Hopelessly Bromantic (Hopelessly Bromantic Duet 1)

27

My Little Obsession

The Night of TheArtificial Girlfriend Premiere

Jude

Olivia pushes open the door to Sticks and Stones, whips her gaze back and forth, then declares in her big, brash voice, “Star, coming through.”

I slap a hand over her mouth. “You’re the worst, woman.”

She bites my palm.

“Ouch,” I say. “That smarts.”

“Taught you to silence me then, didn’t it?”

“I learned my lesson.”

With a smile, she points to the back of the pub. “All right, let’s go to the party room, shall we?”

“We could have done this at my flat,” I say, except of course we couldn’t.

My new roommate is a stick in the mud. Fine, he’s queer-friendly and a non-smoker, but he also doesn’t like noise, music, or people.

In the plus column, I don’t want to shag him, hang out with him, or share all my hopes and dreams with him, so there is zero chance I’ll fall arse over elbow into an endless well of feelings.

Or, I should say, ass.

In honor of a certain someone.

Someone I wish were here.

As we weave through the pub, Olivia nudges me. “Practice your red-carpet walk.”

“You practice your red-carpet walk,” I retort. “It’s not even like anyone here is looking at us.”

“They’re not today. But mark my words, Jude Graham, they will be soon.”

Though I’m realistic enough to know I won’t be recognized from a web series, I cross my fingers. Sure, advance reviews have been fantastic, but it’s not as if Hollywood is beating down my door. Harry is still sending me out on commercial auditions.

Though, I did nab one a few weeks ago.

I nearly texted TJ to tell him I’ll be the face of a British menswear brand. And that I also landed a couple of voiceovers. One is for a music streaming service, and I wanted to say Maybe you’ll hear me in the States when you hunt for new bands, and by the way, have you heard the new Ten-Speed Rabbit single and isn’t it fantastic?

I didn’t tell him, though. Instead, I called Olivia and blurted out, I’m telling you because I love you, so I’m not tempted to tell TJ.

Her response? Use me anytime. That’s what I’m here for.

I’d be a right mess without my best mate.

When we reach the back room, my jaw comes unhinged.

Olivia invited everyone. My brother, some of his friends, lots of our mates from uni. Even Alex is here. So is Polly. Sometimes the three of them hang out. Sometimes Polly hangs out alone with Olivia. And sometimes Olivia goes out with Alex.

It all works, as she says. That’s Olivia. She makes things work.

William is also here since the inked barista by day and Lettuce Pray singer by night has become a friend.

He offers me a clap on the back. “Congrats, Jude. I pretty much told everyone at the coffee shop for the last few weeks to tune in. So really, I consider myself responsible for your sure-to-be-smashing numbers.”

He’s teasing, of course, but I’m still totally grateful. “Every little bit of buzz helps. Seriously.”

“I’m excited to see your show,” he says with a genuine smile. “I bet TJ is too.”

Did he tell you that?

I’m dying, fucking dying, to ask William that, as well as the other questions about the guy who hasn’t left my head.

How is TJ doing? How often do you talk to him? Did he finish his book? Does he miss me as much as I miss him?

Instead, I smile and give William an offhand shrug. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

Olivia pulls me aside, whispers out of the corner of her mouth, “Are you okay? Do you need to text me and tell me you hope TJ’s watching it?”

I give a small laugh, wishing it weren’t so obvious, but glad I have someone to talk to. “Do you think he’s watching it?”

“Oh, love, you don’t want me to answer that.”

“But I do,” I say since I want her to say, of course, he is.

She shakes her head. “But I won’t, and that’s what you really need from me.”

“I know,” I say with a sigh. “I hope he’s watching it.”

Mostly, I hope he’s still writing his book. When I’m at the bookstore, I check trade reports in the publishing business to see if he sold his book even though I know it’s too soon. Still, I do it anyway.

And I read all his articles, though I don’t give a flying fuck about media and marketing conglomerates and holding companies and agencies and blah, blah, blah. I read them anyway, just to know what he’s up to. Reading his pieces makes me feel connected. But that’s part of my problem. My little obsession.

“Time to watch,” Olivia calls out.

I settle into the booth. The pub has arranged to stream the show on a big-screen TV so we can watch the first episode together.

“Go, Jude! Go get your android,” Alex calls out during a flirty scene between Lyra and me.

A little later, William gets in on the cheerleading. “Give her some tongue, mate.”

“Are you blushing?” Olivia asks, swatting my shoulder.

“Maybe a little,” I say.

“Snog her, Jude! Snog her so hard,” Olivia shouts, whistles at the telly, then turns to me with an evil grin. “Did that make you blush more?”

“Nothing you say makes me blush.”

“That only makes me more determined to try,” she says, and when I return my focus to the show, everything feels surreal.

All I want to do is reach out to TJ and tell him about tonight.

It happened, stud. It really happened, and I’m fucking proud of it, and I hope you are too.

But I don’t do that.

On the way home, I’m a little quiet. Olivia links her arm through mine. “Hey.”

“Hey you.”

“I hope he watched it too,” she says.

I give a faint smile. “Thanks. I needed that.”

“I know. I can tell you miss him extra tonight. Makes sense and all. He helped you get the part.”

“He did. And I want to thank him.” It feels good to admit that.

“I bet he’d appreciate it. I bet he’d love hearing from you.”

My heart beats a little faster. “He would. That’s the problem.”

She squeezes my arm like she’s giving me a shot of her own strength. “But you’re not going to reach out. Right?”

“I want to. But if I do, I think I’d get obsessed again, Liv.”

TJ made my obsession easy with his wit, his brain, and most of all, his unwavering support. He could have been my rock.

Maybe that’s the real heart of the issue.

I go home to my stick-in-the-mud roomie, and I spend an hour typing and erasing messages to TJ.

Can you believe it?

How the hell are you?

You helped me get this role, yes, I thought of you when I kissed her, and yes, I think of you every day.

But right when I’m this close to hitting send on all of them, my agent emails with a note that says, Booked you a small part on a TV show!

That feels like a sign.

Go forward, not back.

And so, I do.

I stop reading his articles. I don’t check the trades. Then, I do the hardest thing—I delete TJ’s number. It’s too tempting having him on my phone. I know myself. Some night, I’ll have too much cheap champagne. I’ll get the grand idea to say hello. I’ll act on the impulse to contact him.

I have to save him from me. And, most of all, I have to save myself from me.

Soon enough, all that cold turkey does the trick. I move on.

Fine, fine. I don’t always make the best decisions when it comes to my heart over the next seven years. Or my career.

But I do one thing exceptionally well—I stop chasing the past.