Four Letter Word

by J. Daniels

  I nudged Tori’s elbow.

  Was she crazy? Why would she want to send them away so soon? They were so pretty.

  B laughed through closed lips and tilted his head. Gritty hair fell into his eyes.

  “You’re extra sweet for me today. Somethin’ happen between now and the last time I came in here to love on you?”

  My jaw hit the floor.

  Love on her?

  LOVE?

  What the hell was going on?

  I watched, wide-eyed and clueless, as my best friend scoffed and tapped her pen.

  “It’s amazing, really. Even without your irritating presence for the past two weeks, I’ve managed to grow in my soul-consuming disgust for you.”

  “I see you’re counting our days apart,” B replied, reaching for her. “Let me take you out this weekend.”

  Tori stepped back.

  “I’ll be busy,” she replied, sounding bored.

  “Doing what?”

  “Washing my hair.”

  B grinned. “You can do that at my place.”

  “I’d rather staple my face to the wall,” she bit out with lips curling against teeth. She stuck her free hand on her hip. “Do you want a drink or not? I have other tables.”

  We didn’t. Not at the moment anyway.

  A glanced up, lifting his hand.

  “I’ll have a Sprite, thanks. And we have one more coming.”

  “Coke with grenadine for me, Legs. You know what I like.” B looked at me, then tipped his head at Tori, keeping my gaze. “She talk about me?”

  “Uh…”

  “Get a clue, Jamie,” Tori snapped, wrapping her hand around my elbow and tugging me in the direction we came, my feet shuffling backward quickly to keep up with her mile-long stems.

  “What in the world was that all about?” I whispered when we reached the bar.

  Shay spotted our return and slid off the back counter, where she’d been perched, legs swinging, speaking through the open rectangular window that separated us from Stitch, who didn’t seem to be conversing back with her, only listening with his head down and eyes focused, and came to stand beside me, leaning her elbows on the bar.

  Tori stepped behind and grabbed two glasses, lifting her shoulders and trying to appear nonchalant as she filled each with ice.

  “What?” she asked.

  I leaned in, my hands flat on the cool wood.

  “What? Why was that stunner calling you Legs, and why is he coming in to ‘love on you’? Did you hook up with him or something?”

  Tori was the Rachel to my Monica. I didn’t think she kept secrets from me, not any, and especially not ones involving a hot cigarette-smoking surfer who looked like a former J.Crew model, fired for his bad-boy image and lewd habits.

  Shay giggled beside me.

  “I love that he calls you Legs. Nicknames are so sweet and sexy.”

  I sucked in a breath, feeling warm and full and fuzzy all over.

  Wild.

  Babe.

  Tori sat the cup with Sprite down on the bar and grabbed the bottle of grenadine. Her eyes rolled.

  “Tori,” I urged, needing answers and gossip more than my next breath.

  “Okay, seriously, first of all,” she started, sounding impatient while pouring the red sticky syrup into the glass of Coke, “I did not hook up with that idiot. If I did, I would’ve told you, because I tell you everything. You’re my best girl.”

  I smiled hearing that and stood a little taller.

  “And second”—she stuck the bottle behind the bar again and frowned at Shay—“nicknames are only sweet and sexy when they aren’t stupid and uninspired, like, for example, naming a girl after a body part. He might as well just call me head or toenail.”

  I kept on smiling, thinking about how inspiring Brian’s choice of nicknames were for me, and then thinking about how much I disagreed with Tori’s opinion, because I thought Legs was a pretty sweet and sexy nickname, and clearly inspiring.

  Tori’s legs were jaw-dropping.

  But I would never admit my disagreement right now. We had each other’s backs, through and through.

  Tori turned her head, eyes narrowing in the direction of the only occupied booth in our section, huffed, then slid the glasses across the bar in front of Shay.

  “Can you take these over there for me? I want to talk to Syd.”

  Shay picked up the glasses and walked away. No questions were asked.

