A Four Letter Word

  A Four Letter Word

  Michelle Lee

  Ebook Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Michelle Lee

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Michelle Lee to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act of 2000

  The work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act of 1968, no part may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Jada D’ Lee

  Cover image by 2@gemenacom

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  For Mom. I love and miss you every day.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I wouldn’t have been able to do this without my family. I want to give thanks to my beautiful daughter, Jordan, for always encouraging Mommy. To my husband, Shawn, thanks with all my heart and love for putting up with my craziness.

  Thank you to the following:

  To Lori, my “twin” who encouraged me all those years ago to put my thoughts down on paper when I thought I couldn’t. To Kristen, my very own personal cheerleader, when I thought I just shouldn’t or couldn’t you told me I should and can. And to Dodi, my pea, you’ve helped and encouraged me so much, miles mean nothing—church will never be the same (wink wink).

  To my work family, Amy, Channon, Shannon, Sarah, Joann, Karen and especially Jenny. You all have given me so much support, I can’t thank you enough. Jenny, you’ve helped me more than I can ever thank you.

  To my online family, especially, S.L. Scott, Jada D’ Lee, and Lynda, all of you have been so supportive, I can’t thank you enough. S. L. Scott, your encouraging words and answering all my questions have meant more to me than you’ll ever know. Lynda, you’ve been there since the beginning, always telling me what I needed to hear when I completely doubted myself. Jada, you made one kick-ass cover and I can’t thank you enough for that and supporting me. Thank you for being there when I decided to JUMP and embark on this crazy journey.

  To JG over at The Book Lover’s Opinion, you took a chance and decided to read my book without knowing me. I appreciate your kind words and your support.

  Finally, to my readers, you’ve made my dreams come true; thank you so much. Hugs and Love.

  The dictionary defines love as: a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person; a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend; sexual passion or desire; a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.

  Prologue

  Words; the dictionary is full of them. Lust, want, need, hope, family, friendship, lover—the list goes on and on. We use these words to express how we feel, what we need and what we want. Our words can be uplifting, enlightening and degrading when used in the right order and with emphasis.

  There is one word, however, consisting of four harmless little letters. Alone and separate from each other, they have no power and only communicate sounds. But, when strung together in the right order, they have meaning and depth and power. Above all else, they are explosive.

  I used to think that four letter word was an illusion; a fabrication created by retailers to sell cards, tokens, flowers, and everything and anything else they can package. Something you only saw in romantic comedies starring Katherine Heigl or read in books; fairytales even. A word that was non-existent. That was until I met Griffin.

  As a child, you experience it unconditionally with your parents, grandparents and other close family members. As a teen, you think you know it, understand it, and experience it. Shit, drama is created because of it. But, you truly don't fully understand the power of that four letter word.

  After you become an adult, you yearn for it, hunger for it, and search for it. Do you really ever find it? Rarely, if you're lucky. In fact, sometimes, just when you think you've found it, committed to it, and are ready to spend an eternity with it, something or someone steps in and tries to redefine it for you.

  So, I thank that four letter word – a word I thought I finally found for the first time. A word I actually had a firm grasp of and had clearly defined in my mind, until he came barging into my bridal suite—for fracturing my whole belief system and whole world into a million pieces. All because he decided to utter that four letter word after all these years.

  All because my best friend, Evan, told me he loved me—on my wedding day.

  Chapter 1

  October, a year and half prior

  "Evan, you're gonna have to come out sooner or later. You have about fifteen seconds to get your ass out here, or else I am going to come in there and drag you out by your pretty little head," I yell into the closed dressing room door.

  "I'm not coming out," he says like a stubborn child.

  "I swear, Evan, stop being such a damn drama queen, and get your ass out here." I huff in frustration.

  "No. I'm not coming out. This is fucking embarrassing. I look ridiculous. I'm changing. Forget the dumb-ass, stupid party—I'm not going."

  I suddenly have an image of Evan stomping his foot, crossing his arms over his chest, and pouting. A perpetual child is on the other side of that dressing room door at the moment. I inwardly giggle. How many times have I gone through this same situation with him? Prom comes to mind when I went with him to pick up his tux. He came out of the dressing room looking like a character out of Tom Sawyer or Huckleberry Finn—his pants were so short, they could have been capris, and the look of complete and utter “there is no way I’m going looking like this” was plastered on his face.

  If the hilarity of this situation wasn't so stupid, I would really be getting pissed off at him right now. He's lucky, very lucky, I'm not. Actually, I don’t think I could really get mad at Evan, no matter what he might do or has done. We’ve been friends way too long, and I have never been able to stay mad at him for any length of time. As much as I really wanted to or should have, I just couldn’t. He’s Evan. He’s my best friend.

  And knowing my best friend like I do, I am so not above bribery at the moment. "Evan, if you come out, I promise we can go to Dave and Buster's and shoot and kill some zombies afterwards, okay?"

