Page 83 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
One day, more than a year ago, Hazel mentioned him. Said he was back at it, snagging parts in plays off West End, in more commercials, and then in a popular British TV show. He was making things happen again, but I was seeing someone, so I saved the Jude update for a rainy day.
Now? Sure, I want to look him up once more, as per our deal. Iamvery, very single after all. But what if I put his name into Google and find pictures of him traipsing all over London with some other man?
A guy like Jude won’t be single for long, as Helen once told me.
I focus my attention on mywork wife. Hazel and I write together most days, working on our respective books but helping each other plot when we get stuck and stalking hot models on Insta for cover pics. My job doesn’t suck. “If you were writingthis story of a private guy who got dumped in the most public way, what would you do to jump-start him?”
She hums thoughtfully, taps her chin. “His favorite things. I’d take him to play pinball, to see a cool new band, and to go thrifting—especially since I have a date this weekend and I need a new dress.”
“So, my funk works for you too,” I tease.
“And so does the cure. But first, I’d arrange a happy-hour intervention. Gimme ten minutes,” she says, then whips out her phone.
How sad is it that an intervention is the first thing that’s sounded fun in many days?
If I’ve learned anything from writing both gay and straight romance, it’s that no matter the orientation, a night out with friends is like a necessary booster shot. It helps the vaccine work. I’ve taken my I-won’t-date-assholes-ever-again medicine in the form of that viral video.
Thisinterventionwill protect me for the long haul.
When Hazel scurries me into Gin Joint in Chelsea an hour later, she points to a table. Nolan and his brother, Jason, are in town, waiting with beers and an old-fashioned. Hazel says she’s going to freshen up in the ladies’ room.
I join the guys, and Nolan slides the cocktail to me. “Figured you’d need this.”
“Real friends know your drink order,” I say, lifting the glass and knocking some back.
“And they also know what you need,” Nolan adds, wasting no time. “Listen, I’ve been thinking about your problem.”
Wow. Okay. Someone’s direct. “Which one?”
“The big one,” Jason puts in, an intense stare in his eyes like he probably gives when he’s about to take the snap on any given Sunday during football season.
“That doesn’t narrow it down,” I say. “Do you mean the fact that all of New York knows I’m radioactive? That my publisher wants me to start my next book and has a hundred-thousand-print run already slated for it? That I love my privacy almost as much as I love sex and pizza, but I only have one of those three things now? Or that I wake up each day feeling like a complete and utter fool for dating theWorld’s Meanest Manwho makes the most average chicken in the city?”
Nolan smiles sympathetically. “All of the above.”
Jason leans closer. “But I have the solution. There’s a time-honored tradition when it comes to getting dumped. You need to get back on the saddle, my man.”
I shudder. “I’d rather drink turpentine. No way am I dating again,” I say, setting down the glass with a loudclack.
“Ever?” Nolan asks, arching a brow above his eyeglasses.
I consider that question. Then consider the number of views on the video. “Sounds about right.”
“Dude,” Jason says, calmly, “no one suggested a date. You’re constantly one step ahead of everyone else, telling us how things would play out in a story. What’s next inyourstory?”
“A Kevlar vest? I think I might pick one up at the armory on my way home. Protection from any post-breakup shrapnel.”
Nolan cuts in. “Listen, I’ve been friends with you since college—more than ten years. I’ve always been direct with you. So, let me spell this out in no uncertain terms.” He cups his hands around his mouth, making a megaphone. “You need to get your dick wet.”
But dicks are usually attached to dudes who kick you in the balls on TV.
“Pass,” I say.
Jason’s eyes pop out. Like, they might hit the floor. “Do you like sex?”
“Obviously. It’s only the greatest thing ever invented. But pizza’s close, so I’ll keep sublimating with that, thanks.”
“Don’t you have a craving for something other than a cheese and mushroom pie?” Jason asks.