That’s another reason why I’d really like to figure out what Beck wants from me, and what I want from him. But for now, I focus on my brother, and all our friends.

  Epilogue

  Friendship Goals

  Nolan

  * * *

  This is better than shishito peppers.

  An evening here in my new city with friends and family, and New York is right where I belong.

  Especially as I watch my little brother and my good friend rib each other. When TJ teases Jason about Beck, my brother’s blue eyes go a little dreamy.

  I could tease Jason, but I know there’s more to it for him. Maybe there has been for some time. Just like there was for me. Like there seems to be for TJ and Jude. And like there seems to be for Jo as she catches us all up to speed on her new romance in London.

  As I look around my circle of friends, soaking in the moment, I suppose we’re all like that—here for each other through ups and downs, stops and starts, pain and heartbreak.

  And all the joy, too, on the other side.

  I found mine with Emerson, and I’ve got new dreams for the two of us. As Jo and Em chat, as Jason and TJ strategize, and as Katie and Harlan talk and laugh, I drape an arm around my best friend, my co-creator, my girlfriend.

  My. . .everything.

  Emerson snuggles close to me as everyone reconnects, and drops a quick kiss to my cheek. “Love you, friend,” she says.

  “Love you too, friend,” I say, and enjoy the rest of the night here with them, then later, alone with her.

  Epilogue

  A Very Naked Parrot

  Emerson

  * * *

  The parrot squawks. “So, a parrot walks into a bar . . . and he’s naked.”

  I turn to Nolan, mouthing, Aren’t parrots always naked?

  Nolan nods the answer. Yes.

  “And he says to the bartender, the two of us will have a couple of blow jobs,” the bird continues.

  I tug on Nolan’s shirt, whisper in his ear, “That’s a very dirty parrot.”

  “Yes, he might even be dirtier than you.”

  I scoff. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  The emerald-green bird squawks once more. “And the bartender says a couple of blow jobs? There’s only one of you.”

  The bird drops his beak like he’s looking at his birthday suit-ed body. “It’s for me and my . . . woodpecker.”

  I groan—so loudly—and roll my eyes. But I’m laughing, and so is Nolan, and we keep on laughing through the whole set of terrible jokes at The Parrot Club.

  After the show, we catch a cab to our hotel. “We finally made it to The Parrot Club,” I say as the driver pulls away from the curb.

  “My life is now complete,” Nolan says. “I can’t think of anything else I want to do.”

  “You don’t want to ride the roller coaster?”

  “Ah, yes. That. Let’s do that.”

  I have high hopes for the ride.

  We tell the driver to stop at New York, New York, and we wind our way through the casino to the thrill ride where we had our first kiss. It feels a little like kismet, like something big could happen. I can’t stop thinking both of beginnings and next steps. Of the future I want with Nolan.

  As we wait in line, I squeeze his hand. “You’re the reason I love roller coasters.”

  “You’re the reason I’m ridiculously happy, so I win,” he says with a cheeky grin. Then he stows his glasses in the locker, and we grab seats in the car.

  On the first hill, I maybe, possibly, definitely squeeze his arm hard enough to leave marks. But there’s always makeup to cover that. When we zip downhill, though, I thrust my arms into the air and scream at the top of my lungs.

  It’s more fun than the first time.

  Everything with Nolan is, including this mini vacation in Vegas. Our show is going strong, and Webflix renewed it for another season, along with Dot and Bette’s and the Wine Dude and Drive-Thru-Babe’s too. Not Max’s. I don’t feel bad about that at all. Not one bit.

  Nolan and I decided to celebrate by flying to Vegas. He played solitaire on the flight, and I read.

  My goal in Vegas? Do face masks and wear robes. Translation—we bang a lot, just like we do back home in New York. But hey, every couple has hobbies. Ours are food and sex.

