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)
“Then I will too,” he says, and that kicks up a sense of déjà vu, like I’ve heard him say that before, but maybe it’s just the déjà vu of him and the nickname game.
After he orders the drinks, the bartender pours quickly, then hands him two glasses.
“I reserved the table in the corner,” TJ says.
I follow as he heads for a small, curved booth in a private spot. “So, how did you pick those three drinks? Did you read my diary?”
“I like research,” he says, drily.
“You always did. You liked to go around London, researching places. Did you research a certain person and his favorite drinks?” I ask, and I’m dying to know if he’s been following me.
“When you DM’d me, I scrolled through your feed, naturally,” he says, and maybe he hasn’t been following my career like I’ve followed his. Perhaps he only checked me out after I messaged him. That shouldn’t bother me. Really, it shouldn’t. “You posted a picture from your brother’s birthday last year. A shot of you toasting the old fucker. Your words. In your hand was a bright red drink. When I saw the orange peel, I deduced it likely wasn’t a vodka raspberry but a Negroni. Was I right?”
“You’re correct.”
“And of course, we always ordered beers.”
We. My stupid heart likes that he remembers our times. “We did, but I don’t think there’s a photo of me having a champagne on my feed,” I say, like I’ve caught him in something.
He smiles. “Sometimes you have to go out on a limb. I rolled the dice that you liked it. Good guess?”
I lift the glass, bring it to my lips. The man always loved my mouth, so I glide the rim of the glass right along my bottom lip for a second.
He breathes out hard, shuddering lightly.
“A very, very good guess,” I say, then clink the glass to his. “I’ll toast to writers who do their research.”
TJ clinks back, his voice all warm and rumbly as he says, “To actors who act on an impulse to look someone up.”
I have so many more questions for him: Now that you’ve conquered the book world, do you have new dreams? Does music unlock you? Does coffee make you happy? Does wandering the city thrill you? Do you still take your time before you speak like you’re writing the words first in your head? Do you still know how to say just the right thing when a guy needs a supportive word? Most of all, do you still feel the connection too?
But any of those would reveal too much, and once you reveal yourself, people have a way of betraying you.
Instead, I play the catch-up game. We talk about Olivia, and I tell him about her voiceover career, how she’s spending time in New York now. He tells me about his brother, who’s become one of the top closers in the Major League.
“I watched the last game of the World Series,” I say, and this topic feels a little more real, since he was always so proud of his brother. “Saw him strike out the Miami Ace batter in the final at-bat.”
“That’s so cool, the idea that you were watching it, Jude,” he says, his voice rising in excitement. “Did I ever tell you I used to catch for him in the backyard when we were growing up?”
Yes! This is working. We are working. I feel like we’re thrifting again, and it’s the day he told me he’s an identical twin. The day he opened up for real.
“No, you never did.”
“I spent hours upon hours catching fastballs. When he signed a new contract a few years ago, I teased him that he should give me ten percent of his salary. He joked that I should give him some of my royalties since he used to listen when I read him stories.”
I am ravenous. This is what I want from TJ. This side of him, when he shares his true heart. “You read him stories growing up?”
“Sometimes. When I came home from London the first time, I wrote a couple stories after we visited Buckingham Palace. One was about the queen’s late-night antics, plotting heists as she ate Cap’n Crunch. I read him that one. Others I didn’t read to him, like the one where the prince was having an affair with one of the palace guards in the library.”
I laugh. “The prince dallying with the guard. You were writing a forbidden romance back then.”
“And a royal one too.” He smiles. “I haven’t done that yet. Written a royal hero.”
“Do you want to?”
“Maybe I do,” he says, sounding enthused, and I kind of want to talk shop all night, find out what inspires him these days.
“Then you should. But it better be hotter and dirtier than what you wrote when you were thirteen. Incidentally, I love that you had gay affairs in your stories way back when.”