  Tori sidled up next to me.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” she began, voice lowered and unamused.

  I turned and gave her my full attention, pulse racing and skin warming all over.

  Tori noticed my reaction and shook her head.

  “Oh, my God. Could you not look so excited right now?”

  “I can’t help it!” I exclaimed, clamping a hand over my mouth after getting shushed. “He calls you Legs,” I whispered between my fingers.

  Her lip twitched.

  “He’s a loser.”

  “He’s gorgeous,” I countered.

  “He’s a gorgeous loser.”

  “With great hair and dimples.”

  “Looks aren’t everything, Syd.”

  “No, but they’re a nice bonus.”

  “He didn’t care that I was with Wes.”

  I leaned closer. My stomach rolled unpleasantly.

  “What?” I asked, no longer feeling the hurried beats of my heart against my ribs.

  Tori’s eyes moved over my shoulder for the briefest second, then pulled back to mine.

  “About five months ago he came in here and sat in my section, flirted with me, and I mean flirted, asking me out and calling me Legs, saying mine would look fantastic draped over his shoulders or spread wide in his backseat.”

  My eyes bugged.

  Tori shook her head and waved a dismissive hand.

  “Who is he?”

  “Jamie McCade, local surfing legend,” she answered flatly, completely unimpressed as she brought one arm across her body and gripped her elbow. “He’s the youngest guy ever to win so many championships in a row. He’s broken world records.”

  “Wow.”

  “He’s a complete dick.”

  “Um.” I bit my lip. “How is he a complete dick again?”

  I was still waiting for proof of his dickness. I wasn’t convinced yet.

  Shay moved past us.

  “I told them you’d be over in a minute to get their orders. Jamie said to tell you he misses you,” she announced, the little crossbones in her hair catching in the light overhead and shimmering.

  She pulled herself up on the counter again and twisted her body, her head back in the window to resume her one-sided conversation with Stitch.

  Tori didn’t even flinch at the mention of Jamie’s sentiments, but she did lower her eyes to a spot on the floor.

  “What happened?” I urged her on. I needed to know.

  “I told him I was seeing someone, that I was…in a relationship and happy.” She squeezed her eyes shut through a breath, inhaling and releasing slowly. “It didn’t even faze him,” she continued, lifting her head with disappointment in her crystal blues. “He didn’t care one bit that I was someone’s girlfriend, Sydney. Didn’t even throw him off his flirting game. If anything, he went at me harder after that. I was suddenly a challenge. And that disgusted me. He has no respect for love.”

  I grabbed her hand that was hanging freely.

  “And after all of it, after pushing me and throwing empty compliments and stupid little nicknames around, he still flirts with practically every girl in here when he comes in. They flock to him, and he just sits there and pats his lap. It’s pathetic. I’m sure he calls them Ass or Knee-Cap, or something equally unoriginal. He’s a player. And a jerk.”

  “And a dick,” I added, now fully convinced.

  She gave my hand a squeeze.

  “Exactly. That’s why I always ask Stitch to do things to his food.”

  My mouth fell open.r />
  “Does he?” I asked, glancing over at the window Shay’s face was still halfway sticking through.

  Tori shrugged, kept her long, slender fingers wrapped around my hand, and suggested, “Come on. Let’s go take their orders before Nate fires us.”

  We walked back to the booth, fingers interlocked, mine holding on a little bit tighter, and this time Tori handed me her ticket book, brushing her lips against my hair when I looked nervous and unsure and reminding me that I needed to start taking orders eventually, and also, that this would be the perfect order to screw up on.

  I smiled at our secret.

  She nudged my hip again and turned to the boys.

  “We ready?” she asked, studying her nails.

  A fired off his order of fish and chips, extra chips and hold the coleslaw, folded up his menu, and slid it to the edge, doing this saying they were still waiting on a third but were starving.

  B kept his eyes on Tori, his lips curved in a smile, and requested the bacon and bleu burger, cooked medium with no pickles, a side of fries, and her phone number.

