Page 55 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

TJ

This was a rookie mistake.

Jude Graham is not only the most charismatic man I’ve ever known. He’s the most charismatic man in all of England.

And I’m the dumbass who let him loose on the London population.

I wish I could reboot the last several hours. Erase them from existence and start over at Samuel Johnson’s house.

Because my stupid idea led tothis.

Men in the bar stare at Jude unabashedly.

The swoony Brit leans against the sleek silver counter, surveying a kingdom of cocks, ready for his choosing. He sets a hand on my shoulder, ever so casually. My skin sears from his touch. He gestures casually to a guy at the other end of the bar, a dark-haired dude wearing a tight white tank. Tribal tattoos circle his beefy arms. He’s muscular—Jude’s type. “What do you think about the guy over there? He’s gothot alphawritten all over him, don’t you think?” Jude asks, charm dripping from his tongue.

I just grunt,Sure.

My wingman swings his gaze the other way, hums appreciatively at a group of guys, then whispers in my ear, “Check out the suit at three o’clock. He’s perfect for you, TJ,” he says, and his breath coasts across my skin sensually, but the knife of his words stabs my chest.

Where is a do-over button when you need it? But this is life, not a chapter I can start again. I can only getthroughthis.

“Let’s go for it,” I rasp out, and I’m not even sure what I’m suggesting, that he talks to the inked guy or I talk to the suit?

But it doesn’t matter because they’re both heading our way. We are the hunted tonight. With his easy smile and casual pose, Jude is giving off all thepick-me-upvibes in the city. The tatted man licks his lips as he strides right up to my roomie.

“Hey there. Can I get you a drink?” the inked guy asks.

“As long as it’s a martini,” Jude says, flirting his fucking ass off.

“Anything for you,” the man says, then sets a hand on Jude’s shoulder and guides him a few feet away.

From me.

Jude leaves his beer behind, and it feels like a metaphor.

Great, now I’m comparing myself to a half-drunk beer.

Can this night please end, so I can go home and wallow in regret with my earbuds? I deserve a double dose of Zeppelin and The Allman Brothers Band.

I clench my fists, dig my nails into my palm. Breathing out hard, I try to get a grip on my emotions as the man in the suit comes my way. How can anyone be attracted to me tonight? Isn’t it obvious I’m drowning in a boiling vat of self-loathing mixed with jealousy?

“Great bar, isn’t it?” the suit says.

It’s a decent opener since it’s simple and not cringe-y. But it won’t work on me because he’s not Jude.

“Yeah, it’s a cool spot,” I say so that I’m not a dick.

And fuuuuck.

My mind lands on the great dick convo with Jude as the suit peppers me with questions.

Where are you from?

Do you like this song?

How’s your night?

I respond half-heartedly with monosyllabic answers, sneaking glances at Jude the whole time. Swirling his martini, Jude laughs and smiles. It’s a dance of seduction as the inked guy grins and runs a hand down my roomie’s arm.