Here Comes My Man (Hopelessly Bromantic Duet 2)

PART TWO

After That Night

Do Good Things Come in Threes?

WALK OF SHAME

Jude

Yawning, I pad down the hall, running a hand through my bedhead and blinking as I take in a picture that’s almost too good to be true—TJ at work.

Sex doesn’t solve everything, but it’s a good start. So’s the sight of TJ on my couch, hunched over, tapping away on his phone.

“Are you . . .” I pause since I don’t want to break the spell, “. . . writing?”

TJ doesn’t even look away from the tiny device. “Yup.”

A grin lights me up from head to toe. “That’s better than chocolate biscuits.”

TJ drags his gaze away from the screen to shoot me a quick smile, then he returns to his device, fingers flying.

“Well, my work is done,” I say, practically strutting into the kitchen to put on the kettle. As it heats up, I steal some more glances at the man I was once in love with. He’s enrapt, and I love seeing that. But as he types feverishly, his fingers curl into claws. I don’t love that.

“TJ,” I say sternly.

He doesn’t notice.

I say his name louder. “TJ.”

He lifts his face. “Yeah?”

“Go home,” I say in the same tone I used to tell him to fuck me.

A line creases his brow. “Okay?”

“Go home and write on a computer,” I clarify, pointing adamantly at the door. “Your fingers are going to be all cramped up like Renoir’s at the end of his life. He had to strap his paintbrushes to his arthritic fingers. Do you want that?”

“I don’t paint, but point taken.”

“You’ll be a mess. Whatever this inspiration is, take it, clutch it, and go write on your laptop. Or you can borrow mine if you want. But you shouldn’t write on your mobile that much.” Perhaps I’m a bit of a mother hen, but he deserves it—pig-headed writer.

After setting down the phone, he cracks his knuckles, wincing. “I should get a hand rub with Coco.”

My head spins. “That sounds filthy. Do I want one too?”

“She’s my buddy Easton’s grandma. A total hoot. Once every few weeks, she gets mani-pedis, and the other guys get pedis, and I get a hand rub.”

That’s a lot of insight into TJ to process in one sitting. “I’m going to need a photo next time, of you and your salon club.”

“Noted.” He stands, stretches his neck from side to side. “I should go.”

“You should, Renoir.”

A few minutes later, he’s dressed and at the door, and I’m perking up with an English Breakfast. I survey him in his mushroom shirt and tousled hair. “You look like you’re doing the walk of shame.”

“Call Slade. Tell him to send the paps.”

It’s not a bad idea, but TJ needs to get on his way. No delays. I shake my head. “The book won’t write itself,” I say.

“I need to fix your laundry door still.”

I march over to the man, shove his shoulder, and push him out the door. “Another time.” I glance at the clock behind me in the kitchen. “I’ll expect a word-count report by close of business.”

“You sound like you’re playing the HMFIC at some big Fortune 500 company.”

“HMFIC?”

“Head Mother Fucker in Charge. Is that your role in the new LGO show?”

I laugh. “Nope. I’m playing Jamie, the cute guy in the building that the quirky gal has a crush on.”

“Of course. And of course he’s sweet too,” TJ says as he heads to the stairs.

Wait. Hold on. “Did I say he’s sweet?”

“His name is Jamie. The quirky gal digs him. I put two and two together.”

I shake my head, amused and a little amazed. “And don’t forget about the Man’s Man. I want every detail. Someday I will play a douche, and your intel will be excellent,” I tell him.

TJ salutes me. A minute later, he’s gone, and I don’t know when I’ll see him again.

As I drink my tea, I wander around my apartment, a little aimless. It’s weird that I’d feel this way. We cleared the air last night, so I should feel better than before.

And sure, technically, I do.

But I’m also still replaying our ending in LA, mulling over the things I said.

As I stare out the window, a cup of tea in hand, I don’t know if we’re starting something new or just writing a better ending for us.

* * *

Later that day, I hit pause on those unsettled feelings as I head to the LGO set of Unfinished Business since we start shooting in a few weeks. While there, I say hello to some of the cast and crew and immerse myself in work for a few hours. As we wrap up, I chat with Ellie Snow, my love interest on the show. Our first scene is a doggie daycare pooch mix-up. “For the record, I would never accidentally pick up the wrong dog if I took Gigi McDoodle to daycare,” she says, with a flick of her pink hair.

