I leave the bar feeling better, thanks to giving Malcolm a piece of my mind, and worse, courtesy of the news that my Webflix project needs a lifeboat.

  28

  Welcome to the Club

  TJ

  * * *

  Jude says I deserve blow jobs for life. He tells me so after I recap the scene with “MM” while we wait for the concert outside The Extravagant theater. An alcove near the entrance affords us some privacy as the crowd streams into the venue.

  “I mean it,” Jude says, utterly delighted with my Malcolm report. “You have earned a lifetime of BJs by calling out the ultimate jackass. How did that feel, stud?”

  Giving Malcolm some real talk was fantastic, I admit. “On a scale of one to your favorite carbs? This was chocolate biscuits level.”

  “Yes! I can practically taste them. And I am going to lean on this moment the next time I have to rip someone to pieces in a scene.” He points at me. “You are my motivation, TJ Hardman.”

  Glad he’s enjoying it, but I’m half stoked, half sick. I hold out a trembling hand. “I’m so jittery it’s like I’ve had ten coffees.” Grabbing my phone from my pocket, I show him Rikki’s newest post on The Hollywood Scoop. “She’s never been wrong, Jude. Everything she’s reported has been right.”

  He rolls his pretty blue eyes. “She was wrong about William and me.”

  Oh, fuck. Right. “Shit, sorry.” I’m so caught up in what she told me about my failing adaptation I didn’t think about the incendiary pics—the reason Jude has a fake boyfriend in the first place. “About the project, I meant. But I hear you,” I say.

  He sighs, setting a hand on my chest, firm and reassuring. “And I get what you’re saying. She’s often quite right. But here’s the thing. Don’t let it get to you.”

  “How? How do I just ignore it?” That seems impossible when I feel this upside down over the news.

  Jude’s smile is sympathetic but wise too. A man who speaks from experience. He lets go of my shirt to smooth my hair, even though it’s not messy. “You have to try. You can’t let these reporters get under your skin.”

  “But I feel like such an ass for learning my Webflix deal is falling to pieces from a blogger.”

  “Welcome to the club,” he says. “We have jackets.”

  I groan in shared misery. “And then she said she was meeting with LGO. What if it’s about your show?” My nerves skyrocket once again.

  “It’s Hollywood, TJ. It could be about anything. My show could get nixed tomorrow. Your project could get axed for good tonight. Your book might get made. Or, it might not.” He blows out a long breath. “But you’re going to be just fine. Want to know how I know?”

  “I do.” Desperately.

  “Because that’s how it worked out for me. And here I am a year after my Webflix deal fell apart and I survived. In fact, a few weeks after I lost my deal, I got If Found, Please Return and that turned out okay.”

  A smile tugs at my lips. “More than okay.”

  “Just a little bit,” he whispers, eyes twinkling with happiness. “You never know what’s around the corner. Just be open to possibilities.”

  Like him and me.

  Right here, right now. Like Jude Fox reassuring me as a boyfriend would do.

  This is worth that drinks fiasco.

  His faith and willingness to share are worth ten thousand drinks with Malcolm and Rikki. Fine, more like ten. I could brave ten for this moment.

  “I think I owe you blow jobs for life,” I say, then press my forehead to his.

  “I like the sound of that,” he whispers, and I want to savor this moment for a long time. It’s the best one in a string of great moments with him, each bringing us closer.

  “Me too.” Jude holds my face, dusts a kiss across my temple, then says, “It’s a deal. Now let’s go see a fucking concert.”

  Jude takes my hand, and we head to the main doors, stopping briefly at the red carpet to smile for photos. Then we go inside, sitting in the second row, near Luke and across from Christian.

  And next to my good buddy Jason. I smack the quarterback on the arm affectionately. “Jaybird, I want you to meet someone.”

  “Finally,” my friend says, then lifts a big hand in a friendly wave at Jude. “Hey there.”