  When we’re off the ride, Nolan kisses me like he did that very first time. It’s toe-tingling and knee-weakening, and I could kiss him all night. But kisses end, and this glorious one does too. Nolan grabs his glasses, and we leave. Once we’re out of New York, New York, I’m still a little surprised that he didn’t ask me a certain question. But I’m not disappointed.

  I can wait. I can definitely wait.

  Good things come and all.

  We return to The Extravagant, and as we wander through the hotel on the way to the elevators, I figure tonight’s not the night, and that’s okay.

  “Hey!” Nolan points to a late-night eatery off the casino. “I didn’t realize they had a cereal bar here.”

  I’m Pavlov’s dog. Instantly, my mouth waters. “Cinnamon Life Cereal, take me to your leader.”

  Nolan pats my belly. “Your appetite for cereal knows no bounds.”

  “That is true. It is boundless.”

  With an arm wrapped around my shoulder, he guides me into the quirky breakfast-anytime café.

  We grab stools at the bar and place our order with the server. “One bowl of Froot Loops for me.”

  “One Cinnamon Life Cereal for me,” I add.

  A minute later, the server returns with a bowl for him and a box for me. “I don’t need a whole box, but thank you,” I say.

  The server shrugs and smiles. “Here you go anyway.”

  Then he walks away.

  I arch a brow at Nolan, who’s pouring a cup of milk onto his multi-colored cereal. “Am I supposed to open the box?”

  “That’s how one gets to the cereal inside,” he says like he has a secret. “And the prize.”

  “Oh, there’s a prize?” I ask, refusing to get ahead of myself.

  I swear I try. But it’s hard.

  “Yes, there is,” Nolan says.

  I rip the box open and gasp so loud I bet they can hear me at New York, New York.

  There’s a blue velvet box perched on top of the cereal.

  I grab it, hold it tight. Try not to burst into a million diamonds of excitement.

  “Like I said.” In that commanding way he sometimes has with me, Nolan takes the box, rises from the barstool, and gets down on one knee.

  I have no chill.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. It turns into a whisper-chant. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

  “Emerson Alva, you’re the one. The one I want to wake up with, sleep with, work with, eat with, play with. You’re the person I want to spend my days and nights with. And you’re the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Will you marry me?”

  I jump off the stool, tears streaking down my face, and join him on the floor, throwing my arms around his neck.

  “I will.”

  He slides the ring on my finger. “Good. Now shut up and kiss me,” he says.

  And I do—because that sounds like an excellent plan to me.

  What happens to Jo when she heads to London? Find out in the ultra romantic, forbidden office romance Kismet! You can order it now! And read on for a preview!

  * * *

  Why was TJ so transfixed with the report about Jude? What happened during his weekend in Los Angeles? You’ll learn all those delicious details when you fall hard for TJ and Jude’s romance in Hopelessly Bromantic! Order now while this epic romance is on a preorder discount! I’ve got a sneak preview for you below!

  * * *

  Don’t forget Jason! The sexy quarterback’s story comes in THE BOYFRIEND COMEBACK and you’ll discover what happened with Beck as Jason fights not to fall for his rival!

  * * *

  Be sure to sign up for my mailing list to be the first to know when swoony, sexy new romances are available or on sale!

  * * *

  Jo…

  He gestures to my Hazel Valentine book. “Speaking of libraries and things to check out, are you enjoying your book?”

  My face heats slightly, and I hesitate. When you tell a person what you read, sometimes their reaction reveals who they are. Some judge, and some don’t. I prefer the latter. “It’s a love story,” I say, lifting my chin.

  His expression goes serious. “Is it an escape?”

  “You’re not going to tease me about reading romance novels?” I ask.

  His brow knits in confusion. “Is that a thing people do?”

  So much. Too often. I’ve been ridiculed for my taste in books, my love of musicals, my affection for pop songs. “Some people think you should only read serious literature or important non-fiction.”

