Page 43 of Just Friends Forever
First, you don’t get to reject someone, go off and get married, and then be jealous when they find someone to love. That’s called being a dog in the manger, and what is a dog doing in a manger in the first place?
Second, Troy is the only stable thing in my life right now. I can’t afford to mess with that.
Third, and most importantly, Ijustgot divorced. Despite all my best efforts to keep things alive, my marriage failed. Who knows if I have what it takes to make a relationship work?
What I really need is to get out more. I need friends. Siena and Tori are a great start, but they’re also Sheppards, and I don’t think relying on the Sheppard family forallmy emotional needs is wise.
I also need to find my own house instead of mooching off Troy. That means I need him to show me some houses, andthatmeans venturing outside despite the paparazzi.
I blow a big breath through my lips. It’s been a while since I was in the driver’s seat of my own life, but it’s time to take charge again.
My phone buzzes once. Then again. Then again. I’ve mostly been tuning it out and leaving emails and texts unread for the past few days. I haven’t even been tending to my virtual pets. But the sequence of notifications has me pulling it out in case it’s Troy.
Siena: So… I may need to hear the story behind this
The text that follows has a TMZ article link.
Tori:I was JUST getting on my phone to ask about that
My heart starts to thud. It’s been a while since I’ve let myself look at what’s being said about Curtis and me. Tori and Siena wouldn’t text me over just anything, though, so while my finger hovers over the link for a few seconds, I ultimately tap it.
The webpage loads slowly, and I blink as a picture of Troy fills the entirety of my phone screen. He’s shirtless and glistening from his workout, holding the hose in one hand while the other brushes his hair back from his face.
Just behind him, poised above one sculpted shoulder, is my face, staring through a gap in the blinds. I’m not staring at the camera, though. I’m staring at Troy like a complete and utter creep.
My cheeks start burning like a California summer forest fire as I scroll down to the headline:FOUND: THE REASON FOR CURSTEPH’S SURPRISE SPLIT.
I read the headline a second time, then scroll back up to the picture. “No, no, no, no, no,” I say, transforming into a puddle of shame. I may as well have my tongue out, the way I’m looking at Troy. Is this another example of AI? I swear I don’t remember watching him like that. I mean, yes, Ilookedat him, but I didn’t… ogle him. Maybe.
I’ll hate myself for it later, but I can’t help it. I glance over the story below.
It seems Stephanie Carr, recently and unexpectedly divorced from Hollywood hunk Curtis Carr, has been taking refuge in a modest Irvine house with her new lover. Based on property records, the house—and the impressive body—belong to one Troy Sheppard. Little is known about the mystery lover or how long the affair has been going on, but one can only imagine what Curtis must be feeling to see his longtime sweetheart moving on so soon.
I groan and shove my phone across the counter. Curtis’s team will brief him on this, just like they do every day, and the mere thought has me clenching my teeth. He never liked Troy, and it’ll drive him crazy to see himself being discussed as the cuckold.
My eyes widen as a thought occurs to me. What about Lyla? How willshefeel seeing this—the headline, for one, but also me drooling over her boyfriend, whose house I’m living in?
I have to fix this. Ihaveto. But how? I have no publicist to guide me through this stuff anymore.
One thing I know for sure: Troy needs to know before he gets a barrage of incoming texts and calls about the story.
He’s not in his apartment, but I find him in the backyard, lying on his workout bench, doing chest flies.
“For the love of all that is good and holy,” I say in exasperation, “can you ever keep your shirt on?”
His head swings around, and when he catches sight of me, his brows go up. He sits up and sets down the dumbbells. “Well, good morning to you too, Little Miss Sunshine.” He reaches for a tank top hanging over the weight rack and pulls it over his head.
I immediately regret my outburst. Troy bears no blame in this situation. Less than zero blame. He deserves all the credit. He pulled me out of solitary confinement and welcomed me into his home. My repayment has been to swarm his house with paparazzi, who have invaded his privacy and published his name to the world, complete with lies about his love life.
I’m not winning any Friend of the Year awards here.
“I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh as I come down the stairs. “It’s just… well, see for yourself.”
His brows pull together, and he’s still breathing hard from his workout as he takes my phone. The dark brows pull even closer together, and his breathing stills as I watch him nervously.
After a second, his eyes flick to mine. He totally noticed the way I was looking at him in the photo. It has to be that. I was tempted to scribble out my face with Sharpie like we used to do in elementary school with yearbook photos of kids we didn’t like, but that method doesn’t work great on phones.
“Um, wow,” he says.