  I turn to Jude, smiling uncontrollably. “Jason, this is my guy. Jude Fox,” I say, proudly. Not because I nabbed a movie star. But because somehow, I found this person who knows exactly what I need.

  Jude stretches a hand across me to shake Jason’s. “So great to finally meet you, Jason,” he says. “I hear you play a mean pinball, so maybe we can all do that someday.”

  I’m a bottle of champagne, uncorked. In the store yesterday, I imagined this future with him. Pinball, laundry, and friends. Being part of his world. Letting him into mine. Us fitting together, as we do right now.

  Jason seems stoked to have found a fellow arcade lover. “You play?”

  “Just a little bit,” Jude says innocently.

  I snort at the blatant lie. “He sneak-attacked me the first time we played. Do not let that British understatement fool you, Jaybird. He’s vicious. Completely savage on the flippers.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. I’m rubbish at it,” Jude says drily.

  “Duly noted,” Jason says.

  I love the camaraderie, but I can’t live here—time to level up. The pre-concert music and the hubbub of the crowd give me a buffer as I lean in closer to Jason and speak in a low voice. “I wanted you to know the real deal. This started as a fake romance. Our agents asked us to pretend to date and stuff for a bunch of reasons.”

  Jason’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline, and his eyes twinkle with delight. “This sounds like one of your books.”

  Jude smiles as if he’s glad we’re all in on the secret. “Doesn’t it?”

  “But it . . .” I pause to glance at Jude, then take his hand and thread our fingers tightly together as I open the secret to my friend. “It became real. Very, very real.”

  Holy shit. I thought that would be hard . . . but all of that was remarkably easy to say.

  Maybe it’s simpler to be honest with the people you care about. Once it’s done, you don’t have to worry as much. I feel lighter than I’ve been in a long time. My head was stuffed full of my own secrets. It’s good to set some free.

  Jason checks out our linked hands. “Looks very, very real to me.”

  “It is,” I say.

  “It absolutely is,” Jude seconds.

  I settle back in the chair and enjoy the hell out of Stone Zenith’s show. The charismatic star rolls through some killer love songs, and when the show nears its natural end, the electrifying rocker tells us he has a special guest for us.

  Then he announces that Lettuce Pray is in the house, and William Halifax takes the stage.

  29

  Once Upon a Time

  Jude

  * * *

  William enthralls the fans for a trio of tunes, the entire arena rocking out to his music. When he croons the ending of his hit “I Said Someday” then holds the mic to the audience, the crowd joins in to sing the final line back at him: “And I said someday, we will meet again.”

  He strums a long, lasting chord on his guitar. William thrusts an arm in a rocker salute. “Thank you, Las Vegas. You’re brilliant, and I love you madly.”

  He takes a bow, then heads to the wings, where Stone yanks him in for an embrace. I turn to TJ. “Let’s go backstage. VIP tickets are good for something.”

  Five minutes later, security takes us to the surprise guest’s green room.

  William’s eyes light up the second we step through the doorway. “It’s the London crew! How the hell are you fuckers?”

  “Fantastic,” I say.

  Especially because William looks . . . different.

  Glowing. Vibrant. With a sweat-slicked face, he strides across the room and wraps me in a hug. “So good to see you,” he says, warm and bright.

  “Thanks for the heads-up, mate,” I say, ribbing him.

  When he lets go, he mimes zipping his lips. “Stone made me swear to secrecy. NDA and all,” he says, then turns to TJ, giving him a fond once-over. “You look terrific. Like, you’re all happy and shit.”

  “Sounds about right,” TJ says as William drags him in for a hug too.

  Once they separate, I stare at William. “So, what the hell are you doing here? Surprising us like that.”

  “Oh, you know, playing a show. Having a good time. Celebrating one week of sobriety.”

  I tingle with happiness at the news. “Seriously?” I pray he’s not taking the piss out of me.

  William’s expression shifts to somber. “I’ve started going to meetings. And I found a therapist. It’s early days, but you know how it goes. One day at a time,” he says.

