Page 66 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

But TJ answers that for me when he slides out of the booth, stands, and yanks me in for a hug. It’s not dude style. It’s definitely I-know-what-you-look-like-nakedstyle, and his aftershave enhances it.

That potent woodsy scent, chased with a hint of soap, smells like a secret he’s wearing just for me. I dip my nose, drag in a whiff of him, and I’m instantly aroused.

That’s not surprising since the scent has turned me on since I first smelled it.

But I’m also feeling... a little floaty—a little warm. Like I want to get close to him. Snuggle up against him, run my fingers through his hair, kiss him at the bar like he’s mine.

“Mmm,” he murmurs.

Yes, he did this on purpose, slapping on that aftershave.

And I’m caught up in him. I also now know what tonight is—a date.

But when he takes a seat and I sit across from him, he looks like he’s got something on his mind. Something big. “What’s going on?”

TJ doesn’t answer at first. Because, of course, he doesn’t. He just seems to weigh the question, stroking his beard, sighing heavily, but maybe happily too?

“So, this is kind of crazy,” he begins, and holy fuck.

Is he going to ask me to keep this up? Screw the risks. I’m all in. “Yes. Just yes.”

He laughs. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

“Right, sorry.”

“So, the thing is,” he says, and I wince. This is bad news. “I just got a promotion.”

“Oh, that’s great. Congratulations,” I say, still trying to figure out what’s happening on this maybe-date.

His gaze levels mine, and before he speaks, I see the truth in his eyes. I won’t like what he’s going to say. “It’s in New York, Jude. They’re sending me back to New York. Even if I had a choice, and I don’t, they decided to freelance my beat here. It’s both a great opportunity and the only opportunity.”

Wow. That’s a twist I didn’t see coming. And frankly, I don’t care for it.

“I return to New York on Friday,” he continues, his tone heavy, then business-like as he explains that 24News will cover the lease.

But my head pounds.

My ears ring.

TJ is leaving.

I knew he’d go eventually, but I didn’t think too hard about what that might feel like. Now, the idea consumes me. And it’s like a bowling ball, dropping in my gut.

I desperately want him to stay. My chest actually aches at the prospect of opening the door to the flat and seeing... some random person.

That seems horribly wrong.

“Would you stay and write your novel?” I ask, a note of wild hope in my voice.

But the question lands like a thud on the table. He doesn’t even have to answer me.

I know what he’s going to say.

He can’t stay to write a book. We aren’t rich. We live hand-to-mouth. He’s not independently wealthy. He’s young and scrappy like me. He lives paycheck to paycheck.

TJ shakes his head. “I can’t, Jude,” he says, then he gets up, comes around to my side, slides an arm around my shoulder.

He buries his face in my neck, the prickle of his beard chasing the ache in my chest away, soothing it until my bones start to hum.