Here Comes My Man (Hopelessly Bromantic Duet 2)

THE COCKBLOCKER AND THE HANDYMAN

TJ

I’m still processing Mason’s call. But the long and short is—Rikki was right.

Also, Jude is on the verge of freaking out. His shoulders are tight. His lips are a ruler.

I can’t let him think the worst. He talked me down last night. I need to reassure him now. In a heartbeat, I close the distance, grab his face, and press a poignant kiss to his soft lips. Touch is the language we’re most fluent in.

But before I can deepen the kiss, I stop.

This is the habit I have to break.

I can’t rely on the physical to convey my thoughts. It’s time for words. I end the kiss, step away.

Jude’s eyes flash with worry. “Is it the morning breath?” He covers his mouth, embarrassed. “I know you hate it.”

“Don’t care.” I have to make him believe this detour isn’t bad for us. “Rikki’s story was correct about my deal. The last rewrite was terrible, but Webflix doesn’t want to abandon the project since Robert loves the book so much. They all do. He called Mason last night to devise a new game plan. Mason suggested”—I stop to breathe; this part feels unreal like it’s happening to another person—“that I oversee the adaptation.”

I laugh, like, Can you believe such a thing?

I can’t. At all.

But Jude has zero problems on that front. Excitement rolls off him. “You said yes, right? That’s amazing. That’s fucking incredible.”

“I think so?” I’m still numb—how do I process something as big as writing my book into a movie?

“You better know so, stud.” He swats my ass then points to the door. “Go to LA now! Fix your film. This is a job for . . . The Handyman!”

“Did you just give me a comic book hero name?”

“I bloody fucking did. Now, vamoose!”

His ebullience flips the switch. Buoyed by his confidence, I reel off the rest of the details. “Well, Mason sort of made it clear I had to go. And Slade gave his blessing for me to duck out of your press tour to tend to this. It’s kind of wild, right?”

But the news isn’t all tubas and ticker tape. What does that mean for the new us? “I’ll miss the rest of the trip with you,” I point out, though I’m sure he’s put two and two together.

With a no big deal shrug, he turns me around, sets his hands on my shoulders, and gently shoves me toward the door. “Save your project, Handyman Writer Superhero! You’re its only hope,” he says, going full Princess Leia.

But I spin back around, pointing at the closet. “I do need to zip up my bag, though. Grab my laptop. I have to get on a plane in ten minutes. Daddy’s downstairs and he wants us to make a big show of saying goodbye.”

Jude’s aghast, flinging his hand to his cheek. “He expects me to put on a public face in ten minutes? As if that’s possible,” he says, then tosses his head back haughtily as he strolls to the bathroom. He stops in the doorway. “But I’ll do my best to look decent for you, sweetheart.”

As he gets dressed, I fly around the suite, bringing my carry-on to the door then grabbing my messenger bag from the couch in the living room. I stuff my laptop inside it and pull the zipper closed.

Minutes later, I’m at the hotel room door, ready to vamoose when Jude strolls out of the bathroom, freshened up and fully dressed.

“Damn,” I say, then whistle at his appearance—jeans, a tight shirt, a fantastic smile, and great hair.

“I guess I pulled it off,” he says, stopping a foot away from me.

“You did.”

After last night, this thing between us is hardly a show anymore. I don’t want to put on an act for anyone, least of all me. “Jude,” I say, eager to ask the question I wanted to ask ten months ago in Los Angeles. Nothing will hold me back.

“Yes?” He sounds like he’s on the edge of his seat.

My heart expands with hope. “Will you be—”

A loud knock reverberates in my ears.

Bang, bang.

Then again.

Are you kidding me?

“Rise and shine, men. The day is young, and the agenda is long . . . and sexy.”

I groan for a year. Slade is the ultimate cockblocker.

“Yoo-hoo! I know you’re there. Answer the door,” the publicist says.

