Hopelessly Bromantic (Hopelessly Bromantic Duet, #1)

by Lauren Blakely

“Welcome to London, Tobias Jangle.”

The whole way home, I think of great dicks. Because that was the best goodnight kiss I’ve ever had, and it was also the most innocent.

I wanted my roomie to purge my steam wand with his mouth.

But I’m speaking specifically of household fantasies. Don’t you have household fantasies?” Sure, but my household fantasies are more along the lines of fucking him while he’s bent over the counter. Blowing him at the kitchen table, jerking him off behind the shower curtain.

Great. Now I’m picturing him at the gym, pumping iron, and getting all sweaty. Everywhere. Sweat dripping down that chest, between his nipples, then onto his navel, then his happy trail. “Cool. Cool. I go to the gym too,” I say.

I’ll keep the gift from my brother as a memento, but not as a record of my heart.

“Are you bad in bed?” I snort-laugh. “No.” “Are you sure? Every man thinks he’s good in bed.” There’s a playfully dirty challenge in his tone. We are not in the safe flirting zone anymore. This is the red zone, warning lights flashing everywhere. I race toward danger, ignoring the hell out of them. “I could prove it to you sometime,” I say, feeling reckless thanks to that spotlight. Then Jude does that thing. He scrapes his teeth over the corner of his mouth, and I go hot everywhere. “I wish you would,”

I would kiss him and touch him and fuck him in a way that made him feel like the most wanted man ever. And it would electrify him. Like he electrifies me.

TJ takes a deep breath, a thoughtful-sounding one. “Would it be easier—you know, for this whole roommate-friend thing—if I shaved?” I slice that horrid notion off at the knees. “Do not ever utter something so blasphemous again.”

Then, the American crushes his lips to mine. It’s not a chaste kiss at all. It’s full of passion, yet we don’t even open our mouths. It’s just his lips pressed hungrily to mine and mine locked greedily with his. His aftershave goes to my head. My body thrills everywhere at the feel of his mouth hunting mine.

“Oh, fuck me.” He holds up a hand. “I have to back away right now. If I don’t, I will literally climb you like a tree.” Then, as fast as he comes in, he leaves.

Jude: I have not recovered. I am dead again from the sight of you in NOTHING BUT A FUCKING TOWEL AND A TOOLKIT. DO NOT EVER DO THAT TO ME AGAIN. (UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO HUMP YOUR RIGHT LEG, YOUR LEFT LEG, AND YOUR THIRD LEG.) IF I SEE YOU LIKE THAT, I WILL HAVE A HEART ATTACK BUT IT WILL BE A WONDERFUL DEATH.

Jude: I am at Angie’s Vintage Duds. I had to go shopping to try to get the sight of you, wet, out of my head. And I mean my little head.

My brain pops, and my skin sizzles, and somewhere in my mind, I’m aware that we’re soaking wet on the streets of London after midnight, and neither one of us cares. I never want to stop kissing him. But I do want to know all the flavors of his kiss, so I slow down, tug on his bottom lip.

“Have you seen my shower curtain? It’s really perky.” Jude’s smile is dirty and delicious. “Show it to me.”

I press a kiss to his hip with a soft murmur. His skin is cold, but I’m going to fire him up. “Yes, this

“Fuck, your dick is nice,” I say in the understatement of the century. His cock is as beautiful as the rest of him. “Bet it tastes better than nice,” he says, threading a hand through my wet hair and guiding me closer as I push his briefs off the rest of the way.

steal hits of you whenever I can if I walk past you. If I get close enough.”

I thought I was in control. I thought I was topping him. But when I shift to my back, and he rolls the protection down my shaft, then straddles me, I know that was a lie I told myself. I am only ever pretending to be in charge. He’s got me in his hands. All I can do is let him weave his magic.

I’m just plain crazy for Jude, and I’m pretty sure all these emotions will devastate me. And I won’t do a thing to stop the ruin.

Some truths don’t need to be spoken. Some secrets you should protect. Like the fact that I fell in love with Jude Graham in three weeks in London.

ever

There’s so much I’m dying to say. So many sentences forming in my head. This is soooo good. We could be so good together.