Page 209 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
Yeah, I’m seeing him and he kind of rocks my world.
I’m not nervous when I show the message to Jude. I’m hopeful.
“Same,” Jude says.
After we get through the final week of this farce, I can have Jude all to myself for real.
The chipmunks look damn good on me.
Saturday night, I button up the shirt and then look in the mirror. If I have to go through this obligatory drinks thing, at least I look good. Jude’s showering, so I tell him I’ll meet him at the doors of the concert in an hour. Then I take off to meet the Man’s Man.
As I walk down the plush carpeted hallway, I call Hazel. “If you ever need proof I love you, this meeting with your nemesis is it,” I say.
“Oh please. This is character research for our alliterative version of him—Dane Donovan. You’ll do just about anything to learn what makes people tick in case you can use it in a book,” she retorts.
I harrumph. She’s right. Everyone is a potential character. “Fine, fine. And since you’re right on most things, you can help me. I had an idea last night but before I do it, I need a reality check.”
“Ooh, is it about your real-fake romance? Or wait. Is it your fake-real romance?” She sounds like she’s trying to keep the characters sorted without a playbill.
Secrets do make everything harder. But I’m closer to setting another one free. “Yes. You said something the other day that stuck with me.Maybe don’t keep it all a secret.”
“That does sound like me,” she says as I reach the elevator.
As I wait, I tell her my plan. “What do you think?” I ask when I’m done. I’m eager for her approval.
“I love it, and I think you better send me the link. Like, tonight.”
“It’s a deal,” I say with a smile.
The grin stays with me as I head downstairs, weave through the casino, and cross the walkway to the hotel across the Strip.
But when I enter Speakeasy and find Malcolm next to the blonde who took our picture yesterday, the grin vanishes.
“TJ, my man!” Malcolm calls out, patting the stool next to him. “Get the fuck over here.”
I close the distance to Malcolm and Rikki Finch with an anvil in my gut. She’s the woman who broke the news of my Webflix deal, then who ran the pics of William and Jude, then who called theTop-Notch Boyfriendadaptation a rom-comedy of errors.
And her reports are usually right.
27
RHINOS AND HONEY BADGERS
TJ
The pipsqueak blonde sticks out a hand. “Hey there. I’ve been covering your story. I’m Rikki Finch.”
She’s got ovaries for days and an accent straight out of Georgia.
But she’s not the only one who can put two and two together.
“The woman who took my picture yesterday,” I say as I take her hand.
“Cell phone cameras have changed the world.” She holds tight for a few pumps before letting go. “Good pic, though, right? You guys were so stinking cute.”
“Thanks.” What’s she up to? She already called us “adorbs” in her post. Is she trying to butter me up for a story? Because I’ve got no problem sayingnoandnoandnoone more time.
“Seriously. The clicks on that image were a blogger’s dream.” She gives a chef’s kiss as I snag the empty stool.