“I swear he has X-ray vision,” I mumble.

“He can read minds too,” Jude seconds.

I face the music, yanking open the door. The man in the hall beams, but it’s his I’m going to chew you out grin. “Let me in,” he says cheerily.

Like I have a choice. He pushes his way inside, shuts the door, then heaves a disappointed sigh. “What made you think that was a good idea to post a picture of you two and the guy who’s the reason Jude needs a fake boyfriend?”

I seethe. This again? “Because—”

“William isn’t the reason I needed a fake boyfriend,” Jude cuts in, using a voice I’ve never heard from him before. It says don’t fuck with me, and it’s seriously hot.

Slade’s taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“The press is the reason. William is a friend, our friend, and I’m not going to explain that again. And I’m not going to apologize for that photo with William. We took it and posted it and we’re good with it.” Jude smiles without showing teeth then gestures to me. “Now if you’d still like that picture of TJ and me, we’ll go make a big show of our farewell and what have you. But our friendship with William is officially off-limits.”

“Whoa,” Slade says, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.

The intensity in Jude revs my engine. I want to slow clap and shove him up against the wall. “You could totally play the HMFIC,” I whisper.

“And you’d love it,” he whispers back. Yup. I do enjoy Bossy Jude.

But there’s no time to savor that victory. As we walk to the elevator, Slade quickly recovers, reviewing Jude’s agenda in Paris and London, letting him know he’ll be traveling with him.

Poor Jude.

Slade also briefs us on the staged photo-op coming our way in less than five minutes. “There will be lots of press downstairs right now. I tipped off the usuals—Piper, Desmond, and plenty of others. So, expect them and their questions. Just smile and wave, though.”

“We’ll behave,” Jude says.

Once we’re downstairs, Slade marches us through the lobby and then whispers showtime when we reach the main doors. He slinks off.

Jude and I step outside into the portico. The driver of a sleek, waiting limo scurries around for my bag.

Reporters and photographers close in, cameras slung around necks. Piper and Desmond. Some others I don’t recognize. The honey badger didn’t show. But then, she’s never popped up at staged events. She gets all the dirt in other ways.

I shove her out of my mind as Piper calls out: “Jude and TJ, how was your time in Vegas?”

Desmond, I think, is next. “TJ, how do you feel about the Top-Notch news?”

An American dude barks at Jude: “Word on the street is you and Ellie will have the centerpiece love story on Unfinished Business. Can you comment?”

“What did you think of William’s surprise appearance?” Piper adds.

Another American voice chimes in. “Did the three of you have a good time last night?”

The barrage of questions is suffocating, but I have to get used to it. I follow orders and draw Jude close for an embrace. Our kiss is quick and poignant and ends too soon. I reach for the door handle, a nagging voice in my head reminding me to finish the question.

Fuck perfect moments.

Grabbing his hand, I pull Jude into the back of the car and slam the door. We’re all alone.

“Are you stealing me away?” Jude asks like nothing would make him happier.

“I want to,” I say, taking hold of his face. The clock is ticking. Slade is waiting. My flight is probably boarding in minutes. My stomach cartwheels, but I don’t waste any more time. “Will you be my boyfriend? For real?”

The question is ten months overdue.

Hell, it’s eight years in the making.

“Yes,” he says, and tingles rush down my chest. “But I have to tell you something.”

Whatever he has to say, I want to hear it. “What is it?”

“I feel like I already am,” he says, and then he kisses me like we could spend all day in bed wrapped up in each other.

It’s not a bad idea, but my agent will kill me if I miss my flight.

Jude lets go, then points to the tinted window. “When they want to know what you asked me, I’m going to say you wanted to know if we could get a cat.”

I crack up. “We can get a cat.”

With a tender kiss on my cheek, he pushes open the door and leaves.

I watch him walk through the crowd until the car pulls away. I try not to miss him, but this weekend feels like a distant memory far too soon.