Page 59 of Just Friends Forever
I’m only wearingTroy’s sweats as a means to an end. The “end” is going on a date with another guy.
These sweats are not only comfortable, they’re a cocoon of intoxicating cologne. How had I never realized how good he smells?
“You ready?” Troy asks, twinning with me in nearly identical sweats. We’re in his apartment, which still smells like the Thai curry we made for dinner. I got brave and put one drip of his hot sauce in my bowl. Bad choice. I thought I was going to die. My mouth is still tingling an hour later.
“No, Troy,” I say, watching his boxing footwork warily. “I’m not ready. Because that would require knowing what in the world I’m about to do.”
He smiles. “You’re about to live. Now, come on. Let’s go.” He jerks his head toward the back door. It’s a squeaker, and Troy puts a finger to his lips like I’m the one responsible for the grating sound. But apparently, he knows his house well, since it opens quietly.
He stops on the top landing of the stairs and puts a hand to his fake ear-mic. “Monkey Lover is on the move. We’re going radio silent.”
“Again with the Monkey Lover thing,” I hiss, secretly amused. Something about Troy playing security detail thrills me on a deep level.
He looks at me somberly. “Are you ready for this mission, Monkey Lover? Its success relies on utter and complete silence.”
My lips twitch. He’s maintaining his serious expression so well, I’m tempted to suggest he try his hand at acting. Except not really because while I don’t doubt Troy could be great at whatever he puts his mind to, I’m selfish enough to not want him to get tainted by fame.
I give a firm nod, and Troy turns away again. His feet are light as he heads down the stairs, and I follow his foot placement as exactly as possible, worried if I misstep, they’ll creak and summon the paparazzi. Them catching Troy and me sneaking out is a worst-case scenario situation, which I probably should have considered before agreeing to this madcap plan.
But if I don’t find a way to leave the house without the paparazzi swarming me like bees, I’ll not only be stuck inside indefinitely, I’ll be stuck inside with only my growing feelings for Troy as company.
We approach the back fence, and right when Troy gets to it, he crouches down and cups his hands together, looking at me expectantly.
I point to myself, mouthing the wordme?
He nods and puts out his hands again. He plans to help me climb this back fence, which means I’ll be in the backdoor neighbor’s yard, uninvited. What if they have a guard dog?
No. Troy wouldn’t throw me to the wolves like that. He’s got my back, just like he always has.
I set my shoe in his hand, and he lifts me without any of the sort of grunting that can immediately send a woman into a spiral of self-doubt. It shouldn’t come as a surprise. I’ve seen how strong he is, and no, I don’t think they CGI-ed his abs. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to see for myself that they’re a dead match for the TMZ photo.
I grab the top of the fence and hoist myself over, landing as much like a cat as I can on the back neighbor’s grass. Heart beating in my ears and adrenaline rushing through my veins, I glance at the back of the neighbor’s house, where the windows are lit up and the family is sitting down to dinner.
It might look like a peaceful, idyllic picture, but Troy’s spy talk has got me on high alert. Theycouldbe an innocent family sitting down to dinner, or they might be paid actors, waiting to attack us with whatever deadly gadgets they have hiding under their napkins.
Or maybe they’ll just call the cops on us for trespassing.
I turn away, smiling. The prospect of jail shouldn’t be this fun.
Only then does it occur to me that Troy has no one to helphimscale the fence. I step over and go on my tippy toes just as he comes running toward it. I double back as he grabs the top of the fence and pulls himself up, using his foot to push himself the rest of the way over—and into me.
We tumble to the grass, a tangle of limbs and hushed exclamations, and come to a stop just shy of the outdoor chairs set up near a firepit.
I’m on top of Troy, one hand pressing into his chest, the other in the grass.
“You okay?” Troy asks, a hand on my shoulder, his face inches from mine.
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. When I said us sneaking out would be the worst-case scenario paparazzi shot, I lied.Thiswould be. Hands-down. No takebacks.
I hurry to get off him and brush myself off in an awkward crouching position, like standing up straight will get me noticed when tumbling all over the yard didn’t.
Troy pushes himself to a stand. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t see you at the fence until it was too late.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, even though my pulse is yellingI may never recoverin accelerated morse code.
I motion for him to lead the way, and we head for the side-yard, where Troy opens the gate with the dexterity of a seasoned trespasser. I, however, am not so experienced, and when I latch it shut, there’s a distinct click that resounds from Irvine all the way to Niagara Falls.
I cringe, but he motions for me to follow him. When we get to the sidewalk, he puts up a hand for a high-five and walks backward. “Nice work, Monkey Lover,” he says at normal volume. He puts out his hands and looks around us at the lamp-lit street. “How does it feel to be free?”
