Page 8 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
A GREAT DICK WITH A GREAT DICK
Jude
I’ve had dates that started worse.
There was the guy who turned out to be my second cousin, though we thankfully learned of our interconnected family tree branches before we smacked lips. Then, there was another guy who informed me the second I sat down at the table that he liked to take cold baths before sex.
Give a bloke some food before you reveal your fetishes. I mean, that’s just polite.
But let’s not forget the man who cried the instant I arrived at the café. I don’t even know why. He just blubbered for thirty minutes till I called him an Uber and sent him home.
With that precedent, a night out with a hot, but exhausted American likely won’t crack the top-three worst dates. But when I catch sight of TJ through the window of The Magpie, yawning wide enough to fit a double-decker bus, I suspect the evening won’t end the way I imagined—withmutual finishing.
Well, there are other uses for mouths.
I go into the packed bar and head straight for his booth, where he’s reading the book he bought. “Usually, it takes a few beers before I bore my dates, so I’m ahead on that count,” I say.
“Sorry about that,” TJ says with a tired laugh as he sets the Wilde aside. “But I assure you, boredom is not the issue.”
“It’s past your bedtime?” I suspect that’s why he’s zonked.
A sheepish look flits across his tired eyes. “That obvious?”
“Yes, but you said it was your first day in London.” I slide onto the dark wood bench across from him. On the wall above us hangs a vintage poster of London from a century ago.
“Who’s the detective now?” TJ counters.
“It’s a useful skill,” I say drily, tapping my temple. “Remembering, that is.”
“Sure is. And hey, if it helps, I haven’t slept in more than twenty-four hours. But thanks for the heads-up that you’re dull.” TJ points to the door. “I’ll just make my great escape right now.”
“I don’t think you’re going to slip away just yet.”
His eyebrows dart up. “And why is that, Just Jude?”
“Oh, I have a nickname already?”
“You made it easy.”
I’d like to make a lot of things easy for him. Like, say, having me when he’s not knackered. “And you’ve made it hard for me to figure out your real name.”
“But you like it that way.Hard,” he says.
I shrug coyly. “I do enjoy a hard man.”
He chuckles, then he holds up a finger for a pause. “One sec.” Grabbing his mobile, he quickly taps something out on the screen.
I peer over the table, intrigued. “Are you taking notes on our conversation?”
“It gave me an idea—what you just said.” He finishes typing and sets his phone down, a little amused with his own notes.
That ratchets up my curiosity. “And, are you going to keep that idea all to yourself, like your real name? Or will you share?”
TJ gives a sly smile. “Depends on what I do with it,” he answers in a tone that saysLet’s leave it at that.
Fair enough. I don’t need to push him on his notetaking. People reveal things when they’re ready. But I want him to revealsomethingto me. I have a hunch about it, but I’ll have to get the answer out of him in a roundabout way. “Great table. Did you get here a while ago?”
“Yeah, I did,” he says, scratching his jaw like he’s playing at “laidback” too. “I mean, I didn’t know how long it would take to walk here from my hotel, or whether the GPS directions are right, or whether The Magpie would be crowded since it’s a Saturday night. So, I showed up a bit early.”