A Four Letter Word (8 page)

"If you're sure.
I see the way you look…"

"We're just friends," I defend.

I don't want Chelsea or anyone else, other than Erica, to know about my crush—especially Evan. It would ruin everything. I take a deep breath as my heart runs away. "I'm sure, Chelsea."

She just nods her head, not pushing any further. I have just lost my appetite, and I push my tray away. I look up, and Evan is staring at me, his eyes full of nothing but concern. He's always concerned. I offer my best "I'm okay" smile, hoping he believes it. His features soften slightly. Then his eyes flicker to Chelsea, and that's when I see it. The unspoken words between them, ultimately between us. Evan and I will always be just friends. My heart loses its way in the rain that now pelts against the cafeteria windows.

Forever only friends.

Chapter 8

A couple of weeks or so after Halloween…

It is about the hundredth time I've looked at the text message—
Can't wait to see you Friday
.

My heart flutters slightly just reading it. Griffin and I have been texting and occasionally talking on the phone ever since we met at Geoffrey and Patrick's Halloween party. I honestly didn't think I would hear from him. I mean, how many times do you meet a guy at some party, have a connection—or so you think—give him your number, only to never hear from him again—ever. But Griffin isn't
that
guy. He did call and text and ask me out for Friday. I am going out with Griffin on Friday. Friday. Two days away. Two days.

Right now I am on my way to have lunch with Evan, and little does he know that we are going to have "the talk."
The talk about his overprotectiveness. In high school and college, it was endearing for a while and at times necessary. But this isn't high school or college anymore. I am no longer shy, awkward, clumsy, unsure-of-herself Zoey. I am comfortable in my own skin and with who I've become. Sure, that old Zoey rears her ugly head once in a while, but this me controls
her—
a far cry from the old me. Evan needs to see that I am not
that
girl he saved or comforted over and over. He needs to see me for the person I am now. Hopefully, this conversation at lunch will change all that.

I make my way to the hostess stand at the little bistro—our bistro. "Good afternoon. Welcome to Café One
O Three," the very nice hostess announces.

"Hi, I'm meeting someone. He's about this tall, hair looks like…" I begin my hand still lingering in the air above me as she interrupts.

She leans in so no one else can hear her. "Looks like he just had sex and rolled out of bed. Oh, he's here. I'll take you right to him," she finishes and pulls away from me, her eyes filled with what can only be described as want and lust. Evan has that effect on women.

"Um…yeah…thanks." I never know what to say when some girl, woman—or man for that matter—drools over Evan.
You think I would be used to it by now. 

To me, he's just my Evan, even though a very long time ago, I was the one drooling. I shake my head and follow "Miss All-Too-Eager" through the restaurant. I instantly spot his hair before even seeing him, and the butterflies start to attack my stomach.

You can do this, Zoey. Be firm. You are a woman—the woman. You are not in high school anymore, and Evan doesn't need to keep rescuing you.

My little pep talk does next to nothing to deter the butterflies and their constant attack. Evan looks up and sees me approaching, his mouth quirking up into a playful smile. I take a seat across from him, still battling the butterflies.

"Your server will be right with you," Miss All-Too-Eager tells Evan, totally ignoring me. I just roll my eyes and shake my head.

"What?" Evan questions, his eyebrows scrunched together and his lips twisted to the side.

"Just typical," I reply, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum.

"
Zoey, I can't help it if every woman finds me attractive, present company excluded, of course. I'm just working with what God gave me. So, not my fault," he responds, waggling his eyebrows.

Does
he not know I always thought of him as beautiful? Figures.

"Whatever." I dismiss his response with a wave and turn my attention to my menu.

"Good afternoon. My name is Chris, and I will be your server. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Um, I'll have
a water, no lemon," I order.

"Just a Coke for me," Evan says, his eye never leaving his menu.

"Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?" the waiter asks, his attention turned towards me.

I look to Evan, and he is just staring at his menu, his lips in a hard line. He has an expression on his face like he's doing trigonometry in his head. He can be so weird sometimes.

