Total pages in book: 244
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1184(@200wpm)___ 947(@250wpm)___ 789(@300wpm)
Whoa. That slipped out. I didn’t plan to go there. But now that I’m here, I’m dying to know.
Jude’s stare could burn holes in steel. “I told you,” he hisses, his voice deadly. “He’s a friend. He’s only ever been a friend.”
I give an I don’t believe you shrug. “Those pictures, though.”
Jude rolls his eyes but says nothing, and it’s like he’s holding back all the vitriol in the world. Good. He should. He should learn not to say everything that comes into his head. “And there are pictures of us tonight, looking happy. I told you, TJ. Stop believing photos.”
“Fine,” I grunt. But it’s not fine. My heart aches at the mention of William. I haven’t been with anyone since I left Los Angeles. I can’t stand the thought that Jude would forget me so easily. “Just tell me how you want me to act.”
“Like we like each other,” he says. No shit, Sherlock.
“Easy for you to say,” I say, then I want to kick myself. For someone who was once great at keeping his feelings to himself, I’m having a helluva hard time shutting up tonight. Spinning around, I head to the sink, yank on the tap, then splash my face. I need to cool down. When I turn off the faucet, I grab a paper towel and dry off, then glance in the mirror.
I don’t look happy. I look like a broken man. But this pain won’t help me write my next sexy romantic comedy. It won’t get me through the evening either. So what if he moved on? I broke us off. I left him. I didn’t take his call. And I didn’t answer his text.
Of course, he moved on.
Let it go, man.
I turn around, hold out my hands to show they’re empty, like the rest of me. “Sorry, Jude. That was uncalled for. This whole thing isn’t easy for me. I’m doing my best.” I realize tonight will go smoother if I admit that much. “And I’m failing.”
Jude’s expression softens along with his voice. “Then let me lead. I can help us both get through this, okay?”
I nod. “I will. That whole thing with Piper wasn’t my best moment. I’m terrible at making shit up.”
His lips twitch in a skeptical grin. “You make things up for a living.”
I scoff. “On my computer. With a keyboard. With my head,” I say, tapping my temple. “I’m not an actor. I don’t ad-lib well about . . .”
Feelings.
He should know this. I was a mess that morning in his Airbnb when we tore our relationship to pieces.
“I do understand, but we have to try to like each other. I mean”—he gestures to my hair, a bit of mischief in his grin—“you tried to look good for me tonight.”
My cheeks redden.
“Oh, stop. I like your haircut,” he says, and his flirty tone weaves dangerous magic around me.
I don’t know what to feel about his effect on me. How wary I should be. How guarded. “Are you saying that as you or as my fake boyfriend?”
But my phone buzzes. His beeps. We both grab them like gunslingers in the Wild West.
Slade’s name flashes across my screen in a group text to Jude and me. Good evening! I’m sitting here at home enjoying some delicious gazpacho while scrolling through Food’s Insta feed and checking Piper’s socials, and I couldn’t help but wonder—did I miss the big entrance? Pretty sure I asked for a cheek kiss when you two lovebirds saw each other. If I missed the pic, please do forgive me. If I didn’t, then please remember how it’s done—Lips meet cheeks. Easy peasy, men.
My shoulders sag. “We were supposed to kiss when we saw each other,” I say to Jude.
His blue eyes dart down to my lips, and he stares shamelessly at my mouth. When he raises his face, his eyes lock with mine. “TJ Hardman, you and I know how to sell a kiss. Let’s fucking do this.”
We might not trust each other. He probably doesn’t even like me. But we’re in this together.
I take his confidence as my own and follow him out of the bathroom.
It’s showtime.
8
BLOWING IT
TJ
The restaurant is packed now. A Grammy-winning singer chats with a reporter at the bar, a TV actor poses for photos, and a YouTube star shoots a video.
Jude grabs my hand, speaks softly. “Plenty of press over there by the bar. We’ll keep it simple. We can’t act like we’re kissing for the camera. So we’ll stop in a few seconds before we reach the bar, and we’ll kiss.”
My heart jackhammers inconveniently at the last word. I still want to kiss those lips. I hate wanting him. I’m embarrassed that after all this time, he turns me on.
But he does. So damn much.
Which means the only way to handle tonight is to take back control. I tug on his hand and stop his pace. I close the distance, and in the middle of the restaurant, I press a kiss on his cheek.