Page 45 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

I hide my smile as best I can. “Cool. The palace is cool,” I say, and I’m not cool at all because I’m so damn happy Alex was not his date.

I hope TJ never dates a single soul the entire year he’s here.

“It is. I like London. I’ve been checking out some fascinating places—Aldwych station, the Hardy Tree, the Greenwich Foot Tunnel—and it’s been great,” TJ says.

I think I understand him more now. I’d bet my callback those places are part of his novel somehow. Maybe he’s writing something about spooky London?

Maybe I can help him with his unsaid dreams. “The city has so many wonderful places to explore. Like Samuel Johnson’s house. The writer. It’s down a secluded alleyway,” I say, then dangle an enticement. “Supposedly, he worked on the dictionary there.” The gold flecks in his eyes seem to dance. “I knew that would hook you.”

“It’s only one of my favorite books.”

“Of course it is,” I say, then cycle through other places he might like. “The Vaults near us are great—right under Waterloo station—if you’re into the whole underground tunnel thing. There’s some cool graffiti down there too. For us artsy types,” I say with a wink.

“Thanks. I’ll add those to my tourist list.”

“I could take you some time,” I volunteer.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he likes the idea.

“Of course. I mean, we can do London and bands and books and clothes.” I dart out a hand and run my finger down the buttons on his shirt. “Nice eggplants, TJ.”

He just smiles. Doesn’t say anything more. But I know he wore the shirt for me.

“Let’s rehearse,” he says.

“Right.” I get down to business. “You have the new scenes I emailed?”

“Got ’em.”

He clicks on his phone and begins. We work through the first two new scenes easily, practicing a few times, then we get to the third.

TJ clears his throat. “So, what are you doing about this last part?” He sounds more nonchalant than I’ve ever heard him.

“Oh, the kiss with Lyra? My robot creation?” I ask, and wow, did my voice just pitch up or what?

“Last time, you said you didn’t do the kiss. The scene ended right before it. But here, it continues. There are a few lines afterward. Do they want you to kiss the actress tomorrow?”

“Yes. I have to kiss the woman they cast as Lyra. They want to know if we have chemistry. But it’s like a tease of a kiss. Full of restraint.”

My neck goes hot, and it’s not from thinking about robots.

“Okay. So we’ll just . . .”

TJ doesn’t finish. Instead, he reads her lines, and as we get closer to the kiss, he’s slower with each sentence, more deliberate with every word.

“I’ve been thinking about the other night,” he says.

“What do you mean?” I ask in character as the scientist, though I know damn well what my robot means.

“Our kiss. The one we never got to finish.”

“What about it?” I ask, wanting the kiss but knowing how risky it is.

“What if it lasted longer?”

And this is when our scientist gives in to his desires. “I think about that too,” I say, breathy and hungry.

And curious.