Page 207 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
“Because you hate relaxation.” He knows me far too well. “But there is nothing you can do about gossip blogs, so go playblackjack, or chill out with your man. Everyone has an agenda and Rikki Finch’s agenda is clicks. Read the piece again. There’s nothing new in it. She snapped a pic of you and now she’s trying to tie the pic to your Webflix deal to make it seem newsy.”
A voice calls out on his end of the phone, but I can’t make out what his husband says.
“I’ll be right there, hot stuff. It’s TJ,” Mason replies to Tremaine. A pause. “I’ll send him your love and then get the fuck off. Message received.”
I yank the phone away from my face. Shit. It’s nearly seven, which means it’s almost ten in New York. “Sorry, Mason. It’s Friday night. Go have fun with your hubs.”
“I will. We’re going to take a bath, since you’re not.”
Rolling my eyes, I laugh. “Okay, that was TMI.”
“Nope. It wasn’t. I’ve read your books. That was not TMI at all. Now, consider this an order: go enjoy a nice platonic date with your fake boyfriend and let it inspire you.”
Real, I say to myself.
Everything with Jude feels real.
An hour later, my fake boyfriend and I play poker with Christian and Luke.
“So then I said,Yes, of course I do all my own stunts, except for any involving cats. That’s where I draw the line,” Christian says as he slides a chip across the felt.
“Thefe-line line, is it?” Jude asks playfully.
Christian shudders. “Claws. Who wants to mess with that?” he says as the tuxedoed dealer slaps two cards down for Jude.
“I’ll make sure to work a stunt double for any cat scenes into my next contract,” Jude says as he picks up the cards.
“Nothing is more terrifying than a cat. Not even a three-hundred-pound lineman coming at you on the line of scrimmage,” the golden-boy football player, Luke, puts in.
“Cats are officially the worst,” Jude says, then adds sheepishly. “I still want one, though.”
Luke chuckles, then stage whispers. “Dude, I have two. I think they hate me and are plotting to kill me.”
“They probably are,” Christian says in mock seriousness. “And I hope you’re prepared for a sneak attack at any moment.”
“As prepared as anyone can ever be,” Luke says, then ups the ante with another chip. “And still, I love the fuckers.”
“Same here,” Jude says.
That tracks. I always thought he was a cat person, and I can picture him adopting one. A vexing Siamese that keeps watch over his washer/dryer and drives him batty.
I kick back and listen to the guys as I consider my hand, psyched everyone’s getting along and that I’m learning more about Jude.
It’s a fun evening, and I’m pretty sure a few photogs snap pics of all of us. That ought to make Slade happy—a big old group hang. I recognize Piper Grace and that guy fromSpotted in the Wildwho opined on Jude and me going home separately the other week. Ha. That won’t happen tonight, bloggers.
I enjoy every second with the guys. But when the card game winds down, it’s time to take my agent’s excellent advice all the way.
Enjoy Jude.
It’s an order, after all.
We say goodbye to Christian and Luke, and in the elevator ride up to our suite, I block Webflix,Top-Notch Boyfriend, Rikki Finch, and everything else in the world from my mind.
I shove Jude against the wall, pin his wrists above him. I only have space in my head for this man. “How do you feel about the view in our room?”
“How should I feel?” He’s sultry and sexy as I grind against his welcoming hard-on.
“Tell me how you feel when I’m nailing you in about ten minutes.”