Page 3 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

I hang up and check the time. I’m not due at An Open Book for a half hour, but I might as well head over. Too bad theCleaneroo commercial flopped—I rearranged my schedule at the store today to do that audition.C’est la vie.

I pop in my earbuds and tune into Carrie Fisher’s memoir—someday, I’d like to have a secret affair with someone like Harrison Ford—as I make my way to Cecil Court. I turn down the next street, and there’s no way I can miss the strapping man on the corner, staring up at the TK Maxx sign. He looks perturbed and, also, really fucking hot, with a strong jaw and thick dark hair.

A brooding sort of stuntman, he’s all casual in jeans and a black T-shirt, no pretenses.

Time to take out my earbuds right now.

He sighs in frustration, flings a hand at the store.

“It’s literally the British equivalent of T.J. Maxx,” he mutters.

He’s loud enough for me to hear and American enough for my happy radar to beep. I happen to be a connoisseur of American accents.

I stop a few feet from him. “It is, indeed,” I agree. I’ve heard that about this shop, and I’m so bloody helpful to lumberjack-like men.

He turns, giving me a full, close-up view.Those eyes. Fuck me with a ten-inch dildo—they are a dreamy chocolate-brown with gold flecks.

I am not walking away.

I will continue this conversation for as long as I possibly can, or until I learn what kind of lap dances he likes. “It’s our discount shop. It has a little bit of everything,” I say.

He doesn’t answer right away. Maybe he’s straight. Sadder things have happened to me today.

“What do you know?” he asks in a voice that sounds like he just got out of bed after having sex.

I like that image—alot.

His dark eyes flicker, perhaps with dirty deeds. Maybe he’s got the same images running through his head that I do. “I might be in the market for a little bit of everything,” he adds. “Where should I start at TK Maxx?”

How about letting me show you around?

But best to make certain he’s into the same things I am before getting too flirty. “Depends on what you’re looking for. They have surprisingly fashionable dog clothes, excellent popcorn, and also home furnishings,” I say, starting with a bit of charm.

His lips tilt into a bit of a grin as if I’ve entertained him. “Good to know, in case I get a late-night craving.”

I’ve got a craving right now, all right.

The American gestures to his shirt. “But I’m on the hunt for a new shirt.”

I wave a hand at his firm chest. “You might want to try Angie’s Vintage Duds around the corner if that’s your thing. They have cool retro tees and stuff,” I say while I cycle through tactics to get his number.

To satisfy my craving.

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll hit up Angie’s. You never know who you might meet your first day in London.”

He shoots me a smile.

Trouble is, it’s only a friendly one, not quite a come-and-get-me one.

I’m getting ahead of myself. I should get on my way because I don’t usually hit on men on the street. Maybe the thing to do is leave him a clue and put the ball in his court.

“True. You never know.” I pause for a moment, then... What the hell. You’re only young once. “By the way, I’m Jude. I work at a bookshop on Cecil Court.”

With that, I turn and get on my way, and I don’t look back.

Not until I reach the end of the street. Then, I can’t resist one more glance his way.

He hasn’t moved, except to turn his face toward me, watching me walk away.