Here Comes My Man (Hopelessly Bromantic Duet 2)

THE ICE AGE

Jude

This is the first time I’ve seen TJ since the argument, but it isn’t the first time I’ve tried.

A few days after he hit the road like an ex in a country song, my best friend, Olivia, arrived in Los Angeles from London for a voiceover job. Grateful to see a friendly face, I hugged her for ages on the porch of the Airbnb seconds after a Lyft dropped her off.

“You’re here for one reason,” I told her. “To make my life bearable again.”

“Dramatic much?”

“Dramatic always.” I sighed, letting all the air leak out of me, weighed down by sadness. I dropped my head onto her shoulder. “But with such a good reason. TJ broke it off.”

“Talk to me,” she said.

That evening as we walked along the surf, I gave her chapter and verse of what happened, how I woke up to a piece in the trades reporting that TJ had sold his book rights. How right after that, I learned from Holly that Webflix had tabled a queer romance with me in favor of TJ’s book. How TJ told me he’d done the deal while he was visiting me in LA and how it all reeked of him using me.

“You fucking idiot. You absolutely massive, incredibly ridiculous idiot,” Olivia said, verbally thumping me on the head.

But was I that ridiculous? The evidence added up, after all. “Doesn’t it seem like he came out here for work, though? He was busy wheeling and dealing with Webflix at the same time he was romancing me. And then when we talked about it, he said I wasn’t what he wanted. Translation: A relationship with me wasn’t worth the effort.”

She smacked my shoulder. “It doesn’t sound like you talked, Jude. Sounds like you fought.”

I bristled. But then I peeked at the painful memories of our fight and my role instigating it. I grimaced, realizing her assessment was starkly accurate. “Yes, well, it was intense.”

“Exactly my point. You both have intense feelings for each other.”

“Had,” I corrected.

“Have and had. As in, I saw the way he looked at you in London.”

“I know we have chemistry. Chemistry isn’t the point.”

“I’m not talking about chemistry, you wanker. When you two were in London, you were all he wanted. He looked at you like he was crazy for you. Like he was more than infatuated.”

Those days and nights in London felt like magic, like we were the only two people in the city. “Fine, so we were into each other in London,” I grumbled.

“So into each other that you reached out to him seven years later and asked him to come to see you, and he said yes straightaway. He got on a plane. He got a hotel. He brought blueberries to your show. And now you honestly think this man who was utterly mad about you once upon a time simply flew across the country to both shag you and sniff out work-related deals to steal from you?”

Well, it seemed that way at the time. But when she put it like that . . .

Perhaps I’d overreacted.

“I sort of did think that,” I said sheepishly.

“First, some tough love. TJ doesn’t have to steal opportunities. His newest book is a fucking number-one bestseller. Everyone wants a piece of it. Just accept that and be as happy for him as he is for you. Two, he was crazy for you in London, then he jumped at the chance to see you in LA. Ergo, you’re a fucking idiot.”

Maybe I was. Maybe TJ had touched a very sore spot, and I’d jumped to conclusions. “I will never need therapy as long as I have you.”

She laughed. “It goes both ways.”

But there was one little issue that nagged at me. “Except his last words to me were awful. He said this isn’t what I came to LA for.”

She dealt me a sharp stare. “Did you invite him to Los Angeles to fight with him?”

“No,” I muttered.

She draped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder. “Then, don’t you think he was as hurt as you were?”

She had a point, but I’d felt so foolish the morning we fought. Seeing that Hollywood Scoop article, learning about how he met the exec at my play, reading the news in the trades rather than hearing it from him. All of that stung like ten thousand jellyfish stings.

Olivia was persistent. When we met Holly for martinis that night, Olivia straight up asked my agent if she thought that TJ’s agent had stolen the deal out from under me. Olivia didn’t mention TJ and I had been involved.

I was on the edge of the barstool, eager for Holly’s take since she knew the players.

Holly tutted, then said, “From what I’ve been able to glean, this deal was simply one of those whirlwind romances. No one planned it. No one was sneaking around. It was bloody kismet, and that happens. Webflix wanted TJ’s book, plain and simple. That was the prize, and when a company that big wants something, it gets it.”

Olivia turned to me, a satisfied look in her eyes. “There you go.”

The women in my life knocked sense into me over gin and olives. I’d been outrageous. I’d been hurt. I’d been completely insecure.

On the one hand, I felt better. I hadn’t been used. But on the other hand, I felt nauseated. I’d completely fucked up. I was desperate to leave the bar and try to salvage things. The second I walked into the cottage in Venice, I grabbed my phone, clicked on TJ’s name, and called.

