Here Comes My Man (Hopelessly Bromantic Duet 2)

FINAL EPILOGUE

TWO MEN WITH TOP HATS

TJ

A year or so later

When my publisher tells me they’re sending me to London for the final stop of my book tour, I can picture my nights there unfolding like a dirty fairy tale.

Well, duh.

My life with Jude is a dirty fairy tale.

We live together now. He moved in with me a few months after the Oscars. We don’t always agree on how many blankets we need, and we don’t have enough closet space for a couple of clotheshorses, but we make it work.

Especially at night, under the covers. Or in the morning, in the shower. Or during the afternoons, on the couch.

Like I said, dirty fairy tale.

We might move into a bigger apartment since Oscar and Wilde take up a lot of space. Our two rescue cats have big personalities. They parade across the kitchen counter, knocking mugs to the floor, strut on our bureau, swatting picture frames, and curl up on the windowsill, demanding belly rubs.

Also, they’re perverts because they like to watch us screw.

They recently took ownership of my box of books from my publisher when the copies of Look Me Up arrived. But hey, that’s great social media fodder for The Real FoxMan. We changed the name of our Instagram handle for obvious reasons. The Real FoxMan is better than a couple name that sounds like cigarettes and pork.

Living together feels full circle in the best of ways. That’s how our romance started, but now we have a king-size bed, and neither one of us is moving across an ocean. Sure, Jude is on location from time to time. He shot a film in Vancouver recently with Carrie Winslow and Sebastian Lowe. He loved working with the two of them and told me stories every night when he’d return to his hotel room, exhausted but creatively satisfied from the day.

But he’s in Manhattan a lot too, especially since Unfinished Business was a hit, and he just completed shooting the second season.

When he’s in town, we make the most of our time together—both alone and with our friends and family. Jude’s become a huge baseball fan, so we go to Cougars games when Chance plays in New York. The first time I took him to a game, we went out to dinner after with my brother and his wife. After everyone ordered, my boyfriend turned to Sierra and said, “We scored, didn’t we?”

“We sure did,” she said.

My guy and I spend lots of time with our friends in New York. We go to clubs with Olivia and her girlfriend, Amelia. Occasionally, they try to drag me to a musical, but I do my best to resist. Jude keeps threatening to perform in a musical someday, insisting that’s how I’ll fall in love with the genre.

He’s probably not wrong, but I’ll believe that when it happens.

We also love to people-watch at bars with Ellie, where we play the name game, go to pinball arcades with Luke, and on runs on the High Line with Nolan.

When Jason was visiting the other week, we took him out for a few rounds of ping-pong, and he caught us up on all the details of his life in San Francisco. His love life has become a little more complicated since a guy he knew returned to the city by the bay. That guy just happens to be the quarterback for Jason’s rival team. “And Beck just made me one hell of a proposition,” Jason told us.

But that’s a story for another time.

For now, I’m focused on Jude as we travel to the city where we fell in love once upon a time.

The first night in London is ripped from the pages of one of my books. We go to a music club, check out a band, and make out on the dance floor. I still don’t dance, but I can kiss like a badass motherfucker.

At our hotel, we strip each other naked and indulge in, well, everything.

The next day, he comes to my event at An Open Book. The bookstore is packed. We’re talking standing room only and a line out the door.

Is this my life?

Yes, it is, and I love it.

I settle in at the podium, adjust the mic and read the first line of my new book.

I’ve been having this recurring dirty daydream.

Then I read the rest of the prologue of Look Me Up.

When I’m done, I take questions, and as the event winds down, someone in the crowd shoots up her hand. I can’t see her at first, but then she stands—purple hair, a kind smile, and a twinkle in her eyes.

“Just a few questions, love.”

“Hit me up,” I say, grinning as Helen’s friendly face comes into view.

“In Look Me Up, there was mention of a squeaking laundry room door. Did you ever fix the laundry room door?”

I laugh. “I sure did.”

I fixed it the weekend Jude returned to New York.

“Another question. I rather enjoyed your antagonist. Dane Donovan. Will we see him in a future book?”

“You never know,” I say. Hazel and I may write a book together.

