Page 14 of Just Friends Forever
“Oh my gosh,” I say. “You’re about to do the—”
He breaks into the Carlton dance, flailing his arms from side to side, his hips and feet shuffling after. With every step, he gets closer to me, smiling his goofy smile, until I have to step back to avoid being bulldozed by the Carlton.
I laugh as I step back, feeling lighter than I have in a long time. Old times are exactly what I need right now.
“Okay, okay,” I say in surrender. “You’ve convinced me!”
Normal people neighborhood, here I come.
* * *
“This is it.”Troy pulls the car into the driveway of a small yellow house with landscaped bushes, mowed grass, and white shutters. The street lamps are lit and the porch lights are on, making it look especially cozy in the dark.
I stare, my eyes taking in the view hungrily. It’s so deliciously and perfectly ordinary. I love it.
Troy takes off his seatbelt, reaches for the door handle, and pauses, his eyes on me. “If you don’t take off those sunglasses, my neighbors are going to stare. Here in Nobodyville, we don’t wear shades after dark.”
I pull the beanie from my head and the sunglasses from my nose. “Sorry! Habit.” I quickly shove the beanie over his head, and he pulls it off instantly, smoothing his hair over.
I laugh as he tosses the beanie in my lap and uses both hands to fix his hair. “You haven’t changed a bit,” I say as I get out of the car. It’s not true. Hehaschanged a little. His brown hair is as perfectly arranged as ever—it was always his pride and joy—but his jaw has squared out more, and I swear he’s gotten broader. I felt it when I hugged him. Troy is very much a man now.
He grabs my suitcases from the trunk and evades my attempts to take one.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
The truth is, I’m used to having this sort of thing done for me. But not anymore. Things will be different now, and given that I just spent months on end by myself, I am more than okay with that.
I glance at Troy, hefting my suitcases on the sidewalk, and my heart warms. How did I survive so long without real friends?
Troy leads the way through the front door, where we’re presented with two more doors.
“This one leads to my place”—he points to the one on the left—“and this one leads to yours.” He points to the one on the right and goes to unlock it.
He turns to me. “Brace yourself.”
I cock a brow, not understanding. Rather than explaining, he makes his way down the half-staircase, a suitcase in either hand. I follow, and at the bottom, we both stop, looking around.
“Um, wow,” I say.
“Yeeeeah.”
Everywhere I look, there are posters of Austin—photos from styled shoots, candid shots from concerts, one of him with Ed Sheeran. In the kitchen, a life-size cardboard Austin Sheppard stands behind the counter, a real apron draped over his shoulders. It looks like my teenage dream got here before us. This is probably what my room would have looked like in high school if I hadn’t been worried Austin might see it. It’s definitely what the inside of my brain looked like.
Now, though, it just makes me chuckle.
Troy shakes his head and heads over to the cardboard cutout, flicking the apron. “Austin must’ve done that before he left this morning.”
“Austin put all of this up?” I ask. “I mean, he always knew he was cute, but this is a whole new level of ego.” Kind of reminds me of Curtis, actually.
Troy chuckles. “I wouldn’t put it past him, but I actually put it all up last night to mess with him. Now he wants to keep it up to mess withme.” He pulls off the apron and tosses it on the kitchen counter, then lets out a breath and puts out his hands. “Welcome home, Stevie.”
I look around. It’s sparsely decorated—apart from the posters of Austin, of course. The kitchen is small, with a fraction of the counter space I’m used to. Not that I’ve made use of it in a while, but still. The only furniture is a loveseat and an enormous beanbag in front of the TV.
“It’s perfect,” I say.
Troy hands me a small keychain. “I’m going to grab the sheets from his bed to wash them.” A teasing glint appears in his eye. “Unless, of course, you’d rather I not.”
I punch him in the arm. “I’m not helpless, Troy. I can wash them myself.”