  "And play ski-ball too?" he practically whines.

  I knew I would get him with this. "Yes, we can play ski-ball too, but you have to come out and let me see your costume."

  "Just give me a sec—I'll be right out." I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I step away from the fitting room, feeling triumphant. My best friend can't resist some video game action. Besides, it's not my fault he waited until the last minute to decide we should go to the Halloween party together; although it was more of Ashlee’s idea. It's not my fault he broke up with Amanda three weeks ago, and she took the costume reservation. It's not my fault the choices are limited. It's not my fault that we are stuck being Tarzan and Jane. You don't see me complaining about having to wear some skimpy costume that will barely cover my ass and boobs. But, that's
Evan, always complaining and leaving things to the last minute when things don’t go just the way he wanted or expected then to.

  Finally, the fitting room door slowly opens, and Evan slides out from behind the door, moving like a snail. I swear paint dries faster.

  He stands before me, his hazel eyes downcast and then quickly looks around making sure no one is looking at him. One arm is firmly planted across his chest, holding tightly around his torso, while the other attempts to tug and cover the barely-there loin cloth. I can't help the giggle that escapes me.

  "Zoey, I feel self-conscious enough as it is; I don't need you snickering like some adolescent school girl," he chides, his face turning several different shades of red.

  "Um, you're right, sorry." I suck in my bottom lip, trying desperately to stop from laughing any further. But my attempt is useless, however, as I burst out laughing uncontrollably.

  "Fuck this-I'm not going," he announces, retreating to the fitting room, stomping his feet in the process. Yep, perpetual child.

  I try to reign in my emotions, if I don’t this is going to turn into a Mexican standoff, between me, him and the store attendant that keeps circling around giving me the evil eye. And believe me, it won’t be pretty—someone is going to get hurt—blood might even be spilled. Time to nip this in the bud.

  "Evan, come back out. I'm sorry, really I am. I promise I won't laugh, cross my heart. Just come back out, please." I can’t believe I have to beg and plead with him—he’s twenty-seven for Pete’s sake.

  “Hell no.” I have a feeling at any moment I’m going to see a loin cloth come flying over the fitting room door and land right on my face, and then I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.

  “Come on. I’m sorry. Really I am. I won’t laugh.” A small giggle breaks past my lips.

  “Damn it Zoey!”

  “Sorry. That’s the last of it. I’m done.” I’m really trying to keep it together.

  “I don’t believe you. I know you too well Zoey Richards.” I can note a bit of laughter behind his words—he’s planning something.

  "I swear. I Promise. I'm crossing my heart and everything." Even though I know he can’t see me my fingers cross over my heart—I am a woman of my word after all.

  "You really promise? You swear on your most prized possession, your autographed poster of ‘NSync?"

  I knew he was up to something. My heart double beats and I clutch at it. He means business. My autographed ‘NSync poster is everything to me. He knows what he’s doing by asking me this. He knows if I promise, if I swear on it, I will follow through and mean every word. I take a deep breath and really think about what I’m about to do. Am I really considering swearing on it? Is swearing on it worth a stupid Halloween costume? I contemplate longer than a rational person probably would. I am such a fangirl when it comes to ‘NSync. After mulling it over very carefully, I finally come to a decision, and it’s killing me. I’m sorry guys I have no other choice.

  “Yes, I promise. Truly promise, on Joey, Lance, Chris, JC and Justin’s lives.” I swallow thickly. God forbid if something were to happen to it or them, I would just…

  The door opens again, and Evan, with a sly grin knowing he had me, is still trying to cover himself with his hands and arms again. This is getting ridiculous, and I’m just about to reach my limit—he made me swear on ‘NSync and he continues to act like this. I swear I’m going to hurt him instead of Ashlee, who is insisting we go, or even Amanda. Time for a little payback. He knows how much I love ‘NSync and was crushed when they split up. I practically had to buy stock in Kleenex that day.

  "Evan, put your freakin’ arms down. There's no reason to be embarrassed."

  "Suuurrre, you're not the one having to wear a stupid little loin cloth," he reminds me, his arms slowly moving to his sides.

  "Turn around," I command, twirling my finger around.

  "Seriously, Zoey, is that necessary?"

  "I need to get the full effect." I am desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. Part of me wants to kill him, and the other part wants to fall to floor and laugh her ass off. It’s futile at best. I feel something tightening in my throat just dying to burst out.

  Evan huffs and mumbles something under his breath while he turns around for me. I smile widely, still trying to hold back the giggle that is winning the war of emotions. "Evan, it's perfect,” my tone attempts to be serious.

