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)
“That was my agent,” he says hollowly. “Webflix wants me to go to Los Angeles. In an hour. Oh, and Slade’s downstairs.”
30
THE COCKBLOCKER AND THE HANDYMAN
TJ
I’m still processing Mason’s call. But the long and short is—Rikki was right.
Also, Jude is on the verge of freaking out. His shoulders are tight. His lips are a ruler.
I can’t let him think the worst. He talked me down last night. I need to reassure him now. In a heartbeat, I close the distance, grab his face, and press a poignant kiss to his soft lips. Touch is the language we’re most fluent in.
But before I can deepen the kiss, I stop.
This is the habit I have to break.
I can’t rely on the physical to convey my thoughts. It’s time for words. I end the kiss, step away.
Jude’s eyes flash with worry. “Is it the morning breath?” He covers his mouth, embarrassed. “I know you hate it.”
“Don’t care.” I have to make him believe this detour isn’t bad for us. “Rikki’s story was correct about my deal. The last rewrite was terrible, but Webflix doesn’t want to abandon the project since Robert loves the book so much. They all do. He called Mason last night to devise a new game plan. Mason suggested”—I stop to breathe; this part feels unreal like it’s happening to another person—“that I oversee the adaptation.”
I laugh, like, Can you believe such a thing?
I can’t. At all.
But Jude has zero problems on that front. Excitement rolls off him. “You said yes, right? That’s amazing. That’s fucking incredible.”
“I think so?” I’m still numb—how do I process something as big as writing my book into a movie?
“You better know so, stud.” He swats my ass then points to the door. “Go to LA now! Fix your film. This is a job for . . . The Handyman!”
“Did you just give me a comic book hero name?”
“I bloody fucking did. Now, vamoose!”
His ebullience flips the switch. Buoyed by his confidence, I reel off the rest of the details. “Well, Mason sort of made it clear I had to go. And Slade gave his blessing for me to duck out of your press tour to tend to this. It’s kind of wild, right?”
But the news isn’t all tubas and ticker tape. What does that mean for the new us? “I’ll miss the rest of the trip with you,” I point out, though I’m sure he’s put two and two together.
With a no big deal shrug, he turns me around, sets his hands on my shoulders, and gently shoves me toward the door. “Save your project, Handyman Writer Superhero! You’re its only hope,” he says, going full Princess Leia.
But I spin back around, pointing at the closet. “I do need to zip up my bag, though. Grab my laptop. I have to get on a plane in ten minutes. Daddy’s downstairs and he wants us to make a big show of saying goodbye.”
Jude’s aghast, flinging his hand to his cheek. “He expects me to put on a public face in ten minutes? As if that’s possible,” he says, then tosses his head back haughtily as he strolls to the bathroom. He stops in the doorway. “But I’ll do my best to look decent for you, sweetheart.”
As he gets dressed, I fly around the suite, bringing my carry-on to the door then grabbing my messenger bag from the couch in the living room. I stuff my laptop inside it and pull the zipper closed.
Minutes later, I’m at the hotel room door, ready to vamoose when Jude strolls out of the bathroom, freshened up and fully dressed.
“Damn,” I say, then whistle at his appearance—jeans, a tight shirt, a fantastic smile, and great hair.
“I guess I pulled it off,” he says, stopping a foot away from me.
“You did.”
After last night, this thing between us is hardly a show anymore. I don’t want to put on an act for anyone, least of all me. “Jude,” I say, eager to ask the question I wanted to ask ten months ago in Los Angeles. Nothing will hold me back.
“Yes?” He sounds like he’s on the edge of his seat.
My heart expands with hope. “Will you be—”
A loud knock reverberates in my ears.
Bang, bang.
Then again.
Are you kidding me?
“Rise and shine, men. The day is young, and the agenda is long . . . and sexy.”
I groan for a year. Slade is the ultimate cockblocker.
“Yoo-hoo! I know you’re there. Answer the door,” the publicist says.
“I swear he has X-ray vision,” I mumble.
“He can read minds too,” Jude seconds.
I face the music, yanking open the door. The man in the hall beams, but it’s his I’m going to chew you out grin. “Let me in,” he says cheerily.
Like I have a choice. He pushes his way inside, shuts the door, then heaves a disappointed sigh. “What made you think that was a good idea to post a picture of you two and the guy who’s the reason Jude needs a fake boyfriend?”