"Um, we need a few minutes, thank you," I reply, since Evan has become a selective mute.

Our waiter, Chris, smiles, nods, and leaves us alone. Since when does Evan need to decide what he's going to have? We both have the same thing every time we come here.

"Evan?" I ask while he's still engrossed in his menu.

The menu hasn't changed since the last time we came here.

"Earth to Evan," I sing-song.

As if he finally realizes he's not alone, Evan's gaze leaves his menu, and he stares straight into my eyes. "Evan, what's wrong?" My heart thumps in my chest. He's really making me nervous.

Evan shakes his head, and his eyes take on a warm glow. "Nothing."

I reach my hand across the table and grab his, and that familiar tingle makes itself known as soon as our hands connect. "Evan, I know you better than anyone. I'm your best friend; I know when something's wrong, tell me."

He takes a deep breath and lets it out before he answers, "Zoey, seriously—it's nothing. If it were something, believe me, you would be the first to know."

I search his eyes, but at the moment, all I can see is hesitation in them, and it breaks my heart to think he's keeping something from me. I stare at him a little longer. "Okay," I acquiesce, knowing I am not going to get it out of him any time soon. Chris comes back with our drinks and takes our order. Evan stares out the window; an uncomfortable silence blankets us. It's never been like this. Maybe, he knows we are going to have "the talk."
This is going to be harder than I thought.
Apparently, we are sitting in silence longer than we thought because Chris comes back with our meals.

"Can I get you anything else?" Chris asks.

Evan remains silent. I look to him and he just shakes his head. "Um, no, I think we're good for now," I answer.

Chris simply nods and leaves us alone. I push my Caesar Salad with Pancetta around with my fork, slowly trying to work up the courage to start "the conversation." Evan is very engrossed in his burger, and his attention has been on nothing but it since Chris brought us our food. I finally take a bite of my salad and push it down. The butterflies that have overtaken my stomach don't like the idea of it being there. I put my fork down and stare at him, willing him to look at me and not his damn food.
Why is this so difficult? Things between Evan and me have always been so easy. Why is it like this now?

Evan finally looks up at me. "So, I was thinking we could go see
Fast Five
this Friday?" He smiles slightly as he takes another bite of his burger.

I am at a loss for words. Since we got here, Evan's presence has been practically non-existent. Now, out of nowhere, he's smiling and asking me out
to the movies?
What the hell?

His smile broadens, his bite of burger having been swallowed. "Well?" His voice is cheerful.

"Um, nice to know you can speak, by the way. What’s up with the mood swings?  Is it that time of the month?" Evan looks at me like I have five heads. He simply shrugs and takes another bite. I swear there is such a thing as guy PMS—I would bet my left ovary on it.

Evan keeps chewing and takes another bite, his eyes on me waiting for a response.  He knows I usually don’t have plans on a Friday night.  I mean seriously I think the last time I went out on a Friday with someone other than Evan or Ashlee was when the first
The Fast and the Furious
came out.  Evan continues to stare, his eyes boring into me, silently asking me “Well?”.

Here goes nothing.

"I…um…can't…this Friday," I hesitantly respond.

"How come?" he simply asks, his eyes boring into mine.

Okay, here we go.

"I, um, have a date, Friday." I hold my breath.

"You have a date? With who?" he asks, surprise lacing his tone.

Before I can even answer, it's like the proverbial light bulb goes off, and Evan's eyes tell me he knows exactly who.

"Zoey, tell me it's not…" he begins.

"It's Griffin, Evan. I have a date with Griffin," I interrupt him, my voice probably sounding smaller than I intend.

Stay strong, Zoey. You can do this.

"
Zoey, I don't think that's a good idea. I mean, what do you really know about this guy? Hmmm? He could be some psycho killer or worse. You need to call it off." His voice is filled with conviction, and his eyes grow darker in color.

"Evan…" I knew this was going to be difficult.

