“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 move here?” 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 you need 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.”
“I know it’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 saying who 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 with Top-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.”
“You’re right,” he says slowly after a beat, linking our fingers. “Sorry. I was an arse.”
I point at him with my free hand. “You said arse.”
He laughs. Finally, he laughs. “I did it for you. I’m not annoyed with you, TJ. I get annoyed with myself sometimes. Over . . . things I’ve done,” he says, but he doesn’t elaborate on those things. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
I squeeze his hand harder. “It’s all good. But please know this—I do understand you. I like to think I always have.”
Jude squeezes back. “You have. I was a dick to get annoyed.”
I wag a finger at him. “Dick is a good four-letter word. It’s not like carb.” The waitress swings by with the pot of coffee, offering a refill.
I say yes, and when she leaves, Jude points to the cup. “Seconds at a café? I figured you’d turn up your nose. Have you given up your coffee snobbery?”
“Fuck no.” I shake my head. “The coffee’s horrid, but I like to punish myself with bad coffee.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Nothing, nothing in the whole world, could be more you than that.”
“You get me,” I say.
“I do.”
We both laugh, and this direction feels so much better. Still, I have one more thing to say on the prior topic. “Just know you don’t have to compare yourself to me or anyone else. You’re you. And comparison is the thief of joy.”
“Is that from one of your books?”
“Please,” I scoff. “It’s from a mug or a pillow or a fucking Instagram post. But originally, it’s from Teddy Roosevelt. Point is, you’re going to keep chasing your dreams. You’re going to land job after job. You said you have meetings while you’re here, right?”
His blue eyes twinkle. “I do. Holly set up a number of them. One with a network about a show. Another with a studio. Then there’s one on Friday about a possible streaming opportunity.”
“Yeah?” I ask, already excited for him.
He crosses his fingers. “I don’t want to get my hopes up, but they’ve been talking about maybe developing a show around me, and the best part is that it’s got some of me in it. It’s a queer romance. Supposedly, they’re talking to Christian Laird too. Not for the same part, though, since he’s American of course. But I’d love to work with him.”
I keep my mouth shut about my publisher going after the same guy. This is Jude’s moment, not mine to humble brag about a slim-to-nil chance of him recording my books. “That’s perfect. I’m telling you, queer romance is the thing.”
“That’s what The Hollywood Scoop said in an article the other week, and I say it’s about time. What took Hollywood so long to figure out there’s nothing better?”
I shrug, what gives style. “No idea, but I’m glad they did, because I love it. And it gets me hot.”
Jude leans a little closer, whispers in his most seductive voice. “Tell me more about why it’s so damn sexy.”