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)
We leave, having made no plans to fix the door in his laundry room.
And it’s for the best. We don’t need to make plans to see each other outside of this ruse. He might like to flirt with me—he might even enjoy the view of my chest—but he’s not making plans with me, nor am I making plans with him.
We’re over, and he’s so clearly moved on. Too bad I haven’t.
But I’ve got to try, once and for all.
As we head down the hall, passing the open door to his bedroom, I tear my gaze away from those sheets.
Don’t want to see his bed. Don’t want to imagine pulling him down onto me, wrapping my arms tight around him.
Maybe I won’t write Fake Dating My Ex. That story might be too hard to tell.
My heart aches painfully, a weight in my chest.
But then, isn’t that how I felt when I wrote my first romance several months after I left London? A little achy? Stuffed to the brim with missing and longing and want? But back then, Jude was the guy who got away. Now, he’s my ex.
And I’m one of a handful of guys from his past.
Along with Robert the Wanker, who somehow wasn’t that into Jude, and Arlo, who cheated on him.
The possibility that I could be lumped with those assholes claws at me.
When we reach the front door, I grab it and hold it open. Jude always had a thing for gentlemen. I can be a better ex than those schmucks who didn’t appreciate this man by my side.
“Thank you,” he says, then drops a kiss to my cheek once we’re on the stoop.
Like he’d do if I’d spent the night and I was leaving in the morning.
Oh, fuck.
That’s it.
That’s what we missed.
But before I can tell Jude I cracked the Daddy code, the driver emerges and holds open the limo door for Jude and me.
After we slide inside, Slade wastes no time. “Nice move with the front door, TJ. Keep that up. Jude, nice move with the cheek kiss. It almost makes up for last night’s faux fucking pas,” he says as the driver pulls away. “Let me break this down for you. You two messed up last night—”
“When we left separately,” I cut in because I want points for solving the mystery.
Slade slow claps. “Yes! You figured it out. But it would have been better if you’d Sherlocked that answer last night, since Desmond Ratchet made a thing of you lovebirds leaving separately on Spotted in the Wild.”
Dragging a hand through his blond locks, Jude groans. “Ugh. His blog is all gossip and paps shots.”
“Yes. And the public loves gossip and paps shots. But we at CTM don’t love gossip and paps shots about our rising star and Oscar-nominated talent who’s playing a good guy on the new LGO show, do we?”
“No,” Jude says, dipping his face.
“So, let me remind you. Being boyfriends surprisingly means you have to act like you like each other. That also means—egad—leaving together because we want everyone to think you’re banging. But does Desmond think you’re banging?”
I gulp. “I’m guessing the answer is no.”
Slade clears his throat as he grabs his tablet. “From Spotted in the Wild,” and hits play on Desmond’s video report. “Hot new couple Jude Fox and TJ Hardman might be headed toward breakup already. Last night, the pair went to Food but left separately without so much as a kiss goodnight. We’re predicting a mutual split by next week. Who wants to place bets the Oscar-nommed actor is missing that naughty rocker?”
The anger that faded when Jude splashed me with tea reappears at the mention of William.
We’re not in this together. We’re in this against each other.
I’m such an idiot to think more of his eye-fucking and his flirting. That’s just part of his Judeness. Probably part of what seduced William too.
“It’s all fucking poppycock,” Jude says.
“Or pop-star cock,” I mutter under my breath.
Jude snaps his gaze to me. “What did you just say?”
“It’s like being cold-cocked,” I say innocently.
Jude stares at me like he doesn’t buy it. Whatever.
Slade sighs. “I’m not refereeing a lovers’ spat. You two need to step it up,” he says, then lasers his eyes at me. “TJ, I expect you won’t be the smoothest since your skill is peacocking with words. But Jude,” he says, shaking his head, “you’re an actor. You should do better. Sell this romance, like we talked about. How hard is it? You have less chemistry than I do with my aunt! You two didn’t even kiss last night!”
“Yes, we did,” I point out, annoyance flooding the whole car. I can smell the fumes coming off me.
“We definitely kissed,” Jude seconds.
“Ooh, big deal. Did anyone see it?”
“Are we supposed to scan for cameras before we smooch?” Jude asks.
“Yes!” Slade shouts. “I’m not having you pretend to be lovers in private. You’re putting on a show. Tap dance, razzle-dazzle. Find the lens, then give that smolder to the crowd. If two men kiss in a forest and no one is around to see it, did they even kiss?”