Page 171 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
Jude laughs, a little disbelieving. “You and Chance pretend to be each other?”
“What’s the point of being identical twins if you don’t use it for fun and games? We have since we were younger,” I say.
“That would be amusing, to see you two together,” Jude says.
I have to bite my tongue so I don’t blurt out what, at this moment, is my heart’s desire—to ask Jude to meet my brother.I want to meet his brother too. The intensity of these wishes surprises me, and I’m this close to saying both out loud, but it’s too soon. So, I keep talking about our twin tricks. “We fooled our parents a few times. We’re that good at imitating each other.”
“Impressive,” Jude says, stretching out the word in obvious admiration. Then he chuckles, sounding almost like a villain in a flick—but an endearing one. “You can’t trick me, though.”
With the gauntlet thrown, I have no choice but to test him. “Let’s put this to the test right now,” I say, hopping out of bed to hunt for my phone in the kitchen. I return with it, clicking through the camera roll. I show him a picture of my brother and me from the night in question. We’re standing on a street in San Francisco. “What do you think? Is this before or after the shirt change?”
With a smile, the man in bed with me rolls his eyes. Lazily, without a care in the world, he points to the screen, selecting me in a heartbeat. “Child’s play.”
Damn. Jude has game. “How’d you know? I showed this to Nolan and Jason. They didn’t get it.”
“Jason’s the quarterback for the San Francisco Hawks?”
“Yes, he’s Nolan’s brother, and a good bud of mine too. Hazel didn’t get it either, and she’s pretty astute.”
Turning to his side, he props himself on his elbow, looking right at me. “It’s your eyes, TJ. That’s all I need to see. I know how the brown in them darkens when you’re trying to understand a man, how the gold flecks intensify when filled with affection. How your eyes go all dreamy sometimes when you look at me, and you think I don’t notice,” he says, and my face flushes. I’ve never felt so... transparent. Jude brushes his fingers along the ends of my hair, his thumb coasting down my cheek. “And I know too how they shimmer with heat when you’re about to fuck me.”
I. Am. A. Furnace.
The things Jude does to me are unfairly sexy.
He sees through me. He understands me. He makes me want to tell him things I haven’t told anyone. This is the Jude I’ve missed the most—intuitive, confident, vulnerable, giving. This is the man who makes me want to share pieces of myself, stories I haven’t told.
But I can’t just yet.
It’s too soon.
I can do this much, though. I draw him close. Kiss him soft and tender. It’s a dreamy, lingering kiss. The kind you get lost in. A kiss that wraps around you like a warm blanket.
It’s a kiss you don’t want to leave.
My lips explore him slowly as if I’m imprinting the way we touch into my mind. I want to memorize the shape of his mouth, the taste of his lips, the feel of his pleasure so I can recall every second tomorrow and the next day. With each kiss, I slow down a little more, recording every detail as I slide my fingers through his hair, along his neck, down to his chest.
When I pull back, he sighs like he can’t believe I just kissed him like that.
“Maybe I’ll write a long, endless kiss,” I say.
“Then you should do more fieldwork,” he says, inviting me for seconds.
I say yes with my mouth, greedily taking more. I may need to store them up for the long winter. I don’t know if I’ll kiss him tomorrow or ever again.
At some point after midnight, we stop. The moon’s illuminating the pillow now. “Goodnight, Jude,” I say into the dark.
“TJ?” His voice is gentle, a little contrite.
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry about LA.”
I sigh softly. “I’m sorry too.”
It’s just the beginning of healing. Of starting again. There’s so much more to unpack, but at least we’ve unzipped the suitcases.
In the morning, though, I’m not thinking about apologies or endings.