Page 30 of Just Friends Forever
I do know, but I don’t think she wants confirmation of that right now. Not really. “So are you. Thanks for being so understanding about the situation. It’s best if no one knows about her being around yet, okay? She needs some time to figure her life out.”
Lyla nods quickly. “Of course.”
She drops me off half an hour later, and even though we act normal, things feel off. It’s been a strange day. Things will feel better tomorrow.
* * *
When Stevie askshow things went with Lyla, I give her the answer she wants and expects: “It was great!”
The last thing I’m about to do is make her worry anything is wrong between Lyla and me—or that she has anything to do with it. She’s already dealing with so much. Paperwork and alimony and public opinion and requests for interviews.
The amount she has to deal with only seems to be growing.
“You doing okay?” I ask as she submits yet another form to request an account separate from Curtis. We’re sitting at my table, while I make adjustments to one of my client’s hotsheets.
Stevie’s only been here three days, but we’ve already established a routine of sorts: she wakes up after I’ve already worked out and showered. She showers, then comes up to my apartment in sweats, a t-shirt, and wet, wavy hair, her laptop in hand. I get the feeling she doesn’t want to be alone. Maybe it’s because she’s already spent so much time by herself in the last year, or maybe her thoughts veer toward Curtis when she is.
Stevie lets out a big sigh and cracks her neck. “It’s just so many nitty-gritty details, you know? Accounts and passwords and insurance and assets and debts. I guess I was kind of thinking once I got the divorce decree, it’d all be done.” She grimaces at her naivety. “If marriage is weaving your life together with someone else’s, divorce is picking out the threads one by one. I just want it to be done.”
I want it to be done too, for her sake. “You’ve been at it for three hours now. Let’s take a break and do something fun. Look at today’s hotsheet, for instance. Now that we have your pre-qualification letter, we can actually schedule showings.”
The divorce settlement gives her a large budget to work with—bigger than the clients I’m used to, at least—which makes it pretty fun to see the options. These luxury homes don’t let just anybody schedule showings. They don’t want starry-eyed middle classers like me coming to “ooh” and “ahh” at the homes. They want proof of ability to buy, which Stevie thankfully has.
Things have felt a bit off with Lyla since the other day, but I’m not overanalyzing it. We’ve been keeping in touch via text, and we have plans to get together Wednesday for a proper date. I’m thinking I’ll invite Siena or Tori over to keep Stevie company. Neither of them knows she’s staying here yet, but they’d be thrilled to see her. Everyone in my family loves Stevie because… it’s Stevie. She’s impossible not to love. Platonically.
After looking through the newest listings, I convince Stevie to let me set up a showing. Right now, she’s all tangled up in the past, and I think giving her a vision of the future—one she can actually touch and feel rather than just stare at on a computer screen—might be exactly what she needs.
I change into my usual button-up and slacks and meet Stevie in the foyer between our apartments. She’s already there in jeans and a white V-neck under a black blazer. Her hair hangs in loose curls—my favorite. It’s fine to have a favorite hairstyle for your friend, right? That’s normal.
She’s staring out the window that looks on the front yard. She doesn’t even turn on my arrival. Her finger is gently lifting up a blind. She’s intent on something… or someone.
I go up right beside her and push the blinds up with a finger. “You checkin’ out Mr. Gates? He’s the neighborhood silver fox.”
Stevie steps back and lets the blinds go, meeting my eyes with a stricken look.
I’m such an idiot. What kind of jerk jokes about that with someone who’s just divorced?
“Shoot, I’m sorry, Stevie. That was dumb. I wasn’t thinking when I said it.”
“They found me.”
“What? Who?” I open the blinds again, but Stevie grabs my hand and pulls me back.
“There’s a paparazzo out there. In the black car across the street.” I meet her gaze. It’s intent. Fearful, even. She drops my hand and clenches her eyes shut. “It was dumb of me to come here.”
Why does hearing that hurt me? “No, it wasn’t. It was the best option.”
“You don’t understand, Troy. They’re relentless. There are no limits for them, no level they won’t stoop to in order to get their shot. I’m so sorry. I really didn’t think they’d find me so soon, but I should have known better.”
She’s genuinely put out, and I feel the same thing I always feel when she’s down—the need to lighten her load.
I scoff. “What? You think they’re here foryou?” I wave a dismissive hand. “They pretty much camp out here 24/7. You’ll get used to ‘em.”
Stevie smiles slightly, just as I’d hoped she would. “I should’ve known you’d have a bevy of paparazzi following your every move.”
“You really should have. Though, it’s more of a horde than a bevy.”
Her smile grows.
