Friend Is a Four Letter Word

by Steph Campbell

  I push myself off of the counter I’ve been leaning on, weighing my sister’s words.

  “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now for it to end up okay is all,” Quinn says with a shrug.

  “You think she’s gonna come back?”

  Quinn laughs. “Of course she is, you moron. She loves you, Carter. That’s been obvious for a while. Let her love you. I know it’s hard, God do I know it’s hard. Let her in though, I promise it’ll be worth it.”

  “When’d you get so damn smart, Quinnlette?”

  Quinn’s smile straightens a little as her face takes on a more serious tone. “I seem to remember someone really being there for their sibling last year when she was a little broken hearted… a little bit dangling off a ledge. You pulled me back over, Carter. I didn’t forget that.”

  Last year, after Quinn and Ben had broken up, I flew back home to find my sister in rough shape. If anyone knows anything about turning their life around and managing to hang onto the person you love—it’s my sister.

  “Love you, kiddo,” I say, pulling her in for a hug and kissing the top of her head.

  “Love you back,” she says. “Listen, if she doesn’t come back tonight it’s okay. Give her a little room.”

  “Will do.” If she doesn’t come back tonight I’m going to lose my ever loving mind, but I play it cool in front of Quinn anyway.

  “And let me know if you’re hungry, there’s still a ton of leftovers from the party back at my place.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks for coming by. Get back to Ben, though.”

  Quinn throws her head back dramatically and grins. “I’d better do that before he sneaks out to go make out with his camera.”

  Carter is pacing the length of his apartment when I push through the front door.

  His back straights and his head snaps to attention when he hears me.

  “Your parents doing okay?” he asks, those dark eyes zeroing in on me like lasers.

  “Everyone’s good,” I say. I want to ask if he and I are good. I don’t know how things went from so perfect to so ugly a few hours later. I ended up telling my parents that I’m moving in with Carter like I had planned to do before our argument. After this year, they deserved to hear something like that in person—especially because their faith doesn’t necessarily agree with my decision. They tried to sound accepting, even though I know it was a little disappointing to them. I hope that it was the right decision to tell them—I hope it ends up being worth it.

  “Is it okay that I let myself in? You gave me a key and I—”

  Carter rushes to my side before I can finish, folding me in his arms, kissing my forehead, and pressing my hair back over and over again. I’m caught off guard, but rather than question this, I press my body tight to his, arching against him and moaning low in the back of my throat.

  “Thank God you’re home,” he says, his lips brushing my cheeks, my lips, his hands frantic over my body like he’s checking to see if I’m broken.

  I nod lightly, dizzy from his touch, his lips. I can barely form the words I need to explain. “I’m sorry I ran out like that. It was just—”

  “I know. He pushes the coat from my shoulders and tosses it on the back of the couch, grabbing my hips and pulling me tight to him, so I fit snug against his body. “No more running?” he growls.

  “No more running.” I shake my head and look at him, his incredibly handsome face flushed with worry. For me. Because he wanted me to be here, with him. For the first time in my life, I just want to stop pacing.

  I’m where I want to be and standing still doesn’t scare me.

  “I’m sorry about the Nolan thing. Jesus,” he runs a hand through his hair and presses his forehead against mine, speaking softly into my hair. “I don’t know why it bothered me so much.”

  “It’s okay,” I whisper, moving my hands up and down his back, tightly muscled through his thin cotton shirt.

  He pulls back, and his eyes shine with a ferocity that would kind of freak me out if I didn’t know Carter. If I didn’t know how intensely he feels, how passionate he is about the things he cares about.

  I feel beyond lucky to be someone he cares about. His love is the kind you can rely on to protect you forever.

  He runs his hands down to take mine and threads our fingers together. “It’s not. And I lied. I know exactly why it bothered me so much. I know that he—”

  I press my index finger to his mouth and lock eyes with him. “Don’t say it. It’s not true.”