  I glared at him, then scribbled down his order.

  A Reuben with potato salad.

  I ripped the ticket from the book and handed it to Tori when we got behind the bar.

  She laughed at my chicken scratch handwriting, mumbled something about praying Jamie was allergic to eggs, then slid the paper across the steel lip of the window to Stitch, requesting with a mischief in her eyes, “Loser Special, Stitch sweetie, on the Reuben.”

  He jerked his chin and kept on cutting up onions.

  I leaned closer to her.

  “What’s a Loser Special?”

  “Drop the meat on the floor and let it sit there for five seconds.”

  I straightened in shock.

  “He does that?” I whispered harshly, looking through the window at Stitch and thinking that, yes, he did look like someone who wouldn’t care if he dropped meat on the floor and served it to a loser, especially a loser who deserved it, and further thinking he looked like someone who could lay a motherfucker out if they looked at him wrong.

  The guy was straight-up edge.

  I cut my eyes away before he saw me staring.

  Tori smiled. That was the only answer she gave me.

  Kali walked up then and joined the two of us behind the bar, coming from the employee lounge next to Nate’s office.

  Shay was waiting on a table and no longer hanging around Stitch’s window.

  “I feel so much better,” Kali exclaimed on a rushed breath, her hands pressing her boobs through the white polo shirt we wore as uniforms. “I thought I was going to start leaking all over the place.”

  “Did you talk to Cam?” Tori asked.

  Kali’s face lit up, her brown eyes sparkling like Christmas lights.

  It was beautiful to watch.

  “He loves FaceTiming me,” she said to me more than Tori. “He just licks the screen and babbles nonsense. It’s the cutest thing ever.”

  My phone vibrated in my back pocket.

  I slipped it out, replying, “I can’t wait to meet him,” and saying it sincerely.

  “I’ll bring him in when I’m off so you can see all his sweetness. And we should all totally hang out one night! I can get my parents to watch him if I give them notice.”

  “Hell yeah. Girls’ night,” Tori commented.

  “Absolutely,” I answered, head down.

  “Is it Marcus?”

  I kept the screen close to my body, shielded from prying eyes, and shook my head in response to Tori’s question while my insides tingled with a strange energy.

  “My mom,” I lied, then winced because I lied, but I didn’t know if I could tell Tori who was really texting me, or if I should.

  We didn’t keep secrets, but I was getting butterflies from a boy who wasn’t my husband.

  What would she think of me?

  “They have phones on the Ark?” Tori joked, touching my arm when I giggled and moving past me. “We have another table. I’ll get them started while you converse with Mary Magdalene.”

  I nodded and stepped back until my hip touched the counter. My thumb slid across the screen.

  Wild Thing. Good first day?

  I looked up and saw Tori engrossed in waitress duties at Table 4, squinted, then realized she was smiling and nodding at Table 13, all while she held a hand behind her back and flipped Jamie the bird.

  He found it amusing, a giant grin plastered on his face.

  I laughed while I replied, but the smile lighting me up was because Brian remembered it was my first day.

  Did Marcus ever wish me a good first day? I couldn’t remember.

  So far so good, Trouble. What’s shaking with you?

  My head at that old as shit phrase.

  What? What’s shaking isn’t an old as shit phrase. Badass redheads use it all the time.

  Think you might be the only one, babe.

  Think you’re wrong, BABE.

  You being cute?

  Maybe.

  Like that. Keep it up.

  Giggling and feeling half my age, I glanced up at the sound of my name and saw Tori waving me over.

  Gotta go. Tables to wait.

  Me too. Meeting friends for lunch.

  Later.

  Later, Wild.

  I tucked my phone away and joined Tori at Table 13, took their orders correctly—there weren’t any losers at that table—ripped the ticket off and gave it to Stitch myself, then helped her with drinks, carrying two glasses while she juggled three.

  “Fuck,” I heard mumbled behind us while distributing the beverages.

  I straightened and turned my head.

