Page 52 of Thanks for the Friendship
“What do you think? Bethany. You just agreed that she was trouble.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t tell her about the house. I was talking about her and Jordan.”
Jordan? My Jordan, or my ex-Jordan.
Gabby’s mouth drops open.
“Are you saying that Bethany and Jordan are seeing each other?” I exclaim.
Paul is silent. Obviously he thought that’s why I wanted to talk to him.
“I don’t know the specifics,” he says finally. “I just know that that they’ve been out a few times since seeing each other on the boat.”
Like I said, I didn’t expect it to be long before some lucky woman snagged Jordan. I just never in a million years thought that woman would be Bethany.
“Anyway, you were right. Harry was right. I was wrong.”
At least he’s finally seeing Bethany’s true colors. I do feel bad for him though. Paul never seems to be lucky when it comes to love, but part of that is because he always goes for the wrong women. Women like Bethany who see the family money and overlook the fun-loving good guy that he is.
“Maybe Jordan told her about the house?” Paul suggests.
“I don’t think he knows about it. We had already broken up before I had dinner with my parents … Oh well, it doesn’t matter anyway.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Jordan is seeing that evil woman. We were together when she was staying here. I even vented to him about her a few times.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Obviously I’m not thrilled,” I say. “I’m afraid Jordan will have to learn the hard way like you and Reagan did.”
Paul gets another call, so our conversation is cut short.
“Maybe Bethany and Jordan are just friends,” Gabby suggests. “It wouldn’t be the first time she tried to get her claws into a great guy.”
“You’re right,” I say thoughtfully. “Either way, it’s no longer my business. I care about Jordan, but I knew we were over long before I ended things.”
Chapter Fifteen
My skills in the kitchen are mostly pathetic, but I can make an Instagram-worthy charcuterie board. My roommates and are I prepping for the dinner party we’re hosting for Theo, Cal, Sara, AJ, and Reagan’s boyfriend, Jeremy. I put on some background music, and we’re singing along to the best music hits of the 90s. There are a few moments when I feel that familiar lump forming in my throat. Every time I think about not having more evenings like this, I want to cry. Ugh, Lila Barlow doesn’t cry—she fakes it until her face hurts.
The impending move is kind of like the elephant in the room at this point. We all know it needs to be addressed, but none of us want to actually bring it up. I’ve already started looking at some properties, and there are plenty of great homes out there. Unfortunately, none of them compare to this house.
“This smells divine,” Reagan says, lifting the cover off the chicken masala we ordered. She’s wearing a blue halter dress with a cream-colored sweater over it. Her blonde hair is full of bouncy waves.
Gabby’s busy trying to open a bottle of wine. She’s wearing a pair of dark skinny jeans with an oversized black sweater. Her brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail on top of her head.
I decided on a black flowy maxi dress and wrapped a scarf around my hair like a headband.
There’s a knock on the door, and Reagan hurries to answer it.
“Hey, blondie,” a deep voice says. Reagan returns to the kitchen holding a large box from Donut Giant. Her boyfriend Jeremy has a severe addiction to the donut shop that makes the best donuts ever, although you’d never know it by looking at him. He’s that guy that can eat three donuts and then run ten miles to work them off. Yes, it’s super annoying. Reagan’s sister nicknamed him Mr. Abs.
“Hello, ladies. Thanks for inviting me to dinner. You can put me to work—serving, cleaning, spying … I’m your guy.”
Reagan hits him on the arm.
“Oh sorry, is someone else here?” he whispers.
“No, you’re fine,” I tell him. “Thanks for the donuts.”