Silently, I begged for him to pick up.

He declined the call on the third ring. I texted him too, asking if he could talk.

Like a dog waiting at the door, I stared at my phone for what felt like days, my stomach twisting with each passing hour.

No reply came. He froze me out.

Seems I was right, and Olivia was wrong. He came for sex and got it, and then when the going got tough, he was gone.

For the second time in my life, I deleted his number.

When fate split us apart in London, I knew two things—I was crazy for him, and I missed him desperately.

This time around, I knew something else: I tried, and he didn’t.

* * *

Now, we’re in the CTM conference room with our agents and crisis management, and I know one more thing. The ice age is still on.

TJ’s arctic.

The intros fly so fast, I barely have a second to rehearse what I’ll say once we’re alone or to register details beyond the fact that his hair’s a little longer, his beard is a touch thicker, and his arms have officially reached throw-a-man-down-on-the-bed levels.

But I’m not going to joke that he’s probably the only writer who has tickets to the gun show. That’s too personal. Too friendly. Too who we used to be.

I have to be someone else with him. When Holly introduces me, I offer my hand to shake as if meeting for the first time.

“I’d always hoped to land a part in a bring-a-nice-guy-home-for-the-holiday rom-com, so this’ll be fun, TJ,” I say, flashing my best smile his way, so he won’t know how much this ruse stings.

He blinks, a good sign I’ve surprised him. Brilliant. I’d like to keep him off-balance. But he recovers quickly, his eyes icy again. “And just think, now I’ll have first-hand experience I can use to write a fake romance,” he says.

Ouch. That’s a low blow.

But he still doesn’t let go of my hand. He lingers in the handshake. I glance at his fingers, which have mapped my entire body.

Inconveniently, my skin heats up from the memories.

I let go, dropping his palm. It’s good for me to be the one ending things, even a handshake. “Ah, I thought you’d done it before. My bad,” I say.

“But there’s a first time for everything,” he says bitterly.

Holly clears her throat. “And there’s a time, too, to get everything sorted. That time is now, gentlemen.” She nods to the door. “Mason and I will go fetch Slade.”

Once our agents leave, it’s just TJ and me in the sleek meeting room outfitted with a pair of long blue couches and a table. I wish I weren’t still attracted to TJ. Being alone with him feels like a cruel sort of joke.

I peer around the open door. Hopefully, Slade moves at superhero speed.

Maybe I should make fake conversation about TJ’s books as we wait. But right when I’m about to ask how his writing is going, he cuts straight through the silence. “So, you and William are—”

Fuck that. I don’t want to suffer through the third degree about William when I’m innocent. “So what did you do wrong to get yourself tossed into fake boyfriend jail?”

TJ simply stares at me, those brown eyes full of . . . is it hate or disgust? Hard to say, but there might also be a touch of you’re a fucking dick, Jude, and not the good kind.

“What did I do wrong?” He repeats the question, tapping his chest. “Hasn’t that always been the question?”

Then you should have picked up the phone when I tried to call you. You should have answered my text.

But I’m not going to hash out the past. I shrug off his I’m-so-innocent comment. “Actually, TJ, I don’t really need to know what trouble you’re in,” I say breezily, even though I’m dying to know why he needs a fake date.

“This wasn’t my idea,” he seethes.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t mine,” I volley.

“That much is clear,” he mutters as I head toward a couch.

A flash of anger whips through me. I wheel around. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t even let the body get . . .” He shakes his head like he’s pissed at himself for saying that much.

“Cold, TJ? I don’t let the body get cold?”

“Forget I said anything,” he says.

There was nothing cold about the way I felt for this man back then. My emotions were fire. But that’s another thing I’ll keep to myself. “You don’t believe everything you read in the press, do you?” I ask, saccharinely sweet.

He tilts his head and gives an innocent, closed-mouth smile. “No, Jude. That’s your style, to believe everything you read.”

Touché.

Before we can hurl more barbs, the door swings open. In walks a tall, elegant man in a tailored shirt and crisp trousers. A skull earring shines in one ear, matching a gleaming ring on his index finger. He's a curious mix of stylish and edgy with fair skin and a Celtic tattoo on his hand. His brown eyes sail from TJ to me like he’s taking our temp.

TJ stands with his arms tightly crossed. At the opposite end of the couch, I’m squared off with my hands on my hips.

The temperature is sub-zero. But the newcomer seems determined to warm us up.

I hope he has enough space heaters to fill a city block.