  Heath’s expression is comically astonished. “People mock reading? Make fun of books? Well, besides silly quote books culled from social media feeds.”

  “Social media is fair game for mockery. And yes, some people mock reading, and certain types of stories,” I say with a laugh.

  “People,” he mutters, like he disapproves of them in general.

  “I like people, generally. But now that I’ve said it, that does sound unbelievably petty of them.”

  He taps the back cover of my book gently. “How does the book make you feel?”

  The question makes me dig into my emotions about the story, examine them, and I like that. I flip to the back cover, featuring a couple kissing on the streets of New York, and my heart glows a little. “Possible,” I say. “It makes me feel . . . possible.”

  Discover Jo’s romance Kismet!

  * * *

  And now here’s a peek at the day TJ meets Jude in Hopelessly Bromantic! The price goes up on release day!

  * * *

  TJ…

  * * *

  When I wander down the little lane in Covent Garden, it’s as if I’ve traveled to my personal paradise. Shops line the quaint alley full of books—my favorite things after sex and pizza.

  I could get lost and never want to be found. Except I do want to find Jude. What are the chances he’ll be in one of these shops right now?

  Maybe it’s best to focus on my original mission. Even before I left the States, I wanted to go to the bookshop I’d visited as a kid. No, not that one with the medical textbooks.

  Definitely not the children’s bookstore with the stuffed dragon in the window.

  And for sure it’s not the shop with globes in the window.

  When I’ve scoured nearly the whole alley, I’m convinced the store I camped out in a decade ago has closed.

  Until a sign beckons me.

  An Open Book.

  It feels like déjà vu.

  Peering inside, I breathe a sigh of relief. This is the store. Jude is probably history, and soon, he’ll be a hazy memory of my first day in London—just some cute guy I met one afternoon.

  A bell tinkles as I enter. I don’t see a shopkeeper. Maybe they’re in the back?

  I browse the shelves, checking out row after row of colorful spines, stories in each one that lure me to read and also to write. I reach a row of works by Oscar Wilde, one of the greatest Irish writers ever. That dude was funny as fuck.

  As I tip a copy of The Importance of Being Earnest into my hand, the thump of a hardback tome rattles a shelf behind me and I jerk my head.

  Then I turn.

  And wow.

  This must be kismet.

  Jude’s paused in the act of sorting books, surprised to see me, it seems. And he looks—impossibly—even better than he did a few hours ago.

  “You found the shop,” he says, his lips twitching with the hint of a grin, his blue eyes full of mischief.

  All at once, everything feels a little heady and a lot possible. Like this is the start of something. My fingers tingle, and I’m not even sure why. But maybe it’s just from this dizzying sense of . . . fate.

  And fear.

  I don’t want to fuck this up. Life doesn’t give you a lot of chances. So I don’t answer him right away. “Well, I had a few clues,” I finally say.

  Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I did step off the plane and into my very own rom-com.

  “It’s good to be an amateur detective,” he tosses back.

  So that’s how we’re doing it—going toe to toe and quip to quip. Bring it on. “Who said anything about amateur?”

  His lips curve into a sly grin. “Ohhh . . . you’re a professional detective?”

  “How else would I have found An Open Book?”

  His eyes travel up and down my body. “Sheer determination.”

  I laugh. “Yes, a little bit of that, but someone left a few hints. It was like a scavenger hunt. Maybe that’s my new calling—scavenger hunting.”

  “Didn’t know that was a thing. You do learn something new every day,” he says. Then he makes that wildly sexy move again as he did outside TK Maxx—he coasts his teeth over that lower lip. I stifle a groan. My God, does he know what that does to a man?

  Who am I kidding? Of course he does. A guy who looks, talks, stands like that—he’s gorgeous and knows it.

  Hell, he makes leaning against a shelf sexy.

  “You know what I learned today?” I ask, plucking at my new Tetris shirt. It’s nice and snug and makes my chest look good.

  “Dying to know.”