  “I’m so happy for you.”

  William’s smile is small but proud, as if he’s not taking anything for granted. “Thanks. And listen, I don’t mean to turn the moment all serious, but sometimes you have to be. You sticking around for me did it. It was a wake-up call, everything you did to help me. No one else told me to get my act together.”

  Was I that harsh? “Did I say that?”

  “Pretty much, mate,” William says, clapping me on the shoulder. “And it worked. So, yeah, thanks.”

  I’m honored and humbled. But I won’t take the credit. “You’re the one doing the hard work. I’m here for you if you need a shoulder to lean on.”

  Then he turns to TJ. “Don’t let him get away.”

  “I don’t plan to,” TJ says, and I like the sound of that. “Also, I’ve got a shoulder for you too if you need it.”

  William swallows, eyes shining with emotion. “Thank you. Truly, just . . . thank you.”

  “What are friends for,” I say.

  “There’s a bunch of us having dinner,” TJ says, and it’s like he can read my mind. I was going to ask William along too. “I booked us a private room at this sushi place. Want to join us?”

  “I’m there,” William says.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later, William joins us in a stylish private room at the sushi restaurant with the rest of the guys—a table for six. We dine on salty edamame, gleaming yellowtail, and glittery seaweed salad. There’s sake for some of us, but William declines, opting for a green tea.

  Over the first round of sashimi, Christian shares tales from the set of his recent action-adventure pic, then he asks Luke and Jason what’s cooking in their sports world.

  Luke runs a hand through his hair, preening as he shows off his thick golden-brown locks. “The annual charity auction is coming up soon, so we’re laying down the bets on which player goes for the most dough,” Luke says, all brazen confidence. “My money’s on . . . me.”

  Jason snorts, rolling his eyes.

  Christian chuckles. “You doubt him?”

  Luke answers for Jason. “Yes, he doubts me. But I plan to show the first string QB that a second-stringer can clean up. Make it rain, make it rain, make it fucking rain,” he says.

  “Luke struggles with confidence,” TJ says.

  “I can see that,” Christian says, then looks to William across the table. “And tell us—how the hell did tonight come together? That was like a surprise jump out of the cake at a bachelor party.”

  “I wish there were cake. Can we get some, please?” William asks, turning on the cheeky charm as he meets Christian’s gaze.

  “I’ll get you cake,” Christian says, just to William.

  Well, that didn’t take long at all. I nudge TJ’s side. He winks at me.

  The rocker blushes briefly, then says, “It all came together quickly. When Stone Zenith calls and invites you as his special guest, you say yes, and how high do you want me to jump.”

  “And how high does he want you to jump?” Christian asks, and we might as well not be here for all the flirting between these two men.

  “Apparently all the way around the world. He invited me on his European tour,” William says, almost like he wants to add come with me to Christian.

  Luke shoots a wide-eyed stare at Jason. Jason just shrugs to say, yeah, they should totally get a room.

  Fine, they should. But someone needs to cut the sexual tension between them, or the room will get a hard-on too.

  I nominate me.

  “William, I would say you’re a rock star, but clearly I’m going to need a new analogy. What’s the next-level compliment when someone does something amazing? Got anything, TJ?”

  TJ taps on his chin. “Obviously, the only higher pinnacle than rock star, movie star, or sports star is . . . wait for it . . . writer!”

  Everyone laughs, then Christian peppers William with a few more questions about his upcoming tour. William is popular enough to headline European tours on his own, but Stone Zenith is on another planet. Playing with him will blow up his fan base. “We take off in a week. We’ll be hitting Barcelona, London, Vienna.”

  “I’m so sorry. That sounds awful,” Christian says drily.

  “It’ll be dreadful, I’m sure,” William says with a smile.

  Before Christian can flirt even more, the movie star steers the convo back to us. “So, you two were roomies once upon a time, I read somewhere?”

  “It’s all true,” I say.

  “Every word,” TJ echoes.

