“We’ll stay as true to the book as possible,” Robert says, then stretches his hands out like he’s framing a marquee. “After the prologue when they meet, I see the camera pans to an establishing shot, Greenwich Village. Close-up on our hero. He’s working on one of his cartoons when his best-friend-turned-business-manager saunters into their artsy office, tells him about the deal he just booked for our hero’s illustrations. Then, we cut to the guys celebrating that night with ping-pong and beer at their favorite bar. In walks the other hero—duh duh duuun—the best friend’s brother. Our hero has been crushing on him since that day in the prologue. AKA for-evah.”
It’s too good to be true. I know Mason’s mantra, he’s repeated it ever since my book took off, so I do my best to stay super chill.
But man, it’s really fucking hard when this guy tells me that Webflix loves my story and wants to make a deal.
Maybe I do finally understand musicals because it’s also really hard not to burst into, well, an epic rock song right the hell now.
Especially when Robert shakes my hand at the end of the meeting. “I know this seems like luck because we ran into each other at the play. But it’s not luck. Your book is gold, and we’re going to mine it and give it a good home. I promise you that.”
“I’m just glad you enjoyed the story,” I say. That’s about as much as I can process right now.
When he leaves, Kristen mimes her head exploding. “Some deals are the LA freeway system. Some are the autobahn. That deal is a Bugatti on the autobahn.”
I don’t even know what to say to her. It’s all too much. Too Hollywood. Too unbelievable.
I thank her then slip my cell phone out of my pocket to snap a shot of the catering spread before I leave. I slide into the town car a minute later, my bones buzzing. When we’re on the road, I call Mason back. “So, what did you think?”
“I think armadillos suit you, and so does LA. You look happy, so I’m guessing you needed sunshine. And . . . Robert just called to say he’s sending a term sheet over tonight.”
This feels so unreal. But as the car slogs through traffic, I’m struck by one more revelation. Even though I usually keep this shit to myself, I want to tell Jude.
I want to let him know about my crazy day. Find out what he thinks about it.
But I also don’t want him to get weird like Flynn did. Or, really, like Jude kinda did on Sunday at the café.
Except, it should be okay if Jude has his own feelings about this maybe-kinda-sorta deal. He’s an artist. I get that. But he’s shown me his wounds; he’s opened up about his sore spots. If I want to be a damn good boyfriend, I need to share things in a way that shows I give a shit about his sensitive heart too.
Share in a way that says, Hey babe, what do you think? and not, look at me, look at me!
If there’s one thing I know about Jude, it’s that he likes fun, sex, books, and food he can eat.
And, well, me. He likes me.
I send him a text.
* * *
TJ: Hey, want to go to the Silver Spinner Neon Bowling Lanes and see if you can beat me? Then, sushi? Just the fish for you, though, babe. I’ll happily eat all your rice.
* * *
Then I follow with a second note.
* * *
TJ: If you’re very good, I’ll let you blow me after. Sixty-nine if you beat me like you did in pinball, you secret pinball wizard.
* * *
Jude: Fuck me. The shoot is running late. Can you please be naked and covered in sushi when I return later? Like, on a table and all. I don’t even require chopsticks.
* * *
TJ: Mark that down with things that will never happen. (Me covered in sushi, not me fucking you. The latter is of the name-the-time-and-place variety.)
* * *
Jude: Someday, you’ll be my sushi feast. But for now, can I trouble you to order me some yellowtail rolls for takeout? Wait. Nope. Fuck me again. I mean yellowtail and edamame. Do not tempt me with rice. Seriously. Promise me you will never bring rice near me. I might want rice more than your cock at the end of a long day.
* * *
TJ: You said, “fuck me twice.” What I hear is you want double-sex tonight. Got it.
* * *
Jude: At last! He gets my order right! Yellowtail and a long cock!
* * *
But when nine p.m. rolls around with no sign of Jude, it’s clear neither sushi nor dick is on the menu for him tonight. His next note comes with a crying eggplant emoji.
* * *
Jude: I hate everyone. Hollywood time is a bigger lie than It must have gone to my spam folder.
* * *
TJ: Or Your hair looks nice?
* * *
Jude: Wait, are you saying you don’t like my hair?
* * *
TJ: I like your hair all the time, especially when my fingers are tugging on it and your lips are on my dick.
* * *
Jude: It’s sooooo late. I’m hallucinating about eating white rice off your dick. Send help soon.
* * *
TJ: Fine, fine. I’ll be covered in yellowtail when you return.
* * *
Mason sends me a term sheet a little later, and it still seems too good to be true, so I go to bed.
It’ll be there in the morning to sign, after all. Then, I can try again to share my news with Jude, maybe invite him to go to Amsterdam with me, and then finally ask him to be my top-notch boyfriend.
39
Show and Tell
Jude
* * *
Lucky me. After a long day shooting a cologne commercial, I get to come home to fresh yellowtail in the fridge and an American hunk in my bed.
Fine, he’s not covered in pancakes, or rice, or bread. But TJ still looks good enough to eat, even sound asleep.
I’m quiet as I brush my teeth, shed my clothes, and pad to the bed. If he happens to wake up, though, I won’t complain. I’ll reward him.
After I slide under the covers, I snuggle against this warm man.
“Hey,” he murmurs.
“Hey, you,” I whisper.
I wait to see if he’ll wake up. He’s quiet for several long seconds, then he slurs, “How was your day?”
“Good. Yours?”
More silence. “Good. Meeting. Stuff.”
I laugh to myself. Press a kiss to his shoulder. “See you in the morning,” I say, and I won’t even be upset that it’s our last morning before he returns to New York.
There will be more. I’m sure of it.
The sun blasts its get-the-fuck-out-of-bed rays at me. I rub my eyes and grab my phone. Ugh. It’s only nine.