Page 44 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

“Well, that certainly is . . . something.” He chuckles. “It sounds like you know what you’re doing.”

“Whenever I don’t, I figure it out.”

An hour passes, mostly full of bullshit and a few more drinks.

Mr. Smith clinks his glass to mine before taking the final sip. “Cooper. It’s been a great lunch, if I have anything to say about it.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I can have the contract drawn up this week if you’d like to proceed.”

“Sounds great. Reach out to my assistant when you’re ready, and we’ll set up a time to meet with your father.”

“I will. Thank you for your time.” I reach my hand for his again, concluding our meeting.

The fifteen minute drive back to my dad’s office has me antsy, my knee bouncing, my thumb tapping against the steering wheel. My dad is going to be so fucking proud of me. Sophie would be proud of me. The thought sneaks in, and I wish I could call her. I might be mad right now, but she knows how much this means to me–more than anyone. Somehow it’s been easy for me to take initiative in every aspect of my life until it was time to step into my dad’s shoes. He’s untouchable in his field. It’s a lot to live up to. I’m proud of myself, but this win doesn’t feel as good without her.

Pushing the thought aside, I pull into the empty parking space in front of the red brick building with a black back-lit sign that reads Montgomery Realty.

Walking through the front door, I head straight to my dad’s office. Leaning against the door frame in my khakis and navy polo with my hands in my pockets, I wait for him to finish the call he’s on.

He glances toward me as he hangs up the phone. “Cooper. Good news?”

I grin, taking the seat on the side of the desk opposite him. “Can I help write the contract?”

“Yes.” He leans forward, pride smeared on his face as he clicks his pen. “We’ll do it now. And then we can meet with our attorney tomorrow.”

“Okay, cool. And . . .” Ask for what you’re worth, Coop. You’re worth a lot. Sophie’s words flash through my thoughts again. I have big goals with this company, and I can’t start checking them off if I don’t take what I want. It’s terrifying because it involves asking my dad, but the worst he can say is no. “I’d like to talk about my compensation for bringing in this business.”

Dad’s lips turn up in a slight smirk. “Let’s negotiate.”

I know there are two options. Since I’m not a licensed realtor, I technically can’t take a percentage of the commissions–at least not on the books. I could ask for an upfront bonus for making this deal, but I’ve read enough Dave Ramsey and Grant Cardone books to know the long game is always the better game.

“I want two percent of commission for each sale as a bonus.” For a half of a million dollar home, two percent of the two and a half percent commission would be $250 a house, $7500 after we’ve sold all 30 homes we’ll have a monopoly on selling.

His eyes narrow, but more in consideration than surprise at my boldness. “One and a half.”

I reach my hand to lock in the deal. I would have settled for one.

We write the contract, and an hour later I’m on my way home, deciding how to celebrate. Pulling into my driveway, I scroll to my text thread with Sophie. The last text is from the day I watched her kiss JT. I wish I never saw that. With a sigh, I swipe out of the conversation and shoot a text to Kylie. We’ve messed around a little, but haven’t gone all the way yet. While I’ve fucked a few girls the past couple of years since I started college, my body count isn’t nearly as high as most of the fraternity guys. I’ve learned the whole experience is better when you’ve had the chance to learn the other person’s body, and I think it might be time to lean into the distraction of exploring someone else.

Me: Do you need plans for tonight? I have a bottle of vodka and a bed that could have your name on them.

By the time I get inside and shower, she’s responded.

Kylie: That’s a better offer than the one I had. What are we celebrating?

I hate that it feels weird talking about my accomplishments with someone who isn’t Sophie and ignore pushing through the discomfort.

Me: Do we need a reason?

Kylie: You asking is enough for me. I’ll see you in 20.

True to her word, Kylie is standing inside my kitchen twenty minutes later with a shot glass in her hand. As the clear liquor burns down my throat, it hits me that even though it’s been three months, I’m not sure I’m ready for Sophie to no longer be the last girl I had sex with. Pushing off the decision, I take another shot straight from the bottle then pour one for Kylie and me.

The slit of sunlight through my curtains wakes me. I rub the sleep from my eyes then pinch them shut again in an attempt to blink away the pounding headache of my hangover. Taking in the scene, I see Kylie’s naked body tangled in my sheets, my blue comforter in a pile on the floor. I ended up caving last night, knocking the memory of Sophie exploring every inch of my body out of its place as my most recent sex memory. It needed to be done. Especially since she didn’t keep that space for me. I wish it had felt like its own experience. I wish I could have given my full attention to Kylie. I don’t think she noticed–likely thanks to the seven shots of vodka–but every time I closed my eyes, it was Sophie in my vision. Her hands running up my body. Her lips pressing into mine. It was her I imagined, but everything felt different. Wrong.

Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I check the text notification. It’s from my dad letting me know what time our meeting with the attorney is later today. Noting Kylie still sleeping, I open my emails.

My stomach lurches at the subject heading of the top one from Ethan’s dad: Change of plans. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath before opening the message.

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