  I stare a little longer than I probably should. Evan is more than perfect in the barely-there loin cloth. His chest is sculpted and chiseled as if made from the finest Italian marble: the ripple of his muscles, the faint outline of a six-pack on his stomach, the v-shaped dip that is just exposed by the low riding material. His arms are slightly flexed; exposing the muscles that working out for hours has created. If he wasn’t Evan, if he wasn’t my best friend, I would probably be licking those arms right about now. After all, I have a weakness for arms—just call me an arm girl.

  "Helllloooo...Zoey…can I change now?"

  I continue to stare, his mouth moving, but I hear nothing.

  Licking.

  Licking.

  “Zoey!” Evan yells his face turning red.

  My eyes blink rapidly, bringing me back to the here and now. "Um, sorry, yeah, sure, go change."

  Evan retreats back into the fitting room, shaking his head, mumbling, “What’s with her?”

  After he’s behind the closed door I give my head a little shake as well. It's not like I've never seen him without a shirt on before, but the way he was trying to hide himself made me want to look even more. I can't deny the man has an amazing body and face and the personality to match.

  And those arms, those arms. When did my best friend’s arms become positively, absolutely lickable? I mean, I think I would have noticed their lickability before, right?

  I do a little shake and dance, cracking my neck a few times; letting the sexual tension in my body float away. After all it’s been a while since I’ve been with anybody. Maybe it’s not because it’s Evan maybe it’s just because I’m going through a dry spell and Evan is a very attractive man. That’s gotta be it.

  Evan and I have been best friends since we met twelve years ago in our sophomore year of high school. Of course I thought he was gorgeous then and developed a little crush on him, but it never evolved into anything more between us other than friendship. Evan never looked at me as anything other than his best friend. So, I simply suppressed my crush and moved on.

  I shake my head and laugh at myself.

  He's your best friend, stupid, and you are no longer in high school.

  I can't help but wonder if things between us would be different now if I had said something back then; probably not. I was never Evan's type. He always went for the leggy blondes, and that is so not me. I have long auburn hair, and average height. So unlike the Glamazons he usually dates. Not his type at all. Amanda was his type. Natalia so his type. Meghan, Carly, Chloe…the list goes on, until he met Paige. Paige was the total opposite of his type. I never really understood or got the whole story as to why they broke up after dating for so long. It just never made sense, and I figured when Evan was ready to tell me exactly what happened, I would know, but he’s never told me.

  Evan reemerges from the fitting room completely clothed. He smiles at me. "Your turn, missy."

  "Fine," I huff, gathering my Jane costume, forgetting my inner ramblings and enter the fitting room.

  I quickly strip down and pull the practically non-existent costume on. Once I think it's on properly, God only knows, there’s not much too it, I turn around and gaze at myself in the mirror. My mouth gapes open, and all I can do is stare at my image and the lack of costume it’s wearing. Damn Ashlee for suggesting this stupid store. I swear the next time I see my little, meddling, fashionista, best girlfriend; I am going to do some serious bodily harm. I should have known this store only stocked skimpy costumes. It should be named Slutty R’ Us, not Harry’s Costumes. However, the longer I stare
at myself, the more I begin to realize I really look amazing. I mean, my boobs never looked fuller, bigger even. The skirt reveals quite a bit of leg, making my short, stubby legs look long for once. My stomach is taut. All those hours at the gym are finally paying off. Helga, my bordering on psychotic, trainer, would be proud.

  Not bad, Richards, not fucking bad at all.

  Then, reality sets in and I remember I won't be the only one seeing me in this costume. A whole bunch of people will be at the party. I've never liked being the center of attention, and this costume definitely demands attention.

  I take a deep, steadying breath, realizing there's nothing I can do about the costume now. Evan and I are basically stuck. I mean, we could go as ketchup and mustard, but that's just all kinds of wrong. And, since it's two days before Halloween, all the good costumes are taken. If Evan had only thought about this sooner, I wouldn't look like some cavewoman hooker right now. Or if Amanda hadn’t been such a bitch and taken the reservation I could be dressed like the Little Mermaid right now. Maybe Jane is the better option. Actually no costume and not going is the better option. Maybe I can convince Evan we don’t have to go. I mean he doesn’t want to, Ashlee is insisting we go. This is all her fault. I wonder if she and Amanda were in cahoots. They both love to see me squirm. Ashlee does it on a regular basis and Amanda just never really liked me. We were civil to each other for Evan’s sake. I bet they were. That’s why…

  "Zoey, time to come out," Evan sing-songs from the other side of the door interrupting my mental detective work.

  "I'm coming."

  I open the door and step out leaving the safety of the fitting room behind me. I so want to run back inside, especially since Evan is just staring at me, not saying a word which is making me feel even more self-conscious and ready to hurt Ashlee even more. Let’s not forget about Amanda. Amanda. She probably would look amazing in this costume. Forget probably, I know she would, and Evan staring at me like I’ve got three heads only proves it. Great, Amanda was the first place trophy and I’m the boobie prize. Why do I always feel like the damn boobie prize?