Page 99 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet
He sets down his fork, sighing, then glances around. The café is bustling. At the table behind us, a woman in pink yoga pants slips a piece of ham to a chihuahua in a handbag. By the door, a pair of young moms try to get a toddler to eat eggs. Jude lowers his voice. “Look, I know you’ll understand because of the whole chicken cook wanker.” Normally, I don’t like to be reminded of Flynn. But if Jude’s gearing up to tell me something, it’s probably something I want to know. Since, well, I want to knowhim. “My agent screwed this guy I was seeing. It was a whole terrible mess.”
Good thing I’m not eating this second because my jaw drops. Anger courses through me. “I’ll take out a double hit then. That’s terrible.”
“It was. But here we are, you and me, a couple of great dicks,” he says, a call back to the night I told him about my name, when he then told me about his college boyfriend. This time, his words mean even more. The two of us have this second chance because we dated jackassesandbecause we’re no longer dating jackasses.
“Here we are,” I echo, but I don’t think he wants to linger on his exes or mine, so I shift back to shop talk before I take another drink of my coffee. “The new agent? Is he or she better? I hear good things about Astor so it sounds like a good move.”
“It feels like a partnership so far, so that’s good. I have a film and TV agent there, Holly. And a theater one, Kenta. They’re both great. And yes, I do the whole actor watch-what-you-eat thing. It’s just part of Hollywood, I suppose. Which is what I want.”
“To work in Hollywood?” I ask curiously.
“Yes, TJ. Of course. Hollywood’s the top of our business.” Jude says that like it’s obvious, and I feel a little foolish for not gleaning that as soon as he said it.
“Why do you say it like I should have known? Not everyone’s goal is to work in Hollywood. It’s not mine,” I say, especially given what my agent told me whenTop Notch Boyfriendshot up the charts.Everyone from Hollywood is nice to your face, but when you turn around, you should trust no one as you smile and wave at the sharks while they swim by.
“Look, London is great and all, but the action is here,” Jude says. “I want jobs in America. Or Canada, or Georgia—wherever they’re shooting.”
Ah, that adds up. “So you’d movehere?” I privately cross my fingers. If he were in Los Angeles instead of London, I could see him even more easily. Fly here on weekends. Or weekdays. My schedule is my own. I could make a go of it.
Except I’m getting ahead of myself. No idea if he wants that.
“If the opportunities allow,” Jude says, thoroughly business-like.
And that’s my reminder to get a grip. We haven’t even been together for twenty-four hours yet. I should not get ahead of myself. He hasn’t given any indication that he wants to do this, whatever this is.
Best to focus on what I know—that this man is a star. “They will. You’re opening a show at Mark Taper. You opened in London. Jude, you’re a big fucking deal.”
“TJ, you don’t have to suck up to me.”
I crease my brow, confused. “What do you mean? I’m not just saying it.”
“Look, you’re further along than I am,” he says, and it almost sounds like he’s biting out the words.
“That’s not true,” I protest.
“Please. It totally is. You have ten bestsellers, including a huge breakout hit. You’re a big fucking deal. You’ve done everything you said you’d do in London.”
“And you had a role on TV. You did the West End. You’re performing at Mark Taper,” I point out, all while trying to shut down an unpleasant idea that pops into my head. Is this Flynn 2.0?
“And I’m thrilled about that. But it’s not all sunshine and roses. I have a long road ahead, and a lot to accomplish. I’m not like you, already at the top.”
Why the hell is he comparing us? “I’m a writer. You’re an actor. We don’t have to be the same.”
Jude sighs, like I just don’t understand. “You’ve had hit after hit. It’s not like that for me. I don’t expect you to get it.”
Whoa. “But I do get it,” I insist, trying to impress that on him because I don’t want to go through the same thing again, not with Jude. “I understand what you’re saying. I just think youneed to give yourself a chance. You’ll get there. You’re already on the way.” How does he not see this? “Your business is hard.”
“Iknowit’s hard, TJ,” he says, his tone laced with frustration as he sets down his fork. After he drags his hand through his hair, he jerks his gaze away from me, stares down the street, his jaw ticking.
I’m quiet, giving him the time he needs, even though worry spikes in me. Are we arguing over a race he shouldn’t be running between us? It’s like sayingwho has the bigger dick? Really, who cares?
Except, I care deeply about how he feels. And I care intensely about what we could be. But I don’t want Jude to judge me, or worse, judge himself by the metric of me. That’s a recipe for romance disaster. I can see it playing out in a book. The scenes are writing themselves, marching toward a dangerous moment I’ve got to try to stop. “Jude,” I say softly, puzzling over what to say next.
When he turns back to me, frustration is still etched in his eyes. “Look, it’s a sore spot,” he says, then lets out a long exhale, his expression softening slightly. “It’s not your fault, though. I appreciate everything you’re saying. But I’m still chasing my big break.”
Even though I don’t like how he’s talking, I also know you need to read the room. I got lucky withTop-Notch Boyfriend. Yes, it’s a good book. Yes, it’s probably my best book. But it also came out at the right time, when gay romance started having a big moment in the publishing sun. Add in the Flynn debacle, and it shot up the list, then sent my other books back up the charts, coattails and all. But telling that to Jude won’t change his desire to hit the next level. I try another tactic, since he’s not Flynn. Not at all. He’s the guy I want another chance with.
I reach for his hand. “Hey,” I say gently. “I’m on your side. I’m rooting for you. We don’t have to compete.”