24
The Case of The Disappearing Pages
Jude
I’m not counting down.
There’s no point.
Life goes on. But it’s Thursday evening, and TJ’s flight departs tomorrow. And even though I’m secretly hoping it’s delayed another day and that we get a reprieve, I’m also realistic enough to know that it won’t happen.
I rearranged my schedule at An Open Book, taking shifts on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday so I could spend this last night with him.
We go to The Magpie, settle in with a beer, and just like that first night, we talk. Even with the looming departure, the connection between us is still strong. TJ cares about my dreams and I care about his too.
“Robots and scientists . . . Does it have a name yet?” TJ asks.
“It has a working title. I don’t love it though. Machine Love.”
“Yeah, that’s a little cringe-y. But I say this as someone who has a cringe-y working title for his book.”
“You still won’t tell me what that is?”
“It’s bad, Jude. It needs a good name. Just like Machine Love does.”
“I know. Hopefully, the writer will change it,” I say. “But you know how writer types can be. So pig-headed.”
“Writers are the worst. Well, after actors,” he says. “You still love the show, though?”
“I do. We started shooting today, and it was . . . everything. You know what I mean? It makes me feel alive. Energized. It makes me feel like I’ve found myself.”
“The artistic impulse,” he says, getting me completely. “You have to create.”
“I do. You do.” I gesture to the man across from me. The man who’s become a friend, a lover, and the human I’ll miss more than I imagined I could miss a person. And this shared passion is such a big part of our connection that I almost want to ask if we could stay in touch. If we could be the actor and the writer who have an international friendship. That could happen, surely.
But should it happen?
Sitting here with him, sharing freely at last—this doesn’t feel entirely like friendship. It feels like fire, and heartbreak, like the start of a new obsession. It feels like something I could get lost in.
But I can’t, so I focus on the practical part of the future. “Will you finish your novel in New York?”
“I better.” Then he laughs. “I mean, how cliche would that be if I leave London with an unfinished novel and an unfinished . . .?”
He doesn’t complete the thought.
An unfinished romance.
I slide a hand across the table, link our fingers together. “Don’t forget the romance in your book, TJ.”
“I won’t,” he whispers, dipping his head.
“I mean it. I bet you’d be really good at it. At writing that,” I say, squeezing hard.
He squeezes back. “I bet you’d be really good at playing it.”
My heart thumps harder in my chest, and it hurts. But it feels good at the same time. “I want to read your book.”
He licks his lips, takes a very TJ-like beat, then blows out a breath. “Do you want to read what I have so far?”
Fireworks burst inside me. “Fuck yes.”
We fly out of there.
To say he’s a nervous wreck is an understatement. TJ’s fingers slip and slide as he flicks open his laptop. His breath comes hard through his nostrils.
He clicks on the keyboard and curses. “Shit. Wrong file,” he mutters.
Next to him on the couch, I drop a kiss on his scratchy cheek. “You don’t have to show me.”
In slow-motion, he turns his gaze to me. “I know I don’t. But I want to, even though it’s not easy for me.”
“I know it’s not easy for you,” I say, though I have no idea why he struggles like this. Maybe it’s a writer’s dilemma. Maybe he can only live in the interior. As an actor, perhaps I have no choice but to live in the exterior.
Or maybe there’s more to it for him. Maybe it’s rooted in something long ago. Either way, I’m grateful for all the times he has opened up.
He returns to fighting with his computer while I return to kissing his neck.
TJ groans softly, stretching his neck, inviting more kisses. “Maybe we should just spend the whole night having sex instead,” he murmurs.
“If you want, that can be arranged,” I say, closing my eyes as I nip on his earlobe.
Another moan. Another sigh. “I do, but I also really want to do this.”
He takes a deep breath, hands me the laptop, and stands. “Listen, I’m going to go for a walk. I’ll drive you nuts if I stay here. And I’ll just pace like a caged lion, so I’ll get a coffee.”
“It’s eight at night.”
He grins wickedly. “Coffee O’Clock caters to hyper-caffeinated Americans at all hours.”
“Go, go, go,” I say, shooing him away.
A pang of missing lodges in my chest once he’s gone. I shift my focus to the laptop, and the story opens in front of me.
Except, this is a piece about . . . bond trading.
Ugh.
This is dreadful.
I mean, it’s nicely written and all. But blah, blah, blah.
He must have opened this file by mistake, so I navigate, searching for his book. Except the sneaky fucker won’t tell me the title.
I poke around the desktop, hunting for it. Maybe this is it. The Case of The Disappearing Pages. It’s not a terrible title, like he said, but the man is harsh on himself.
I click it open.
My breath catches.
This isn’t his novel.
The hair on my arms stands on end. Chills sweep down my body. But they’re weirdly good chills as I stare at a few sentences from . . . a journal.
After the last week of getting to know him, I’m no longer convinced I can handle fifty more weeks of living together with, let’s face it, my dream guy. He’s the swooniest man I’ve ever known, and my entire body vibrates just being near him. He’s wickedly charming and ridiculously beautiful, and I am so far gone.
I swallow roughly, my throat going completely dry.
Holy shit.
My fingers tremble.
This is wrong. Looking at this is so wrong. I have to stop. I will stop.
I do stop. I close the file straight away.
Then I exhale the biggest breath in the city as I sink back into the couch cushions, processing what I just read.
Tingles rush down my body. They sweep through my chest as his words intoxicate me.
I’m thrilled that he’s as fucked up about me as I am about him.
But I can’t let on I read even three sentences. He’ll die of embarrassment. I shake it off, so I can pretend it never happened and tuck this moment far, far away. Then, I groan, laughing at myself.
The fucking book file was opened right behind the article. Thanks, Microsoft Word.
I dive in, and I have chills in a whole new way as I read the first four chapters of his book.
The man can write.
When I’m done, I grab my phone. A text blinks at me.
TJ:It’s been twenty minutes, and I’m dying.
I laugh as I tap out a reply.
Jude: Get your arse back here so I can tell you how bloody fucking good it was.
TJ:You’re just saying that so I’ll give you a blow job.
Jude: Pretty sure I don’t have to say anything but ‘Get down on your knees now,’ for you to suck my cock.
TJ:That is true. Also, can I tell you thateverything you say in your accent is hot, but I draw the line at arse. Ass is hotter. Can we agree ass is better in all forms? An end to arse.
Jude: WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS NOW?
TJ:I’m a dick ?
Jude: OMG, I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW YOU KNEW HOW TO FIND AN EMOTICON!
We text like that till the sound of footfalls hits my ear, then his key rattles in the lock, and he walks in with two cups in his hands and happiness glittering in his brown eyes.
TJ hands me a tea, sits next to me, then says, “Well?”
I tell him all the things I love about his story. Especially the longing the hero feels in chapter three.
“You’re very good at writing longing,” I say, then take a drink of the tea and put it down on the table.
“Thanks.” He just shrugs, then says softly, “Write what you know and all.”
I melt a little more. He takes another drink of his coffee, then I reach for the cup, set it down too, and take his hand.
I tug him up from the couch and bring him to my room, and we undress each other, probably for the last time.
Soon, we’re in our element, naked and breathless, our skin hot, our mouths searching and finding. We come together, and it’s sexy and dirty like it’s always been.
But it’s also a little bit sad.
Especially when he kisses me with so much longing that I’m pretty sure I feel the same as the guy in The Case of The Disappearing Pages.
So far gone.
The next morning, he packs his bags, and we walk along the river for the first time and the last time.