Page 86 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
THE REUNION GUIDEBOOK
TJ
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
My Jude wasn’t JustJude when I last checked him out on socials. Ergo, JustJude is probably some random guy. Maybe the newest pity fuck. Still, I click that profile so fast. Just in case.
And . . . holy fucking dream guy.
I gawk at the phone, then glance around the coffee shop. Can everyone tell what just happened to me? That I got a message from the guy who got away?
No one’s looking at me. Everyone’s in their own world, chatting about yoga and mindfulness, ROIs and business plans.
Hazel doesn’t even look up. Meanwhile, my pulse spikes to the sky.
The second I click on the profile pic, my breath catches like it has every time I’ve watched his shows. He’s still somehow more beautiful—and I have no idea what kind of sorcery this is—than when he was twenty-three.
At thirty, he’s matinee idol gorgeous, with any trace of early twenties innocence all gone. He’s matured in the best of ways. His blue eyes are more smoldering. His lips are more biteable.
Most of all, his charisma is rocket-fueled. Wow. He’s sooo...
Wait.
I bet this is just a fan account. Yup. That has to be it.
But when I scan the info, it’s blue-check verified. Holy shit. This is the one and only Jude Graham, who’s no longer Graham.
A smile spreads to the edges of the city as I read his new stage name. A quick search tells me he changed his name a couple of years ago, and he goes by Jude Fox now, but the handle is what gets me.
Could this really be an homage to the day we met?If I’d told you I was Jude the Third, I doubt you’d have come looking for... all the Wildes. Besides, I’m just Jude.
Oh, but he was neverjustanything. He was the only guy who ever made me this light-headed. This...happy. He was the only one who never hurt.
I scroll to his feed and a pic of him on stage in a play. He’s laughing, looking like sunshine and sex and every queer man’s wet dream. The next image is fromBroadway World, a close-up of a news tidbit from a few weeks ago.The West End production ofPillow Talkis traveling to Los Angeles to open at the Mark Taper Forum for a month-long run. Buzz swirls around the play and its star, Jude Fox.
Chills.
I have chills.
Not only did he debut on the West End at last, as I believed he would, but the show is coming to America. Mark Taper is big-time in the theater world. I knew he’d make it.
I click on another shot. He’s on set inAfternoon Delight, a British TV dramedy, the one Hazel mentioned. Looks like he’s had a recurring role for the last few seasons. “As the show’sheartthrob,” IMDb informs me. No shit, IMDb. As I check out a few more pics, my skin tingles everywhere.
I’m floating outside my body, watching this moment play out for some other dude as my finger hovers over the DM link.
He’s probably just saying hi. I’m guessing he saw the video and is offering a pat on the back. That sounds like him. Jude never laughed when I told him the story of my name. He didn’t laugh when he read those chapters of my trunk novel. And he didn’t laugh when I shared all my dreams.
This is merely a friendly check-in. That is all.
I scrub a hand across my jaw. Take a breath. Swallow down my hope, then open his DM.
Hey roomie,
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
Seven years, but the years have been good to you.
As luck would have it, I’m wrapping up a play in LA, and I’m going to stick around for a couple days to take a few meetings. I know you’re in New York and I’m all the way across the country, but LA is closer than an ocean.