Good Guy

Part Fourteen

Whatever Cleo had expected of Shayla Edmunds' house, it certainly wasn't a mansion.

Yet here she stood with Scotch, in front of the most stylish brick and glass villa she'd ever seen, surrounded by a pristine lawn that resembled a Japanese garden. It wasn't as big as her ancestral home, but it looked tons better. There were modern and industrial touches to the front facade and roof deck, with the display piece being floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the entirety of its two floors.

Cleo could definitely admit that she'd been caught off-guard by the classy exterior. She couldn't say the same for Scotch, who looked oblivious to the fact that his friend was an heiress and loaded. In fact, he persistently pressed on the doorbell like he wasn't bothered if he somehow broke it. She tried scolding him, but he stuck his tongue out at her and doubled his efforts to pummel the button into oblivion. She was therefore relieved when the glossy, varnished door opened.

"Hey! You made it!" A girl wearing a neon pink romper and a big smile greeted them. "Cleo, right?"

The loud clothes and equally outgoing persona made Cleo believe she was talking to Art's girlfriend. Shayla was exactly what Cleo expected her to be based on Scotch's description—all bubbly and energetic. She only hoped that she could keep up with the older girl's supercharged vibe. "Yeah. It's nice to meet you."

"Great!" Shayla exclaimed, not letting up on the excitement in her voice. She ignored Cleo's handshake, instead choosing to grab her by the wrist. Cleo was casually dragged into the house, even though Shayla likely barely knew two things about her. "Come on in so we can plan your wedding."

Cleo almost tripped through the entryway. "Hey, WHAT?!"

"I'm going to kill you, Shayla Edmunds," Scotch said as he followed them into the entry.

Cleo suddenly wanted to sink into the hand-scraped hardwood flooring and never resurface. Something in Shayla's smile told her that ribbing Scotch had been a recent past-time. Specifically, the needling most probably started after her coming into the picture.

"You can come in too, Butterscotch," Shayla replied, pinching his cheek like a doting aunt would when trying to appease a sulky nephew. "Just leave your murderous intentions at the door."

Scotch grumbled, muttering stuff about the things he had to put up with because of his best friend. Cleo would've laughed at his misery, if only his best friend's girlfriend wasn't looking in their direction with interested eyes. She should've known it would happen sooner or later.

She rode with him to and from school almost every day, in plain view. Almost everyone in her class didn't believe that they weren't going out, no matter how many times she tried to tell them. It wasn't silly to think that Scotch was getting the same treatment from his end. However, she wondered if he experienced the same see-sawing emotions she did whenever somebody blatantly shipped them. She couldn't count how many times she just wanted to shut everyone up by saying 'Not yet, but I'm working on it.'

"What was that?" Shayla asked her, and Cleo realized she was muttering under her breath, the same as Scotch.

She quickly tried to organize her scrambled mind. "I—uh—I think your house is beautiful. I love it."

"Really? Thanks!" Art's girlfriend wagged a finger at Scotch. "See, Wilkins. That's how to be nice to others. You should take a few lessons from Cleo."

They managed to move into the living room without any more incidents, where Shayla left them with Art so she could head to the kitchen. The two guys greeted each other, and Scotch crashed onto the couch as if he owned the place. Art immediately hit her with routine questions about how school was going and which lessons they were at right now. She was grateful that he wasn't shipping as obviously as Shayla—up until he began extolling Scotch's virtues. What followed were five whole minutes of Art trying to pimp his friend, while Scotch threatened to cut his tongue off.