The two of us would have a blast continuing the foibles of Dane Donovan in make-believe. The real-life guy he’s based on still hasn’t pubbed The Man and His Main Squeeze, nor have I heard a peep about it on his social media. Some guys just don’t have the stamina to go all the way.

“And what about Amsterdam? Did you ever take a certain someone there?”

“As a matter of fact, we’re going tomorrow.”

But I’ve always wanted Amsterdam to be special, and I’m pretty sure I have just the way to make that happen.

* * *

Later, after I sign books, talk to readers, and take pictures, the crowds filter out.

“I’ll be closing up, but feel free to browse while the place is quiet,” the shop owner says.

“Thanks so much,” I say, then she locks the door and gives me a wink, and disappears into the back.

It’s just Jude and me in the store where we met.

We wander around, checking out the shelves, picking up books for the rest of our trip. When we reach the Wildes, my pulse quickens. Adrenaline and hope spin higher in me as I show him a copy of the book that brought us together years ago.

Jude studies it carefully. It’s a special one I had made just for him. I asked the owner to set it right here.

It’s one of a kind, with a custom cover artfully placed over the existing one. An illustration of two guys. One holds a book, the other a script.

Curious, Jude looks it over. “Is this a new edition?”

A forever one, I hope.

My heart pounds in my ears. My stomach flips with anticipation. “Looks like it. Why don’t you open it and see what the first page says?”

As Jude opens the play, I get down on one knee.

“Oh God,” he murmurs.

I don’t know if that reaction is for the inscription I left for him or if it’s for me.

But I’m all in.

My heart floods with hope. I reach into my pocket, grab a velvet box, and flip it open. I clear the nerves from my voice and begin. “Nearly ten years ago I walked into this shop to find you, Jude. I’d come back here a million times to find you again. You were the first man I ever loved. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved, and I plan on loving you for the rest of my life.”

I pause, breathe, and drink in the look in his eyes.

Joy.

Just Joy.

I ask the question I wrote on the first page. “Will you be my husband?”

The answer comes in less than a second. “I would love to marry you, TJ.”

I stand, slide a platinum band on his finger, and then I kiss him where we began.

Our love story won’t end. We’ll keep turning the pages every day and every night for the rest of our lives.

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Luke’s MM forbidden romance will be told in THE HOTSHOT HANDBOOK. Hazel’s MF enemies to lovers romance will unfold in MY SO-CALLED SEX LIFE.

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Jason…

When I first met Beck, I had no idea he was into dudes. I didn’t get a vibe whatsoever. Until he said he wanted to watch the romantic comedy too, but even then, I didn’t want to entertain those ideas. And once he started inching closer on the couch and checking me out, I still didn’t want to presume he was into me.

Now that he’s shown his hand, I’ve got a ton of questions for him.

Like, is this what you meant when you said, ‘most of that’?And did you come over for this reason? And did you really want media tips? Because, damn, I believed you. And the biggest question too—are you out?

But as I rake my gaze over the man in my kitchen, I keep those questions locked up. This moment is so surreal I don’t want to break the spell by talking.

Or by thinking about what a bad idea kissing another quarterback might be.

Beck struck the match with his question, and now I’m burning with lust. I want to fan the flames. I step closer, press my hand against his firm pecs, and whisper a smoky answer, “Yes.”

“Good. That’s good,” he says with a staggered breath.

For a few hot, horny seconds, we stay poised inches apart, caught in the anticipation.

How the hell did I get here?

I had no plans to make out with him. All I wanted this afternoon was to help a dude who was floundering. But dammit, Beck’s sexy and smart and weirdly, sort of charming. The way he’s been looking at me is scrambling my brain.

And turning me on.

He licks his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking over the corner of his mouth.

But his hands hang at his sides like he doesn’t know where to put them. Is he unsure after all? Regretting his can I kiss you question?

He silences my worries in a second as his mouth crashes down on mine.

He isn’t slow. He doesn’t take his sweet time. Beck jams the gas pedal. The race car peels away onto the track at one hundred miles an hour.

Sparks fly down my body. Electricity flares in my bones. He kisses me hard and harder still, his hands grabbing my face, his lips bruising mine.