  Carter swallows hard. I hope he’s swallowing the thought. The words. The idea that he isn’t good enough for me. That I belong with someone like Nolan.

  It’s not true. I’ve never been so sure about what’s true and what’s false, what’s right and what’s wrong as I am right now, in Carter’s arms.

  “I belong here. With you,” I say, my voice shaking because—damnit!—I mean it and I want him to know. I never want him to doubt this one absolute truth. “And you don’t have to worry about anyone else. There isn’t anyone from my past who’s going to swoop in and ruin things. There was no one else who mattered before you, Carter. I promise.”

  His smile breaks out like the sun after a long winter, and I feel thankful that I get to bask in all that warmth. He leans forward and kisses the tip of my nose, then wraps his arms tight around my body, walking me closer and closer to him. I giggle until we’re hip to hip. Then my giggles dry up, and I look into the depths of his brown eyes.

  “I’m going to work like hell to make sure that you’re happy.” He says the words like he’s taking a solemn vow, and it’s so like Carter. To go from playful to totally serious in one stroke. He kisses my lips, then pulls away and continues. “To make it so you never have even the fleeting thought of running. I want to take care of you. I want to give you a home.”

  He slides his hand down the length of my arm then clutches my hand in his. “I want you to be my friend.” I feel my neck prickle at the word. He raises my hand to his chest and presses it over the place where his heart thunders. “I want you in my bed every night. I want us to have a home. Together.”

  I bite my lip and say, “It’s been a long day. Why don’t you help me out of this dress?”

  Carter links his arms around me and gives the zipper of the black lace dress a gentle tug—unzipping it slowly—drawing it out as long as he can. Once it’s all the way down, he runs his hands up the now bare skin of my back until he reaches my shoulders, where he pushes the fabric off of them, leaving a trail of goosebumps on every inch of my skin his fingers have touched. My dress slinks to the floor. I step out of it, careful not to snag the lace on my high heeled shoes.

  And it hits me.

  I am now that girl.

  Wearing the killer shoes.

  Desperate to be with the man she loves.

  I try not to feel self-conscious, standing here in the middle of the well-lit living room wearing nothing but a few scraps of lace and a pair of heels.

  Carter leans in and whispers lightly, “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

  I’m shaky. Not in the ‘I need to keep moving’ way. I’m shaky because there’s a current pulsing through me. One that’s run by desire and love.

  I take a small, involuntary step back.

  Carter catches me before I wobble too much. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls my face to his, his lips unbearably close to mine without touching. And he says, “Don’t even think about running away from me again.”

  A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. “Not a chance.”

  “You tired?”

  I shake my head. “Not even a little.”

  “Shayna. Look at me, doll.” He tips my chin up so that I’m looking right at him. He says the next words with such fervor that I’ll never be able to doubt them. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Carter.” It’s the first time I’ve said it to a man, and my voice doesn’t shake. I don’t feel wobbly. I feel sure. Firmly pla
nted. Home.

  He grips under my bum and hoists me up. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist—where they belong and he carries me to his room—our room.

  I feel Carter’s arm slip out from under me and squeeze my eyes closed even tighter, because I don’t want this moment to end.

  “Shay,” he whispers. “Doll, I’ve got to get to work.”

  I barely crack my eyes open. He’s sitting beside me bare-chested, in a pair of boxers. There’s no way I’m letting him leave.

  “But it’s so early! It’s barely even light out!” I argue, holding my arms out.

  Carter chuckles, pulls me in for a long, sweet kiss, and then lays me back down. “It’s after eight o’clock, baby.”

  “Stay,” I whine, pawing at his arm before he can make a full exit from our cocoon.

  He runs his hand through his adorably messy bedhead. “You have no idea how tempted I am.” For a second his eyes go dark, and I’m positive he’s going to get back in this bed and do unthinkably sexy things with me. But he shakes his head and backs up, like he knows putting distance between us is necessary if he has any chance of making it to work. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to get some things done at the office; I can’t afford to miss right now. You get back to sleep though.”