He shakes his head and abandons his burger. "Look, I know you think you know him, because…what...you've talked to him a few times and texted since you met, but you don't. He's just going to end up hurting you. Just like Liam and Kevin and Steven and who was the last one? Oh, right…Stefan—the shmuck with the fake accent. So, if I can save you the trouble of a broken heart and me having to pick up the pieces, then I will do what I have to do and say what I have to say. Dating this Griffin guy is a bad idea." His eyes bore into mine, and at this moment, I don't recognize my best friend. All I keep hearing over and over again is "…save him the trouble of having to pick up the pieces." My heart constricts in my chest, and I hold back the tears threatening to make themselves known.

He gives me a challenging smirk and tilts his head, practically saying, "See, I'm right, you know I am."

Anger starts to boil below the surface.
I am not in fucking high school anymore. I am not that stupid, insecure girl. This time, it's different. Griffin's different.
"Evan, you don't even know him," I whisper, my voice so small I don't think he hears me, but he does.

"No, but I know you, and I know his type.
Trust me on this, Zoey," he matter-of-factly says, returning his attention back to his burger.

I gather all my courage, my anger now fueling it. "Evan, I know you think you know what's best for me, what is
still
best for me, but this time you are wrong—dead wrong. I'm sorry if I've been such a burden to you in the past, with having to pick up all the pieces, but you won't have to pick up anything this time, and that's a promise. And you—who are you to give me dating advice, seriously? You don't date a girl any longer than a couple of months before moving on to the next, with the exception of Paige. Maybe Griffin will break my heart, maybe he won't. Maybe we'll date, maybe we won't. But I will tell you this—it's not going to be because of you." I throw my napkin down, my appetite non-existent, and stand up to leave.

"
Zoey…" he calls out as I start to leave.

I turn around and see nothing in his eyes that I can name. "Goodbye,
Evan." I turn and make my way out of the restaurant. The crisp, cool air welcomes me when I step outside. My chest tightens under the pressure of fighting with Evan—we haven't had a fight like this since…since…I can't even remember when. As pissed off as I am right now, traitor tears begin to fall down my cheeks, and the only thing I can think of is I hope I just didn't lose my best friend.

****

"So when is he picking you up?" Ashlee yells to me as I put the finishing touches on my makeup in the bathroom.

"Seven-thirty," I quickly yell back.

After having to suffer through many nights of learning how to properly apply makeup at the hands of Ashlee, I am officially a graduate and can do my makeup on my own now; although I did have to push her out of the bathroom when she first got here. She wasn't too happy, but after some convincing, she relinquished control. After a few swipes of blush on the apple of my cheeks, I look at myself in the mirror. I must say I look stunning. My makeup looks natural, highlighting what God gave me. I grab my tube of sheer shimmer lip gloss and dab a little on my lips, completing my look. I give my hair one last fluff, the loose curls cascading down my back and around my shoulders.

"Looking good,
Zoey," I say out loud to myself.

I walk into my bedroom. Ashlee has made herself at home on my bed, unaware that I have left the bathroom. She is totally glued to the te
levision. Figures, "Project Runway" is on. I clear my throat to get her attention. Ashlee's eyes slowly tear away from Heidi saying “Auf Wiedersehen” and fall upon me—her mouth hangs open.

She le
aps off the bed, abandoning Heidi. "Oh. My. God. Zoey, you look amazing. I've taught you well. My baby is growing up," she feigns sadness, wiping away an imaginary tear.

I roll my eyes and push away from her. Her hug will definitely ruin my
outfit. "Ash, please." I reach behind her, ignoring her continuing squeals and grab my clutch.

"Oh,
Zoey, Griffin is just going to gush when he sees you. Not that he didn't have a near heart attack when he met you all Jane-ified. This is just all you. Yep, the man's tongue will be hanging." Her smile widens, and she waggles her eyebrows.

I roll my eyes again.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, missy. Like you don't know how he's going to react. So, you…just…please."