Page 48 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

But before I set down the phone, he replies once more.

Jude:But do you want to go to the graffiti tunnels tomorrow evening? I’m not working Thursday night. I have some commercial auditions during the day and a voiceover thingy. But I could go around seven.

TJ:Yes. I want to go.

I’m grinning foolishly, and it’s because of an outing with my roomie. When I set down the phone, I startle at the sight of Alex staring at me over the top of my cubicle wall, drumming his fingers on the divider and shooting me ayou’re bustedlook from behind his black glasses.

I take out my earbuds. “What’s up?”

“What are you all smiles about? Let me guess. You’re getting laid, you scored a scoop, or you scored discount tickets to that band you were telling me about?”

“Sadly, none of the above,” I say.

“Dude, you need to change all of that. Stat.”

“Don’t I know,” I sigh.

“So, then the answer is . . .?”

Man, reporters are persistent fuckers. “Just texting a friend.” That’s true enough.

Alex is not appeased. “A friend you’d like to yada yada with?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re a bold man, Alex.”

He tilts his head. “And you still didn’t answer me.”

I huff, then relent. Somewhat. “A guy. Okay?”

He waggles his brows. “So, youareenjoying London?”

“Yes,” I say. But that’s all I’ll admit.

“Cool. Want to go out with a bunch of us tomorrow night? There’s a pinball arcade that has awesome cocktails.”

I’m mildly tempted. “I love pinball. I am also fucking amazing at it, so I’d probably destroy all of you.”

“So, you’re in?”

I shake my head since even pinball can’t tear me away from my plans. “Can’t. I have a thing.”

“With yourfriend?”

“Yes,” I say.

“All right, Mister One-Word Answers. I can take a hint. This friend is the one you’re daydreaming about?”

I jerk my gaze back to Alex. “What?”

“I saw you staring out the window. I don’t think you were thinking about the London Stock Exchange. More like the London Sex Exchange,” he says.

“Dude, you should be an investigative reporter.”

“I’m pushy. I’m nosy. And I’m proud of it,” he says.

“You are.” It’s nice to have this easy banter with him—a colleague who’s becoming a friend. “Hey, since tomorrow night won’t work out, what about Sunday? I’m going to a club this weekend to check out some bands, and I’m trying to round up a group.”

“I’m in,” he says. “And now, I’m gonna pound out this story.”