Page 194 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
I take some comfort from him admitting his MO. “Olivia knows the true story. So does my brother—I told him recently about you. But why are you sharing this now?”
He turns back to me. His eyes are vulnerable as if he’s gearing up to say something hard—maybe the reason he told the story in the first place. “Some of my friends are going tobe in Vegas. Jason, and Luke too. Luke is the second-string quarterback with the New York Leopards. They want to hang out with us,” he says.
Is he asking if we can pull off the pretend boyfriend ruse in front of his friends?
Except, my gut says that’s not the question. Even though it terrifies me, I go out on a limb. “Do you want them to know the score? The real score?”
TJ pulls his shoulders back, nodding with conviction. “I don’t want it to feel like we’re faking it for them. I want them to know who you are to me.”
Holy shit.
I was dead wrong. And I’m so fucking happy, my heart thunders. This is what happens with us—we try to be sensible and slow, but we go too fast. And I don’t care because fast feels so damn good when he says things like that.
“So, let’s have another real secret date. This time with your friends. We can all get dinner somewhere,” I say to him.
His lips curve up. “Yeah?”
“Yes. I can’t wait to meet them,” I say.
I’ve never seen such a sexy smile on TJ outside of the bedroom, such a satisfied grin. I want to keep it there. As we turn onto the Strip, the hotels electrifying the night, he deals me another scorching kiss in the back of a car. If only I could find a way to speed up time and get to our suite straightaway.
When the car pulls into the portico of the opulent black-and-white hotel, I’m this close to getting my wish. The doorman grandly sweeps open the door, the line at the VIP check-in is blissfully short, and the clerk is the picture of efficiency.
It’s a bang-up night so far. We make our way to the elevators, and this hotel is already putting me in the mood. “I’m picturing a king-size bed, a TJ Hardman-approved sex playlist, and aglass of champagne,” I say, then whisper seductively, “It’s low in carbs.”
“Then you should drink it off my dick. I’m equally low-carb,” he says, adding a dirty smile.
“One cocktail, coming right up,” I say with a throaty purr when my phone buzzes and his beeps.
That can only mean . . .
“Slade is probably sending us his rules of the road,” I say.
We stop, whip out our mobiles. A group text reads:Hope you enjoyed flying in comfort! I’ll be sending your instructions in the morning. A couple of interviews and then a fantastic AF plan for the final week.
Talk about a mood shift. If there’s anything to send two guys into a quick funk, it’s the last two words of this note.Final weeksits heavily in my gut.
“That’s . . . foreboding,” I say.
With a wince, TJ nods. Then, like he’s erasing the note, he flashes me a bright smile. “But we don’t have to deal with his orders tonight.”
We resume our path through the casino to the elevators, when I hear someone call out to us.
“Yo.”
Malcolm Mann is here.
22
ALLYSHIP AND MANNERS
Jude
I cringe at Malcolm’s greeting.Yois the worst word in the English language—worse even than moist and pucker.
TJ and I stop near a blackjack table, and the beefy man catches up to us.
“Hey,” TJ says to him.