Page 6 of Just Friends Forever
Is she saying that because hanging out with Austin Sheppard in the car for half an hour would be worth that hefty sacrifice, or because she reallywouldenjoy being with me at the open house? Do I even want to know the answer to that question?
“So,” she says, “is he heading out of town for a while? Or will he be back soon?”
I glance at Austin, and he raises a brow like he’s curious what’s being said. I like to tease him about all the women—or teenyboppers—he attracts now that he’s “made it,” but somehow, it’s less fun when it’s my girlfriend fixating on him. My not-girlfriend. Whatever.
He tries to steal the Bluetooth earpiece from my ear, and I pull away.
“Let me talk to her,” he mouths. He still doesn’t believe me.
I avoid his second attempt to steal my earpiece. I’m not eager to listen to him chat up Lyla for ten minutes—whatever the result of that conversation might be. She certainly wouldn’t be the first girl who preferred my older brother to me.
“I’m not sure what his plans are,” I say to her. “Hey, Lyla, let me call you back later. We’re just pulling up to the airport.”
Austin scoffs as I hang up. “Lyla, huh? And you call thispulling up to the airport?” He gestures to the traffic surrounding us on the freeway.
I don’t respond, pretending to focus on switching lanes. I’m not about to tell him I lied to stop Lyla from fawning over him. I love my brother. But so does everyone else, and it gets a little old sometimes.
“Hey,” Austin says after a minute. “I’m just teasing. I think it’s great you’re dating someone.”
I shoot him a funny look. “Like I haven’t ever dated anyone or something?”
“You’ve gone on dates, yeah, but you haven’t had a steady girlfriend in years.”
“Says the guy hanging backstage with different women every night.”
He chuckles. “Sheesh. No need to get feisty. I said it was great you’re with Lola, didn’t I?”
“Lyla.”
“I thought maybe you were still hung up on Stevie,” he says, ignoring my correction.
I slap a hand on his shoulder and squeeze extra hard. “Welcome to the current decade.” Stevie got married to a hotshot actor, Curtis Carr, a few years ago. We’ve kept in touch a bit since then, but it’s been months since I’ve heard from her.
Austin is just about the last person I enjoy discussing Stevie with. I blame her huge, years-long crush on him for the fact she could never see me as more than a friend.
When we pull up to the curb at LAX, Austin hops out of the car. He ducks his head back in. “Hey. Thanks for the apartment decorations. Don’t take them down. I want you to think of me every time you violate our landlord/tenant agreement. Oh, and tell your fake girlfriend Lyla I say hi.” The door shuts before I can respond.
He wheels his suitcase a few feet, then pauses in front of the bumper and pulls out his phone to answer a call.
I smash the horn, and he jumps in surprise. Showing him a toothy grin, I wave as I pull away from the curb.
* * *
Tappingmy finger on the white quartz countertop, I crane my neck to see through the nearest window. Still no cars. Only three couples have come through the house in the last two hours, and all of them already have agents, making this open house a complete waste of my time. Apparently, today is not the day I get a client looking for a ten-million-dollar home.
I look around the immaculate kitchen with white, soft-close upper cabinets that reach to the ceiling, navy blue lowers with brushed gold hardware, and a ten-foot island. The entire house has been professionally staged and looks like it belongs insideElle Decor.
I can only dream of having the sort of money to afford something like this, which is kind of the reason I’m here. At one of these open houses, I’m bound to find a home buyer who needs an agent. If they’re looking at a house like this, they’ll have plenty of money—and plenty of friends with plenty of money—to spend on a house that costs millions of dollars. Then, instead of trying to help buy and sell multiple small houses a month, I’ll be able to help clients buy and sell a couple of mansions a year. If I play it right, I can become the go-to real estate agent for some of the who’s who of LA.
One of the couples who came in today was younger than me, definitely in their early twenties. As I showed them around and let them peruse the rooms, I couldn’t help but wonder what life might have been like if I’d been able to afford something like this at their age. Maybe things could have been different with Stevie. Maybe, just maybe, it might have changed the way she looked at me. She was always a dreamer when it came to the future. I feel like I’m still reaching for those heights, while she’s already attained them—andthensome.
I smack a hand on the counter and pick up my phone. These are dumb thoughts. Dumb and embarrassing. That ship sailed years ago. Sailed and shipwrecked. I’m not hung up on it, either. I genuinely want Stevie to be happy. Which she is. How could she not be? She’s married to one of the biggest actors in Hollywood, living the jet-set life.
I navigate to my messages and open the thread with Lyla.
TROY
You really should have come. We probably could have watched a movie in the home theater together.