  “That Angie’s Vintage Duds does, in fact, have good clothes. Appreciate the tip.”

  “Would I lead you astray?”

  That’s an excellent question. I glance down at The Importance of Being Earnest in my hand as I hunt for retorts, then I look up, our gazes locking. “I have no idea, Jude. Would you?”

  He laughs easily. Bet he does everything easily. Pose, walk, talk, read, live.

  “Not when it comes to important matters like finding just the right shirt, and just the right store, and just the right book.” He steps closer, taps the Wilde I’m holding. If an electrical charge could jump through pages, it just did. My skin is sizzling, almost like he touched me rather than paper.

  “Like this book. Is that what you came to the store for?” Jude asks it so damn innocently, like he’s goading me into admitting I came here for him.

  Of course, I did. But two can play at this flirting game. I waggle the book. “I just needed to brush up on my Wilde.”

  “Naturally. You’re just here for the books,” he says, calling me on my patent lie.

  “It’s a bookstore. Why else would I come?” I counter.

  “There couldn’t be any other reason,” he says. “But I’d be a terrible shop assistant if I didn’t help you find just the right Wilde.” He takes his time with his speech so that each word can send a wicked charge through me.

  They all do.

  “Except, I don’t even know your name,” he adds.

  I glance around. The shop is empty, except for a couple of young women parked on comfy chairs in the corner, flipping through guidebooks, maybe. They’re wrapped up in their world. I hope they stay there for hours.

  “I’m TJ,” I say.

  A laugh bursts from Jude.

  “My name is funny to you?” I ask.

  “That’s so very American,” he says.

  “What do you know? I am American,” I say. “And I know you don’t do the whole initial thing here. Does that mean you prefer to be Jude the Third?”

  Another laugh. “If I’d told you I was Jude the Third, I doubt you would’ve come looking for—” He sounds like he’s about to say me, but he amends it, quickly shifting to, “All the Wildes. Besides, I’m just Jude.”

  But he’s not just Jude.

  He’s not just at all.

  I keep that thought locked up tight. “And if I’d told you what TJ stands for, you’d know exactly why some Americans prefer initials,” I say.

  His blue eyes sparkle with intrigue. “You have to tell me now, TJ.” My name sounds like a bedroom whisper on his lips.

  “You’ll never get that out of me,” I say, matching his breathless tone.

  He arches a brow. “Never? Never ever, you say?”

  I could dine on his charm. I could eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner on his wit. I never want to leave this store. We can play word badminton till after dark. I’ll stop only when the lights go down, and we can do all the other things—the things I’m already picturing with that lush, red mouth of his.

  “Never,” I repeat, then take a long, lingering moment. “Unless you have your ways.”

  He hums, a rumbly sound low in his throat. Then he taps his chin. “Perhaps I could guess. Thomas James?”

  I shake my head. “Not even close.”

  “Theodore John.” He makes a rolling gesture. “I could go all night.”

  “I hope so. And, perhaps, you should,” I say.

  Over drinks. Over sex. Over breakfast.

  But the shop bell tinkles.

  Jude groans as a customer strolls in. “I have to go wait on a customer.”

  And I have to make sure you and I go out tonight.

  But before I can say You’ll find me here by the Oscar Wildes, Jude adds, “Don’t go anywhere, Thiago Jonas.”

  “You’re not even warm,” I say as he walks past me, brushing his shoulder against mine.

  “But I bet you are,” he whispers.

  I try to stifle the hitch in my breath. But it’s hard with this man, and his mouth, and his face, and my good fortune.

  “Very,” I say, low, just for him.

  “Good,” he says, then strides to the front of the store and chitchats with a customer. The whole time he ushers her around, my neck is warm, my head is hazy, and I feel like this is happening to some other guy. Like this is just a figment of my jet-lagged brain.

  I flip open the book, turn it to one of my favorite scenes, and hear the lines in Jude’s voice.