MY NEW NEMESIS
TJ
Aspen spins me around in the leather barber chair, playing his why-do-you-need-a-haircut game. “I’m getting a you-have-a-work-thing vibe,” he says.
Before I can say no, or maybe yes, since I’m only seeing Jude tonight for work, the owner of Two Bits on Madison Avenue raises a hand to silence me. “Nope. I was reading your energy all wrong. Let me try again.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got all evening for you to figure it out.” There’s no way he’ll guess the truth—you have a fake date with the only guy you ever loved, and you were right to be jealous about the rock star after all.
I introduced my former barista to Jude. Serves me right—William pretty much warned me back in London that he crushes hard.
You win, William. You got the guy who got away from me.
Except, I let Jude go. I couldn’t handle any more of his particular brand of devastation. I couldn’t even pick up the phone when he called a few days after I left Los Angeles because I knew I’d cave if I heard his voice.
But I have to go through the motions tonight. I doubt Mason’s right. I don’t think fake-dating Jude will inspire me whatsoever. But maybe the act of dating and all the assorted prep for it will unlock some ideas.
Hence, the haircut. Aspen is a wizard with scissors. As Astronaut Food’s newest tune plays in his upscale shop, I wait for him to guess again. “You’re finally going to ask me out, and you want to look your finest,” he says, gesturing to his frame. A fun and handsome Black man, with arty tattoos of flowers curling around his arms, and clothes plucked straight from the designer racks, Aspen is not short on dates.
I laugh. “Somehow I think that whoever your new boyfriend is would take issue with that.”
“Oh, hush. I’ve only been seeing Tommy for one week. Who the hell knows? But he’d take pride in it,” Aspen says with a wink.
“As well he should,” I say.
“Let me try one more time to read you.” He draws a big breath. Then smiles victoriously. “You’re desperately in need of an emergency cut for the one reason every client desperately needs one. You have a hot date tonight.”
I roll my eyes, about to say no way.
Except, fuck.
I do need to say I have a hot date tonight. I need to be all giddy and excited, as per Slade’s orders to sell this fake romance to, well, everyone in the world. Including my barber since he’s not in the vault. The vault has maybe four or five people in it—my agent, Jude’s agent, Slade the publicist, and my friend Hazel, who pretty much knows everything since we have the same type of brain.
Overactive writer brain.
Aspen taps his toe. “Sooooo. Is it a hot date, Hardman?”
I meet his gaze in the mirror, plaster on a smile, and prepare to lie when the door swings open with a loud clang.
“You will not believe this!”
Saved by Hazel.
The redheaded Tasmanian devil marches to Aspen’s station, brandishing her phone, red clouds of Internet rage surrounding her.
This isn’t my first time at the someone-online-irritated-Hazel rodeo. “Ten bucks says some jackass pissed you off on Twitter?”
She thrusts an arm skyward. “Close! Instagram! And I officially have a new nemesis.”
Aspen smacks my shoulder. “Move it, TJ. Hazel sounds like she has better tea.” He pats the arm of the chair and bats his lashes at my friend. “Let me do your hair first, honey.”
“Seriously? I have to be at this restaurant thing in an hour and a half,” I say to them.
Aspen scoffs. “As if I can’t do your whole beauty routine in thirty minutes, handsome. And to answer your question . . . yes, seriously. Hazel’s up first. I love gossip. It replenishes all my electrolytes.”
I get out of the fancy leather chair with a huff and snap off the smock. “Regale us with the tale of your new enemy, Hazel.”
Like a queen, she takes the seat and lifts her face to Aspen. “Thank you. Just the usual trim. But make me look pretty.”
“As if I’d do anything else. Now, give us the deets,” he says as he grabs my smock and puts it on my romance writer friend.
“Malcolm Mann,” she seethes.
Aspen makes an ew face. “Malcolm Mann as in TheMan’s Man?”
“Yup. The self-help guru who’s all be a man,” Hazel says, imitating the rough-and-tumble voice of the guy with the satellite radio show, non-fiction books, and speaking gigs.
“And what did he do to piss you off?” I ask.
“He’s coming for us, TJ! He announced today he’s writing a romance novel, and this is his tagline.” She waves her phone about. Her jaw tics as she bites out the words she reads from his feed. “Straight-up romance with a man’s touch.”
I cringe. “Oh no, he didn’t.”
Aspen breathes hard through his nostrils. “I need a moment before I touch my scissors, honey.”
Hazel smiles, understanding. “You take all the time in the world. But can we please talk about how awful he is?”
“Oh, we better,” Aspen says as he sets his hands on her shoulders as if he’s steadying himself.
“The idea that romance needs a man’s touch is insulting,” Hazel begins. “I’m not a man and I’m perfectly capable of writing romance from the point of view of both a man and a woman.”
Her legions of fans would testify to her abilities. “Preach. You know I love your books,” I say.
“Me too,” Aspen adds.
“Thank you. Also,” Hazel continues, then points to me, “what kind of what-the-fuckery is this straight-up romance line?”
I raise a hand, a little offended. Or maybe a lot. “Gee, do you think he’s saying queer men and women can’t write straight romance? It’s hard to tell what he means with the word up in there after straight.”
Hazel sets a hand on her chest and smiles obsequiously. “Thank goodness romance finally has a straight manly man to do things right and fix all the mistakes the women and queer men have been making.” Then her green eyes twinkle with mischief. “You know this leaves us with no choice, right?”
Aspen likes to think he can read minds, but I can almost always read Hazel’s. “You want to write a douche with an alliterative name into your next book to have your sweet revenge?”
“Obviously. And you should too, TJ. Let’s make him the same guy. Can we do that? Pretty please.”
“Ooh, crossing worlds. I love it,” Aspen says as he runs his hands through her hair. “Let’s get you a shampoo, honey. And we’ll talk more about what we’re going to call this character.”
When they return a few minutes later, Hazel’s decided his name will be Dane Donovan and he’ll appear in both our books as a villain, obviously. “Will that help you write, TJ?” she asks, sounding hopeful.
I’ve been looking for an opportunity to sow the rumor of my romance. It’s going public in about an hour, so this is the best opening I’m going to get. “If not, then my date tonight with Jude Fox will,” I say with as much cheer as I can muster, though it’s unpleasant to spin lies.
Especially when Aspen’s jaw comes unhinged again. “You’re seeing Jude Fox, as in, the Fox? The hottest, sexiest, most bangable man on screen?”
A part of me wishes my yes could be an honest answer. A bigger part of me wishes I didn’t have to lie to a friend.
Good thing I’ve already told Hazel the truth. I called her yesterday after that painful CTM debriefing. So when we leave the salon a little later, both freshly styled, she hugs me and whispers, “Good luck tonight.”
“I’ll need it,” I say.
Especially since I’m due at the restaurant in twenty minutes, but I’m at least a half hour away. When I arrive, I’m late, and Malcolm Mann is here too.