Page 17 of Just Friends Forever
Lyla’s call may as well have been specifically timed to reassure Stevie—which it clearly did. Now Stevie can relax, and we can settle back into the friendship we used to have.
I grab the remote and press the power button, taking care not to make noise as I get up. Half of me wants to carry her to her bed—the angle of her neck and body look like they might require a chiropractor visit tomorrow—but something tells me Lyla’s timely call might be overshadowed by Stevie waking up to me cradling her in my arms as I carry her to her bed.
Even though I’ve long since accepted Stevie and I aren’t right for each other, I’ll need to tread carefully not to revive that stupid specter of the past. It took three months after my confession for things to get back to being mostly normal between us.
It shouldn’t be too hard, honestly. Idon’tfeel anything more than friendship for her. A kind but unmistakable rejection, eight years, and her marriage to someone else successfully cured me of that. I’m not going to be weird around her because that’ll definitely set off alarms in her head and make her wonder what’s up.
I pause by the door, feeling eyes on me.
Cardboard eyes.
I glare at stationary Austin. I think about texting him to let him know Stevie is staying here, but I don’t really want to deal with his taunting, and the fewer people who know about her being here, the better. Austin’s a chill guy anyway. He won’t care.
I consider putting all of the Austin promo paraphernalia away—he was only half-serious when he told me to keep everything up—but it might be better to leave things how they are. Stevie’s temporary living situation being a shrine to Austin should keep things more in perspective for me in case there’s any stubborn feelings hidden deep down somewhere.
* * *
Eight,nine, ten.
I blow out a gasping breath and set down the dumbbells on the rack under my backyard awning. Grabbing the towel on the bench, I wipe the sweat from my forehead while my heart rate and breathing regulate.
The sun is just coming up over my backdoor neighbor’s house, ready to warm the Southern California air and burn off the marine layer. I woke up extra early this morning and checked the news first thing.
Stevie’s divorce is all over, well, everything. Even publications that don’t usually offer celebrity gossip have stories about it. I wish Stevie could just hibernate through it, and so far, there hasn’t been any sign of life in her apartment.
I hurry to shower off the effects of my workout, then slip on some jeans and a polo. I asked another agent to take my only showings today. I want to be available to Stevie if she needs company. There are plenty ofFresh Princeepisodes to get through.
I’ve just finished scrambling eggs when there’s a knock on my apartment door. I trip over my own feet as I hurry to answer it.
Stevie looks back at me, hair still askew from sleep. Her phone is in her hand, and a quick glance at the screen tells me she’s already aware of the feeding frenzy that has descended on her divorce.
“Good morning,” I say. “How are you?”
Her nose scrunches up. “Weird.”
“Tell me something Idon’tknow.” I wink as I open the door wider for her to come in.
Smiling reluctantly, she steps inside and lifts her phone over her shoulder for me to see as she shuffles her feet up the stairs. “I think I liked the gag order better.” The screen shifts, displaying an incoming call, which she rejects immediately. I hadn’t even considered the fact that it’s not just news articles and social media comments she’ll be dealing with.No onehas known about this, which means all her friends are going to be wondering whether she’s okay.
“Yeeeah,” I say, following her up. “I don’t blame you. But if you were still gagged, you couldn’t have the delicious eggs I scrambled.”
Her nose wrinkles. “When you saydelicious, do you mean like the cake you made for my birthday one time?”
“Itwasdelicious!” I defend, serving up two plates of eggs and toast. “It just wasn’t going to win any presentation awards.”
She sits down at the table. “You added three tablespoons of salt instead of one teaspoon.”
I set her plate in front of her. “You told me three tablespoons make a teaspoon!”
“No, Troy. I really didn’t. I told you threeteaspoonsmake a tablespoon.”
I point my finger at her. “That’s what youthoughtyou said. Besides, what do you have against salt? Salt is the salt of life.”
She shakes her head, making her messy bun flop to the side just as her phone dings again. Her brows knit in concentration, then contract even further. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
I take a seat. “What?”
She lets out a huge sigh and picks up her fork with her free hand, reading from her phone. “Curtis Carr divorces wife for falling in love with their pet monkey!”