  I stretch out, ignoring the fact that I’m still nude under the sheet that’s barely draped around me. I feel Carter’s eyes rake over me just as he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.

  “Really?” he grits out. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask in my best innocent voice. I sit up so the sheet slides down and bunches around my waist. I love the way his eyes go wide. I reach out and lay the back of my hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling sick? Do you need to come back to bed?”

  He groans and kisses the inside of my wrist before he presses me back onto the bed and tucks the sheet under my chin. “Very funny. Good God I wish I could.”

  “Oh, fine,” I say. I sit up again, grab Carter’s button up shirt from the heap of clothing that we playfully discarded hours before, and slip it on. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

  “We should go on a date,” Carter proclaims.

  “What was last night?” I laugh.

  He leans in and nips at my bottom lip. “Last night was…” His voice breaks up into a throaty, satisfied chuckle. “A real date. I don’t think I’ve ever taken you on one.”

  I tilt my head to the side and tap my finger to my chin teasingly. “I don’t know. I mean, first dates are always so awkward. There’s the whole: Will he kiss me? How will this end? Will he-”

  Carter slips his palm under the white cotton of the shirt I’ve claimed and pushes me back down onto the mattress.

  His voice is a hungry growl, “Get back in bed and I’ll show you how it’s going to end.”

  Our home is built on imperfections, craziness, laughter, romance, and love.

  And it’s exactly what we’ve both been searching for for so long.

  Steph Campbell grew up in Southern California, moved to the Bayou State for a decade and most recently resides in the Northeast. She has one husband, four children and a serious nail polish obsession. When she’s not writing or taking care of her brood, she’s reading or scouring travel sites, always ready for life’s next adventure.

  You can find Steph on Twitter, Facebook, her blog or email at steph.campbell725@gmail.com

  Other books by Steph are:

  Delicate

  Grounding Quinn

  Beautiful Things Never Last

  Co-Written with Liz Reinhardt:

  Lengths, Depths, Limits, Ties, Riptides, Drift

  A Toast to the Good Times

  Co-Written with Jolene Perry:

  My Heart for Yours

  My Fate for Yours

  Struggling with alcohol use?

  There’s support available.

  So many people make each book possible and deserve special thanks—

  My husband Chris, who takes care of the kids and the house like a boss and brings me Red Bull and breakfast burritos without me having to ask;

  My darling kiddos: Hailey, Liam, Finn and Britta. You make everything worthwhile. Thanks for sticking together and helping each other. Thanks for peeking in while I’m writing to make me laugh with a funny Buzz Feed post, to tell me about a new thing you’ve done on Minecraft that you’re so excited about, to sing me the new song you learned or to let me kiss your fuzzy head before you go to bed… I love you.

  Friends like Liz Reinhardt and Jolene Perry who know my characters almost as well as I do and give the best feedback and support;

  My agent, Kevan Lyon who is a dream to work with. I’m very, very lucky to have her in my corner;

  Thanks to my friend since high school, the mega talented Chef Robert Grider for letting me use your name and for your continued friendship;

  Thanks to readers that have become friends: Kelly Moorhouse and Carly Noonan. You’re support and enthusiasm over the last couple of years have meant so much!

  Super huge thanks to photographer Lindee Robinson for a spectacular cover photo and Madison and Chad for your gorgeous portrayal of Shayna and Carter!

  Massive thanks also to Angela at Fictional Formats who saved my life! You’re professionalism and kindness will never be forgotten!

  And,

  One of the best gifts I’ve gained from this career has been the friendships I’ve been blessed with. People that my life wouldn’t feel complete without—who make me laugh on those crap days where everything feels like it’s going wrong, and who cheer when things go right— Nyrae Dawn, EL James, Christa Desir, Allie Brennan, Rebecca Shea, Jessica Park, Michelle Scott, Elizabeth Hunter, Colleen Hoover, Angie Stanton, Karly Blakemore-Mowle, Rebecca Donovan, Nicole Williams, Tina Reber and Emily Lalone… the last several months have been trying, and your friendship has meant more than you’ll ever know.

