Page 45 of Just Friends Forever
Troy goes to open the door for me, but I stop him with a hand.
He looks a question at me, then releases the doorknob as understanding dawns on him. “Right. Too much chivalry might give the wrong impression.”
I give a smiling grimace, brace myself, then turn the knob.
I’ve been blinded by the flash of paparazzi more times than I can count, and these photographers are farther away than usual, but it still comes as a surprise. I should have realized they would have multiplied once TMZ ran this morning’s story.
There are two dozen of them now, clicking and flashing as I step outside, followed by Troy. It takes a few seconds before I can identify any one voice amidst the buzz of questions.
“How long have you two been living together?” “What does Curtis say about your relationship?” “What part did your connection with Mr. Sheppard play in the divorce?”
The assault of questions confirms my worst fears, but I force myself to keep cool and calm. I learned a lot watching Curtis in front of the media, and I try to channel it as we make our way toward the driveway and closer to the paparazzi.
“How long before the divorce did you begin living together?”
I stop, keeping my expression pleasantly neutral, and face the cameras. “We aren’t living together. Troy is a good friend from my school years who has kindly—and temporarily—given me use of the empty half of his duplex.”
“Mrs. Carr,” a female reporter pipes up, “do you have any comment about the picture from the TMZ story today? Most would say the way you were looking at Mr. Sheppard’s impressive physique”—she sends him a glance demonstrating she’s amongst those impressed by it—“wasmorethan friendly?”
I’m trusting my makeup to take the hue of red in my face from ripe-beet to under-ripe raspberry. Thankfully, I prepared for this while I was getting ready.
I smile at the media like an indulgent parent. “It’s Miss Jacobs now. Regarding the photos, if you look carefully, you’ll notice the focus of my attention is on the pressure washer hose attachment, which many of you can agree from firsthand experience isalsoimpressive.”
“Today is the first time you’re appearing together in public,” someone says over the din that follows my response. “Does this mean you’re making your relationship official?”
“Mr. Sheppard is my realtor,” I say with the patience, if I may say so, of a saint. “He’s a very capable agent and will be assisting me in that capacity.”
“Is that the only capacity in which Mr. Sheppard is… assisting you?” the man says with a suggestive tone.
Good gravy, these people just don’t let up. “As I’ve mentioned, Mr. Sheppard and I are longtime friends. Friendship, and now a realtor-client business relationship, comprise the extent of our connection. Thank you.” I wave and start moving toward the car, trusting Troy will follow.
“Mr. Sheppard!” calls out a reporter. “Doyouwish for more than friendship with Mrs. Carr?”
I turn, still smiling but my nostrils flaring. I don’t want them sucking Troy into their malicious line of questioning. He’s not used to their tactics, and, like I said before, this is my mess to clean up. “Mr. Sheppard is in a loving, committed relationship. And, again, my name is Miss Jacobs.”
16
TROY
“Is that true, Mr. Sheppard?”
In the next split-second, ten different possible responses and scenarios flash through my mind.
When Stevie came outside during my workout, frantic about the news story, it was clearly the wrong time to tell her about my breakup with Lyla. I told myself I would talk through it with her on the car ride to the showings, particularly since I need more time to figure out exactly how to convey it to her without freaking her out even more.
Apparently, that was the wrong choice.
These people camped out in front of my house are determined to believe Stevie and I are a couple, and even though Stevie hasn’t lost her cool, I can see her frustration building. I can’t blame her. It doesn’t seem to matter what she says to these paparazzi and reporters to convince them we aren’t dating. They’re bloodhounds, and they won’t stop sniffing until they find blood, even if they have to draw it themselves.
Stevie saying I’m in aloving, committedrelationship is the first thing that’s actually given them pause. And the way she’s looking at me right now, waiting for me to confirm what she said?
She’s desperate to get the message across: Troy Sheppard and Stephanie Jacobs are just friends. And we will bejust friendsforever.
“That’s correct,” I say in a way lower voice than I normally use. Evidently, my on-camera persona takes after James Earl Jones.
A flood of questions follows my response—all sorts of in-depth queries about my professed relationship—but Stevie cuts them off.
“We have an appointment to get to, so we won’t be taking any more questions. Now that you understand the nature of Mr. Sheppard’s and my relationship, I trust you will respect his right to privacy.”