  Jamie pushed up from the booth, his eyes heavy on his phone.

  “Dash got a call. We gotta get back,” he directed at A, who immediately slid across the bench and took a final sip of his Sprite.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “That sucks.”

  “Yo, Legs. We need to get this to go.” Jamie cut his eyes to Tori and pulled out his wallet. He tipped his chin. “Wrap it up, babe.”

  Babe.

  I immediately thought of Brian, pulling in breath through my nose as the phone in my pocket seemed to triple in weight.

  “Whatever,” Tori mumbled before she took off across the room.

  I remained in place, watching Jamie toss two fifties on the table and Exhibit A a ten and a twenty, which was insanity.

  No freaking way did the meal they were taking with them cost more than thirty dollars.

  I raised my hand to bring to attention the monumental overtipping when Tori came rushing back over, bag in hand, which she wasted no time thrusting at Jamie’s chest.

  “There. Enjoy your Reuben.”

  He stared at her, looked down into the bag with a finger fishing through Styrofoam containers, then lifted his head and grinned, all crooked and rascal.

  “Look at you, knowing what I like.”

  Tori scoffed.

  Exhibit A stood and thanked us under his breath before trailing behind Jamie out the door.

  I wasn’t the only one watching through tilted shutter shades as the Boys of Summer climbed into a vintage sky blue Jeep with boards stacked on the roof.

  It pulled to the end of the lot, dust kicking up behind the tires before it settled and cleared.

  A bright yellow sticker on the bumper read, If it swells, ride it.

  I chuckled.

  Tori held up one finger while her other hand swiped the cash off the table, mumbling, “Ride this, loser.”

  We giggled and high-fived.

  Two hours later I slipped into the lounge for some privacy and tugged out my phone during my second fifteen-minute break. I typed with one hand while my other twirled a lock of red.

  Hey, Trouble. Good lunch with your amigos?

  He took twenty-three minutes to respond. I read it behind the bar with my back to my best friend.

  Day went to shit, Wild. Busy. Talk later.

&nb
sp; * * *

  I got home from work with Tori a little after eight o’clock.

  It was a long first day and we were both starving, which was funny seeing as we worked around food all day and, thus, ate an abundance of that food all day.

  After changing out of my uniform and into my sleepy pants, I took the leftover shrimp tacos out of the fridge, heated what needed to be heated in the microwave while Tori danced around me with plates in her hands, then joined her on the couch, where we ate our dinner with some wine and watched the first episode of True Blood, because our vampire-loving hearts were missing Eric and his fantastic head of hair.

  We loved Season 1 Eric. His hair was on point.

  Not that he wasn’t still attractive with short hair after Pam had to cut it, because he was, this is Eric we’re talking about, but we just loved it all long and free-like.

  “Made for tugging,” Tori snickered.

  When I started yawning through Episode 4, I gave my best friend a kiss on the cheek and climbed the stairs, leaving her on the couch since she wasn’t tired yet and, as she put it, “Needed more of her LaLa.”

  I caught the last remaining notes of my generic ringtone as I reached my bedroom. And because I didn’t know who was calling me and Brian had texted me “Talk later,” this being Later, I lunged for the phone and accepted the call, not bothering to glance at the name flashing on the screen before I did it.

  “Hello?”

  “Sydney Dawn, how are you, sweetheart?”

  I fell back on the bed with a hand pressed to my forehead, the heel digging into my closed eye.

  I should’ve checked the caller ID.

  Rookie.

  “Hey, Mom. I’m good. How are you?”

  “You’re good?” She sounded appalled. “You leave your husband and you’re good? Well, I’m sorry, darling, but I don’t like this. I don’t like it one bit. You should not be good, Sydney.”

  “Mom.”

  I clenched my teeth.

  “You know what scripture says. Marriage is a binding contract. One you do not simply walk away from. You should be sticking this out, in your home, not shacking up with Tori and living the single life doing God knows what. She’s always walked a thin line, if you ask me.”