“Is Gigi your . . . chihuahua?” I ask, taking a stab at TJ’s name game.

Ellie gasps with excitement. “How did you know she’s a chihuahua?”

“Her name’s Gigi McDoodle,” I say, pleased.

“She’s a chihuahua mix, and she goes by both her names.”

“When you have two fabulous names, you should absolutely use both.”

Ellie pats my shoulder. “We’ll get along fine,” she says with a dimpled smile.

As the cast filters out, the showrunner pulls me aside to tell me she’ll send a revised script for the first episode. “Our head writer has a few rewrites for Jamie. Just a couple little tweaks here and there to amp up the conflict,” she says.

“Can’t wait to read the new script.”

“It’s going to be great.”

“More conflict is always a good thing,” I say.

In art, at least. In life, I’m not so sure.

Once I leave LGO, I head to Midtown to meet Holly for a drink at The Lucky Spot. We snag a private table away from the crowds. She orders a scotch then waggles her iPad at me. “Have you seen this piece today?”

The question is vague, but the upbeat tone is not. “Sounds like a good piece?” I ask hopefully.

“There’s a lovely Oscar recap in Establishing Shot.” A tease of a smile graces her lipsticked mouth as she reads, “And then there’s Jude Fox. He’s the dark horse of the awards season. But sometimes, these rising stars have the best luck. The big issue seems to be whether rumors of his personal life will cloud the judgment of the Academy. However, a representative says, ‘Jude Fox has been friends with William Halifax for several years and cares deeply for him as a friend.’ Fox is currently linked romantically to bestselling author TJ Hardman, and they were spotted last night at the opening of Adventures of The Last Single Guy in New York.”

When she puts the tablet down, she sighs in contentment.

“Wait. I’m confused. Was that good?” I point at the device. “That was such a blah ending. Romantically linked? That’s it? That’s all they’re saying?”

“Yes, and for now, it’s enough. It’s a shift.”

“That’s a shift? It sounded like they were casting aspersions with the whole mention of William as a friend.”

“Not at all. It’s a nice, neutral piece. They took the quote Slade gave them earlier in the week. Took it and used it. That’s very good.”

I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but I don’t get it. “How?”

She lifts her tumbler, swirls it. “Imagine the opposite. They could say the whole he’s a friend bit is a lie. Or they could say they don’t believe you. Instead, they accepted the statement as fact. We wanted to see some good press. We’re starting to get it.”

Our fake romance must continue until the tide fully turns, so this piece is the start. That’s good, I suppose, since I have a reason to spend more time with TJ.

But it’s bad too, since I can’t fuck up the role of his public boyfriend. I’ve got to pull this off for him and me.

And I made a promise to him last night.

Later, when the stars twinkle above Manhattan, I make good on it. When I’m back in my home, I grab a Hidden Gems book, flip through the pages, and read entry after entry.

Then, I grin.

That one.

It’s bloody perfect. If only I could get in. I make a quick call to my agent and ask for a favor. She says yes.

Then, with the book in hand, I let my mind return to earlier, and I try to sort through my uncertainty. My what the hell is bugging me worries.

When I replay our ending for the millionth time, there isn’t a question, though. There’s something I need to say to him in person. Something I’ve been mulling over for ten long months. I simply have to face it. I also want to help TJ, so I text him.

Jude: Want to go on a date on Sunday afternoon? That gives you all weekend to write. And I have just the place to take you if you’re a good boy and make lots of pretty words. I think this place might be inspiring.

TJ: You’re asking as if I’d say no.

Jude: I want you to say yes.

I also want this date to be between us. Maybe to get to know him all over again. So I write back, my chest pinging with nerves.

Jude:We don’t have to tell Slade. We can just go. Like regular people. See what happens. But just you and me.

TJ: The Oscar Wilde Society of Often and Well dictates that I say this—name the time and place.

I’ll be counting down the hours till Sunday. I give him the details, and I’m about to close the thread when a new text pops up.

TJ:P.S. . . . I wrote 5000 words today.

“That’s amazing,” I say out loud, then I tap out a reply asking if I can see them tomorrow. But I don’t hit send. The last time I read his work-in-progress, I also read his journal. I delete and start over.

Jude: Will you tell me about the story on Sunday?

TJ: Maybe :)

It’s not a promise, but at least there’s an emoticon. That’s something.