Beck is fire and fury, and that cranks my engine. This is how I like it.

I don’t want sweet nothings. I want dirty everythings.

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Zane…

I grab the elevator bar to steady myself, but Maddox is gripping it already. My hand slides against his, fingers touching once again.

The feel of his skin ignites a fire in me. Before I think it through, I hiss in his ear, “Who’s your friend?”

He flinches, but he doesn’t move his hand. “What?”

“The person you’re seeing tonight,” I ask, pushing my finger against his. He pushes back. “Who is he?”

The car jerks to a stop, and Maddox lets go of the bar. I want to groan in frustration. The foursome pours out in a swirl of perfume and revelry, and I pray — and I am not a praying man — that no one else gets on.

The doors close on just us two, and Maddox turns to me slowly, brow pinched. “What did you just ask?”

It’s a challenge. I probably deserve the harsh tone.

When his eyes lock with mine, those beautiful browns are hard. Borderline angry. I should back down. Instead, the dragon of jealousy roars inside me. “You’re seeing a friend tonight? Do you have a boyfriend? A date?” I ask bitterly.

“No. I don’t,” he bites out, then turns to face the doors, crossing his arms. The message is clear. He wouldn’t have hit on me if he was involved.

I jam a hand through my hair, trying to sort out my thoughts. “I just…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t mention it,” he says, absolving me, though I haven’t earned it.

I just acted like a jealous ass over a guy I met two hours ago. I move in front of him to as the elevator chugs slowly past the fourteenth floor. I meet his gaze and let myself be vulnerable, even though being honest is stupidly risky. Too many guys don’t want it. Too many can’t handle it. And too many just want me for the number on my back when I play ball.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” I admit.

His expression softens. A small smile tugs at his mouth. My god, he’s stunning with those plush lips, strong nose, and chiseled cheekbones. “I’m not seeing anyone.” Then he clarifies, I’m not dating. I’m seeing a friend. We go way back. I met him right after I graduated college, and he’s probably bringing along his husband.”

I choke out a humorless laugh at my own stupid jealousy. Then I get the bright idea to try to fix my mistake. “Want a ride?”

“With you?” he asks, surprised.

I roll my eyes. “No, with the birthday girl. Yes, with me.”

“Sure. That doesn’t sound risky at all,” he deadpans.

“Not. One. Bit,” I say with a laugh.

“Thanks. Seriously. I appreciate the offer, but I’ve got a rental.”

“Shame. I’m an excellent driver,” I quip, bummed he’s got his own wheels. Our solo time is running out.

“No doubt you know exactly how to handle a car,” he says.

“Ten out of ten you’d ride with me again,” I say.

Fuck it. I can’t linger in this land of innuendo when I haven’t truly apologized. I try again, more serious this time. “Actually, I do know what’s gotten into me,” I say as the car slinks past the seventh floor.

“What’s that?”

I blow out a breath, girding myself for a little real talk. Maybe being blunt will defuse the sexual tension, making it easier to work with him. “It’s you. I met you a couple hours ago, and already I’m feeling possessive,” I say, shaking my head.

When Maddox locks eyes with me, the anger is gone, replaced by heat. “You were sounding possessive. But go figure—your jealousy pissed me off and turned me on at the same time.”

And that did not defuse anything.

Heat blazes in me, as the floors slip by. We’re passing the sixth floor now.

Maddox steps backwards, but it doesn’t feel like he’s moving away from me. Not when he reaches back, his hands gripping the bar tightly behind him so tightly it seems like he’s holding his own wrists together. Like he’s offering himself to me.

My breath hitches. My chest catches fire.

He just bound himself.

For me.

I shake my head, trying to shake off my lust to no avail. “Now we’re right back where we started.”

He tilts his chin like he’s saying game on. “Right where we shouldn’t be,” he says, reminding us of the stakes and the score.

“We definitely shouldn’t,” I add.

Maddox bites the corner of his lips briefly. “Then we’ll definitely pretend it didn’t happen.”

“What I’m about to do . . .?” I supply.

“Yes. That.”

I craved his permission, and with it, I close the distance and slide a thumb along his clean-shaven jaw. He leans into my touch, shuddering out a breath. “More…”