Yorker.

I spin around one more time, give the guy a sympathetic look. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m already seeing someone. I’m not interested.”

With a reined-in laugh, Nolan grabs my shoulder. “Dude, I fucking missed you. It is good to have you back.”

“I’m glad to be of service as your entertainment,” I say.

We meet up with Chance and grab some post-game burgers and fries in Manhattan.

It’s the first time I’ve seen my brother since I returned to New York. That'll be good—another few hours where I don’t have to think of Jude. We can talk about baseball and other shit.

Chance sweeps a fry through his ketchup, then brandishes it. “Tell the truth. Fries are better than chips, aren’t they?”

Spoke too soon. I’m thinking of London again. “Of course, fries are better,” I say.

Chance peers closely at my shirt. “Are those cacti on your shirt? What happened to Save Ferris? No Name Band? Pinball Wizard?”

Nolan gestures grandly to me like he’s presenting me on a game show. “TJ went to London and got style.”

“Evidently. How the fuck did that happen?” Chance asks.

I grab a fry and chew, stealing time to think before I speak. This is the moment. I could tell both of them. I could reveal the biggest thing that’s happened to my twenty-three-year-old heart. Crack it wide open and serve it up to two guys I trust to the moon and back.

I could tell them, and they’d understand me completely.

But then, keeping things to myself got me through my parents’ divorce. Before then, it helped me navigate the shitstorm of middle school. Now, keeping Jude locked up will probably help me get past him sooner.

---