  Even when we faked it, the stories of us have all been true, including this chapter unfolding tonight, here with friends—where we don’t have to pretend at all.

  A little later, Christian parks a hand on my shoulder. “What’s the deal with your rocker friend?”

  A man should work hard for a number, so I feign innocence. “Oh, why ever would you ask?”

  “Is he single?”

  “That’s a good question,” I say. Admittedly, I was worried for a while that William was trading one vice for another—liquor for men. But it’s not my place to decide. Still, I can ask him about his romantic status. That’s what a friend would do. When Luke and Jason descend into a rabbit hole of baseball predictions with TJ and Christian, I pull William aside by the doorway. “So, someone is kind of interested in you,” I say.

  “It better be the American movie star who’s been giving me fuck-me eyes all night,” he says.

  “Shockingly, it is. He wants to know if you’re spoken for. But I’m not sure if you’re taking a break from dating as you work on sobriety.”

  With a sad but resigned smile, William sighs. “I’m trying not to get involved right now. I want to focus on recovery.”

  “Good on you. That makes sense.”

  “But I’ll get his number. For down the road,” he says with a smirk. He saunters over to Christian and pulls up a chair next to him. They chat for a while, flirting too—not-quite accidental touches, welcoming grins.

  The evening winds down, and TJ snaps a few pics of the six of us before Luke, Jason, and Christian make their way out. William, TJ, and I linger a while, then leave together, wandering past the slot machines at The Extravagant.

  “This was amazing,” William says. “Better than I imagined.” He gestures to the elevators. “But I should be a good boy and get some rest before the tour.”

  TJ clears his throat. “How about a pic of the three of us? For old times’ sake.”

  William’s eyes sparkle at the invitation into our world. “Hell yeah.”

  TJ pulls me into the middle of the shot, with the games of chance behind us. My fake boyfriend stretches out an arm to snap the pic then shows it to us. “What do you think? Can I post it later?”

  I blink, pat his cheek, as if verifying his identity. “Is this really you? You never post anything but coffee, music, and books.”

  TJ’s all bashful as he says, “First time for everything.” His reaction is as adorable as these changes in him are wonderful.

  William and I say yes, then TJ puts the image on his Instagram and captions it: “Once upon a time we were a barista, a bookstore clerk, and a finance reporter. Now we have new jobs but we’re still friends. The more things change . . . the more they stay the same.”

  We say goodnight, each of us hugging him, no one caring who takes a picture now of the three of us. Let The Hollywood Scoop slap this on its home page. Let Rikki Finch blog about us. Let any fan splash us across a feed.

  I’m tired of hiding both my friendships and my romance.

  Once TJ and I reach The Invitation, he waggles his phone then makes a show of hitting the Do Not Disturb button. “I have no doubt Daddy will have a hissy fit over the selfie of the three of us, and I don’t care.”

  “I don’t either,” I say, shoulders up, head held high.

  When we return to our room, I expect to fall into bed. It’s late, and tomorrow we have an early flight to Paris for the next leg of our fake boyfriend tour.

  But TJ pats the couch. “I want to show you something.”

  Curious, I take the spot next to him as he clicks over to Instagram. But he doesn’t show me his public feed with the newest photo he posted. “I’ve been working on this new handle. It’s a private one. There’s not much on it. But I thought this could be fun to share with family and close friends,” he says, excited, maybe nervous too as he looks to gauge my reaction.

  I peer closely at the name. The real story of AshHam, AKA, TJ and Jude.

  There are four photos on it.

  Pomander Walk.

  The breakfast café.

  A shot of us thrifting.

  And a group photo from tonight.

  I can’t wait to add more pictures. “Our real dates,” I say, as I take in the photos and the story they tell.

  The start of us, all over again.

  Gently, I take the phone from his hand, set it on the table, then meet his eyes. I can see our future in them. “Do it. Share it. Post it,” I say.

  “You like it?” he asks as if pinning all his hope on that one question.