  Want more angst? Here’s a sample from

  Beautiful Things Never Last—available now!

  My cell phone acts as a piss-poor light in the pitch black apartment but it’ll have to do, because I don’t want to risk waking Quinn. I lock the front door behind me, then turn and nearly trip over the damn couch, cussing myself through my teeth for not making it home until late.

  Again.

  It’s become an all-too regular thing, me coming home late, or sneaking back out after Quinn has gone to bed. It’s not like I’m running around on her, I’d never— I fucking love that woman with everything in me. But I was driving home and there was this perfect light over the water and I had to pull off of PCH and take some photos while I had the chance. I miss out on some of the best light of the day while I’m either at school or in the studio at work, so it’s almost torture to not pull over and capture a little bit of that particular perfect light when I’m lucky enough to catch it. It was one of the main reasons we chose Southern California rather one of the other art schools in New York or Seattle. We wanted to be near the Pacific Ocean. I just happen to love taking advantage of our surroundings.

  I slide out of my pants, pull my t-shirt over my head, and toss them both over the back of the flimsy IKEA desk chair before I push through our bedroom door.

  I shine the light of my phone in the direction of the bed I share with Quinn, and can just make out her small frame, curled up with her back toward me. And it’s seeing her there, peaceful but alone, that really makes me start to feel like a bastard for not being here to kiss her goodnight.

  I pad across the room to our bed and slip under the blankets next to Quinn. The sight of her was one thing, but being next to her… I’m completely unable to resist pulling her a little closer to me. Her skin is warm under the heavy quilt, even though it’s nearly bare. I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s completely counterproductive to my stealth-like entrance, but I run my hand along the band of her panties, and hook my thumb under the thin lace at her hip.

  Quinn breathes in deeply and I know I’ve woken her up.
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  “Shhh…” I say. “Sorry to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

  She blinks several times before turning over toward me.

  “It’s okay.” Her voice is raspy and full of sleep. Quinn snuggles into my chest and gets comfortable again. I let my eyes close as I run my hand through her long, brown hair, breathing in the familiar smell of her. “Wait, did you just get in?” The sleepiness in her voice fades quickly like a flame blown out.

  “Mmm hmm,” I say.

  “What time is it?” Her voice has already shed all the creakiness of deep sleep and is blade sharp.

  I’m not sure how to make my answer sound like anything other than a confession. It’s not one. So why does it feel like it is? “Around one.”

  “Oh.” She pauses for a few beats, and I’m not sure if she’s moving her body away from my hands to make a point or because she’s just trying to burrow back into a comfortable position. “Taking pictures again?”

  I nod and let her wiggle out of my arms, keeping the tips of my fingers hovered over the bony curve of her hip. “I missed you.”

  “I cooked. I mean, yeah, of course I cooked. There’s leftover manicotti in the fridge. But I wanted to talk to you. I guess it can wait until the morning. Later. Whatever. Good night.” She rolls back over and pulls the quilt tight under her chin. My fingers slide along her back and into the dip of her spine, then bounce off the mattress when she tenses her back just enough to break contact.

  Shit.

  “Quinn.” I swallow around the words, my fingers still tensed and ready, maybe, to reach for her again. If she wants. If she wants me. “I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been doing this a lot lately. I don’t mean to be a dick, I swear.”

  “It’s fine, I get the whole ‘tortured artist’ thing and that when the inspiration strikes, you have to follow it. I do. I just… I just miss you.”

  She won’t look at me, because I know this type of honesty is hard for her. And I love this woman so damn much right now. I reach over her to switch on the light on the nightstand, loving the way she groans and throws her arm over her eyes, before I pull her over, flat on her back so I can really look at her, blinking like crazy, her lashes pressed together against the bright light.