Page 47 of Just Friends Forever
I put the car in park and turn off the ignition. “Um, no, we’re not going out tonight.” True statement. “She’s got work.” Also true. She always works Saturday nights.
I hate keeping things from Stevie, and yet, the more I’ve thought about it, the less I see telling her the truth going well. Sure, I can tell her about the breakup, but even if I did, I’d have to keep the reasons for it from her. There’s no way I’m telling Stevie that Lyla broke up with me because she refuses to believe I’m not in love with my best friend. That’s basically an invitation to another round of rejection, and call me a selfish liar, but I’m just not up for that.
It took me long enough to get over the first rejection. In fact, I’m not sure Iamover it. I thought I was, but being around Stevie has brought it all out again. What’s the road to recovery for someone knowing you better than anyone else and choosing your brother over you?
I can’t blame her. You’re either into someone or you aren’t. But that doesn’t change the way it feels to be the unchosen one.
“Bummer,” Stevie says, opening the door. “Do you have other plans? Or are you up for aFresh Princemarathon with your bestie?”
“Always,” I say with a smile.
I probably shouldn’t spend the evening with her, but I don’t know how to say no to Stevie. If I did say no,thenwhat? We’d spend the night separately but in the same house, and that’s just dumb.
Instead, we sit on Austin’s ridiculously small couch and watch moreFresh Princewhile I try to school my feelings for Stevie into submission. I could avoid her, but I’ve tried that. I didn’t see her for years, and clearly that didn’t cure me.
I have to confront this weakness head-on. Sitting next to her on the couch, our legs and arms touching, the smell of her hair, now down, wafting into my nostrils, her body leaning on me the longer we stay… this is the mountain I must climb.
My feelings for Stevie are like the villain in an action movie. No matter how many times he gets shot, he comes back, ready to cause trouble and make life miserable. The one bright spot in all this is that, in the end, hedoesdie. I just have to figure out the magic bullet that’ll do the trick.
* * *
My workout is checkedoff my to-do list, and I’m already showered, with two plates of breakfast sitting on the table for whenever Stevie comes upstairs.
I pick up my phone, glance at the door, then type my name into the search bar and hitsearch.
I know. It’s not a good idea, and I’ve been the one telling Stevie not to pay attention to what the media is saying since the divorce, but… I can’t help it. This is brand new to me. No stranger has ever cared about me, and then suddenly, I’m front and center on TMZ. Curiosity has its claws deep right now. Stevie doesn’t see me as datable, but how does the public perceive things?
I want to know what people are saying about me. About me and Stevie. Maybe they’ll confirm what I’ve known all along: I’m not good enough for her, even with CGI abs.
TMZ doesn’t allow comments on their stories, but they’re far from the only ones running it right now. I have a plethora of options to click on. It’s surreal seeing a picture of me popping up all over the search results, to say nothing of the headlines.
Mystery man’s identity revealed
Will Cursteph become Troyphanie?
I wrinkle my nose. I always hated Cursteph as a moniker, but Troyphanie is so much worse.
I look at some of the comments on the latter story. The first comment is promising: “If she doesn’t take him, I will!” But overall, the tone is less pro-Troy. “He’ll never compare to Curtis,” and a few variations of, “He’s hot, but he’s a nobody.”
I navigate back to the search results and scan more headlines.
Stephanie Carr dating brother of up-and-coming music icon Austin Sheppard
I suppress an eye roll. Naturally, Austin gets brought into this. I’m not Troy Sheppard; I’m Austin Sheppard’s brother. They also refuse to call Stephanie by anything but her married name.
My eyes land on another headline:Moving on in sync?
I tap the link and wait for the page to load, wondering with a knot in my stomach if somehow they got news of Lyla and me ending things.
Side-by-side pictures are the primary feature of the article but the last thing to load. The one on the left is the one I’ve seen a hundred times in the last 24 hours—so often that my own mental image of myself includes those rock solid abs—but the image beside it is new.
It’s grainy and low-quality in comparison, but it doesn’t take tack-sharp focus or 4k resolution to know what’s going on: Curtis and a brunette woman are kissing on a white-sand beach.
“Oooh, what are we looking at so intently?”
I whirl around at Stevie’s voice, turning off my screen in a way that’s as guilty as it was instinctual. “Nothing.”
She cocks a brow, a little smile on her face showing I’ve successfully intrigued her. She’s got no makeup on, but given the way her skin is glowing and how the baby hairs framing her face are wet, I’m guessing she just washed her face.
