Page 234 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

Jude

I have a new admiration for location scouts. That job is hard.

TJ and I scour the city on Saturday morning for the perfect backdrop.

Well, we scouronlinefrom his couch. I lose my focus, though, tempted by that toasted bagel he’s crunching into.

“What about Abingdon Square?” he asks when he finishes his bite.

I consider the pic of the tiny park nearby. “But is it too cute? Like we’re trying too hard?”

“Fair point.” We scroll through Instagrammable New York from Central Park to the High Line, to the Brooklyn Bridge, but I can’t think straight with that disappearing bagel so close to me.

He’s almost done with it, and its death saddens me. I whimper, then lunge for it, grabbing the final piece and popping it in my mouth. I moan in pleasure. “Carbs,” I groan.

TJ cracks up. “Poor Jude.”

When I finish it, I sigh happily. “I’ve got the answer!”

I tell him my idea, and he loves it.

An hour later, we’re showered and looking sharp. I have on a burgundy Henley I didn’t wear on my trip, and TJ’s got on his fox shirt.

We grab a Lyft and head to my place. “Before we start,” I say, as we head up the steps, “I have a prop I think might come in handy.”

“No dildos, you pervert. That’s selling us too hard.”

“Mmm. We should add sex toy shopping to the shopping list after blankets. Wait. No.Beforeblankets.”

“Done.” He mimes checking off a list.

I laugh. “Anyway, I have a book I want to show you. It’s not on my bookshelf,” I say, excited to let him in on a little secret of my own.

Inside my home, I bring him to my bedroom and slide open the nightstand drawer. The copy is worn, but I remember perfectly the day he bought it at An Open Book. I, too, can recall the night we read it together and the morning he left it behind for me to discover once he was gone.

I turn around and hand him the paperback. On the cover are two men in top hats.

“You kept it,” he says, reaching for the book like it’s a precious artifact—another record of us.

“I would never let it go. Open it. I saved all the notes you left me in our flat too.”

Reverently, he opens the pages, re-reads his roomie letters to me, then shuts the book, shaking his head in disbelief. “You brought it to New York even after...?”

I nod. “Even after.”

He sets it down, and kisses me deeply.

And so intensely that I have no choice but to pause our plans. “Get naked now,” I tell him.

Twenty minutes and two blow jobs later, we’re both presentable again.

We take a seat on my emerald-green couch, the copy ofThe Importance of Being Earnestat our side.

“Are you ready?” I ask him.

“Let’s do this,” he says.

I grab my mobile, set it in a phone stand on the table, and hit record.