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)
“My motivation?” I laugh and wag a finger. “Always thinking like a writer.”
He dips his head, and when he raises it, he shrugs. “Busted.”
But if he wants my motivation, he’ll get it. “I wanted you to see it because . . . you’re happiest when you’re writing.”
“That’s mostly true,” TJ says, his gaze lingering on me for a long, long second that makes my heart hammer. Am I part of that mostly? It’s an intense thought. Maybe for both of us. He breaks the stare and looks around. “And this is great. It reminds me of London. It makes me think that maybe there needs to be some London in the story.”
“London is always a good idea,” I say.
“Can I take a picture?”
“Of course,” I reply as he takes his phone from his pocket. I step out of the way.
Shaking his head, he grabs my arm, yanks me against him. “Selfie?”
This is the first picture we’ve taken together—no photogs, no reporters, or Instagrammers. Just us. I hope it remains only ours.
I line up next to him, and he drapes an arm around me, then clicks. When he shows me the shot, I catch things I’ve felt but couldn’t see—the possession in his touch, the way his hand curls over my shoulder.
And I like it.
“It’s a good one,” I say.
He tucks his mobile away, and then we’re quiet. He’s seen what he needs to see on Pomander Walk. It’s time to go. But there are things I need to say, and they’re best said when no one’s around. “TJ, can we sit and talk for a minute?”
Fear flickers across his brown eyes, then he swallows. “Sure.”
He sounds like he’s walking to his execution. I hope he won’t feel that way in a minute.
At the end of the private block is a green slatted bench. We go there and sit, European homes on each side of us, but we’re far away from people in the homes or out of them.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asks, sounding tense.
I hate that he worries so much. That he seems to think I’m going to break his heart.
But this isn’t easy for me either. I’m still a little ashamed of how I behaved ten months ago. “When I called you after LA?” I ask, careful not to say after you left. I don’t want to blame him since I struck the match. TJ just walked away from the fire.
“When I didn’t call or text you back,” he says, sounding guilty.
“I wanted to say I was sorry. I was an idiot. I overreacted,” I say, and holy fuck. It’s hard to admit you botched a new love as horribly as I did.
But it’s necessary.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You said you were sorry the other night. I’m sorry too.”
But that isn’t enough. I rest my hand on his thigh, squeezing it. His shoulders relax. I need to reassure him, and touch does the trick with TJ, so I keep my hand firmly in place on his thigh. “I spiraled,” I say. “I accused you, and it was ridiculous. I freaked out over the Webflix thing, and I want you to know it wasn’t because of you. It was because of me and my issues.” The nitty-gritty of how and why my past relationships messed me up doesn’t belong in an apology, but I need to take responsibility, and I want him to know this one’s on me. “I didn’t feel as successful as you. I thought you wouldn’t want someone who wasn’t in the same place career-wise. I didn’t think I was good enough for you. And I felt like I wasn’t just falling behind. I was years behind.”
His eyes flood with sadness. “Jude, you have to know none of that matters to me. Ever. Remember, I liked you before I knew you were an actor. I was into you the second I met you. Then I got to know you, and I was gone, hook, line, and sinker. And that was before you were ever cast in anything. I just liked you. I’ve always liked you.”
I want to wrap those reassuring words around me like a warm scarf. But I can’t let him let me off the hook too easily. “I wish I’d been able to truly see all that at the time. That’s why I feel so stupid. I was horrid. I fucked up royally.”
He laughs softly. “It wasn’t my best moment either.”
“No. You don’t get to take the blame,” I say firmly. “You tried to explain, and it all made sense in retrospect.”
He sighs heavily. “But I did contribute to the situation. I thought keeping the deal info from you was protecting you. I was doing what I did in London. Doling out little details about myself whenever I felt like it. Deciding when to share and when to keep secrets. And that blew up in my face spectacularly. I don’t open up easily. That’s something I’m trying to change.”