We had cancelled our contract after our midday romp, and I was finally free to reveal our status to Sylvie. In fact, Jett insisted on it, not telling me why. In my logic, it was a sign he wanted to enter my circle of friends and be introduced as my boyfriend. And I couldn’t wait for the whole world to know we were together.
I arrived at our apartment shortly after three p.m. and opened the door with apprehension, unsure what to expect. My best friend could be one of two things: so elated to see me that she’d forget I sort of hid the truth from her, or pissed because I kept a secret for two weeks. As I opened the door, I certainly didn’t expect to see the whole neighborhood gathered in our living room, shouting ‘Surprise’ at the top of their lungs. How the hell did Sylvie manage to gather the whole clique, including people I didn’t even know, in such a short time? She must have planned it for days. And that’s when it dawned on me that Sylvie could be a third thing: in party mode.
“Thanks, guys.” I put my suitcase down near the door and let a few of my friends envelop me in tight hugs, welcoming their congratulations on the new job. My gaze wandered across the room, sweeping over smiling, already intoxicated faces, and red drinking cups that littered our small living room. My attention fell on Sylvie who was squeezing her way toward me, her emotions clearly visible in her pouting lips and narrowed eyes.
She was mad but also curious. Our phone conversation hadn’t been forgotten. Knowing her focus on being liked by everybody, I knew she wouldn’t go for drama with so many people around. But there’d be plenty of hissed reproaches and venomous looks.
Taking a deep breath, I smiled.
I could deal with that. A crouching tigress was better than a pouncing one.
“Hey, you,” I said, grabbing her in a tight hug. “I missed you like crazy.”
“Stewart, you’re so screwed.” Her blue eyes twinkled, but her pout remained in place.
I made a point of unbuttoning my jacket in slow motion as I regarded her from under my lashes, teasing her with a wicked smile. “From that I gather you don’t want to hear the dirty?”
“You’re killing me.”
Laughing at her exaggerated eye roll, I grabbed a cup and took a sip of what tasted like Sylvie decided to empty an entire mini bar in there, and pulled her into a relatively quiet corner.
“Your plane landed yesterday. Where the heck have you been?” Her eyes spat fire. “Do you realize I had to keep this party up all night and day? You owe me a fortune for the booze.”
“I slept with him and now we’re together,” I blurted out, unable to contain the excitement in my voice.
For some reason I expected her to ask who I was talking about, but Sylvie just inclined her head and kept silent for a few moments, the glint in her eyes not quite mirroring the excitement I felt.
“At least he called,” was all she said.
“What?” I said slowly, shaking my head in confusion. “At least who called?” What was she talking about?
Waving her hand, she exhaled a long breath. “I told him I’d come after him with a pitchfork if he didn’t.”
“Who?” I crossed my arms over my chest, my gaze scanning her cryptic expression. I really had no idea what she was talking about.
“Who do you I think?” She rolled her eyes. “Jett, of course.”
“You know his name?” Why did she know his name?
“Of course I do.”
“How?” It was a stupid question. Her raised eyebrow said it all. They had exchanged numbers on that fateful night before I woke up with him in my bed. Or maybe during their morning talk while I was taking a shower and preparing myself for work. Later, she had offered to tell me his name, but I thought she was bluffing. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. All heat drained from my cheeks as something else dawned on me.
“You stayed in touch?” My voice sounded like a bird’s croak, all low and hoarse. The first wave of shock hit me hard. It wasn’t because my best friend had his number. I wasn’t that jealous and insecure. I just didn’t like people talking about me behind my back.
“Did you talk while we were in Italy?” I asked, moistening my suddenly dry lips.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. So they did, and she knew something. Maybe everything.
As though sensing my annoyance, Sylvie opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, only to open it a moment later. “Brooke, guys like him don’t do relationships. I don’t mind you dating him, but don’t get too involved emotionally.”
“You don’t even know him,” I hissed.