“How about I show you later?” I tease, then slide a hand under the table and squeeze his thigh.
“You better show me tonight after the show.”
I’m tempted to bring up something I want to do in the bedroom. But now isn’t the time after that minor disagreement. I’ll wait till the mood seems right. I’m patient like that. “I will, Jude Fox.”
“Speaking of names, TJ Hardman, where did you come up with that perfect pen name?”
He truly doesn’t know? Oh, this will be fun. This may jolt him further out of his funk. “At first, I considered TJ Cummings, but then you have to get into the whole is it c-u-m or c-o-m-e debate.”
“Is this like the whole ass/arse debate we had before?”
“Oh, it’s bigger, Jude. So much bigger.”
“Gee, I wonder if I can figure out which one’s right in your world,” he deadpans, then stares. “I know the answer. I’ve read your books.”
I snap my fingers, playing along. “Dammit.”
He taps his chin. “But what I want to know is, which one is correct in your favorite book? That is, the dick-tionary?”
That’s my Jude, giving it good in the word-play department. “If you must know, the Merriam-Webster dictionary says both spellings are correct,” I say, enjoying the hell out of this answer. “And frankly, I like the way c-o-m-e looks written down better. But, let’s be honest, they both feel the same on the tongue.”
He murmurs his approval. “Mmm. They do. Though I might want to verify that before I leave for the theater.”
“You want me to give you a good luck BJ before curtain? I’ll allow it.”
“Or maybe I want to give you one. Seeing as another name you could have considered is . . . Sweetcox.”
Fuck, he’s good. But so am I. “And if I ever need to launch a new name I could be Phil . . . Accio.”
Jude slow claps. “You win.”
From my seat at the table, I take a small bow.
The sound of wheels racing by on the sidewalk snags my attention. “Dude! Team TJ! Rock on!”
Jude jerks his gaze to the surfer guy already down the block on his skateboard. Then he levels me with an amused stare. “Does that happen a lot?”
I roll my eyes. “Less than before. But zero times would be my preference.”
“Well, I’ve always been on Team TJ,” he says.
“Thanks,” I say, and that’s as good an entrée as any to a secret I want to share. Something I wasn’t sure I’d tell him but he was honest with me today, even though he was pissed. Still, he told me something that was clearly tough, something that revealed some insecurities. It’s hard to make yourself vulnerable, so he deserves this intel.
“Do you remember the first night we went out?” I ask.
“The night you fell asleep at the table, you mean?”
“I did not fall asleep,” I huff.
“You yawned your face off. And it slowed down our time to shag. We were going to fuck that night, and instead, I had to wait fifteen long and hard days.”
“And was it worth it, Jude? All those long and hard days?”
He grumbles out a yes.
I cup my ear. “I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, fine, it was good. Fine, it was great. Okay, it was fucking amazing. So, what should I remember about the night we met?”
“At the bar, I wrote a note in my phone.”
His eyes light up from the memory. “That’s right! You did. I asked if you were taking notes on our conversation.”
“Because you gave me an idea.”
His eyes brighten. The memory must snap into place for him. “I said I enjoy a hard man. Are you fucking kidding me? That’s where your pen name came from? That was the note you wrote down?”
“Yes,” I say, and wow, did I just tell him something this big? I did, and it’s a little scary being this open, but a little awesome too.
“I love that,” he says, then sighs happily. “Did you happen to notice my handle on Instagram?”
I sure as shit did. “It’s JustJude,” I say.
He says nothing more. There’s no need to since we both just said enough. That we matter to each other. That we’ve mattered for a long time.
Even though we might have had a minor argument, we can make it through.
After our late breakfast, we walk along the beach, pop into shops, and track down consignment stores where we both buy some new clothes.
It’s London in Los Angeles all right, and it’s a perfect day.
As the afternoon ends, we head back toward the promenade when a bus rumbles along, a poster for Our Secret Courtship with the new Victor on it.
I flip him the bird.
Jude laughs. “Thank you for the support. That bloke is a total twat. He took my role.”
“It’s a tough business,” I say, hoping Jude doesn’t get annoyed again.
“It is,” he says, his mouth a straight line. “You just never know who has your best interests at heart.”
I drape an arm around his shoulder, wanting to reassure him, even though I don’t entirely know what he’s dealing with. “I think I get it. I want to get it.”
Jude gives me a soft smile. “I knew you’d understand,” he says, and I’m thankful for that.
Very, very thankful.
When I spot a bookstore at the end of the block, that sparks an idea. Something I never did for him in London. Something I can do now.
35
Déjà Vu All Over Again
TJ
* * *
I’m not jealous of the way Jude stares at the abs on the cover. What I am is eager to get the hell out of this section of Read Between the Lines.
“I have one question for you,” he says, holding up a copy of The Size Principle.
“Yes?”
“Did you pick the model for this cover?”
I roll my eyes. “No. The publisher did. And they’re redoing it.”
“Why? Do they hate abs? Men like abs. Women like abs. I’m giving up carbs for abs. How can anyone hate them?”
I shrug. “Illustrated is the thing now.”
“I’m going to be blunt here. Illustrated abs aren’t as sexy as real ones,” he says, then sets down the book.
I seize my chance. “Can we please go to the memoirs?”
“Are you afraid someone is going to see you and ask you to sign a copy?”
That’s not the issue whatsoever. I brought him here for him, not to ogle my covers nor to talk about me. “Yes, Jude. I’m afraid of random bookstore sightings,” I deadpan, then I loop an arm around his waist and tug him away from the romance section toward the back of the store.
“Why don’t you want to see your books? Don’t tell me you’re so over it.”
I turn the question around on him. “Why do you want to see my books?”
He counters in a flash. “Are you excited to come to my play tonight?”
“Yes. An insane amount,” I say as we reach the tell-alls.
“That’s why I like looking at your books,” he says, and I might float.