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  Best and Honor

  Sarah White

  Copyright 2014 by Sarah White

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person. Living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental.

  This story is dedicated to all the readers who stuck by me through the technical difficulties. I hope you love the ending!

  Table of Contents

  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

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Social Media

  Chapter 1

  Sophie

  The plane touches down right on time as I look out the small window at the night lit up by the overpowering lights of the airport. We taxi down the runway and I close the small window that is the porthole to my old life, sliding the barrier physically between the two worlds and wishing I could do it as easily emotionally. I take the last sip of my small inflight cocktail and close my eyes as it burns my throat and warms my insides. It will be the first of many burns I know I’ll be feeling this week.

  The other passengers begin to spill into the isle and I can hear the sound of the compartments above my head opening. I’m not getting out of my seat until I have to. Let the frantic old ladies and tired whining children out first. I’m not going to fight for a position in that miserable line when I can sit in this uncomfortable seat and prolong the last few moments I have to myself.

  The man that was sitting beside me stands up and I open my eyes to make sure his departure does not include his carryon being dropped on my head. With a small smile and a nod, he steps into the aisle amongst the crowd and makes his way to the front of the plane. I have to admit that I’ve been a terrible seatmate. I was not really a big conversationalist and his attempts to start friendly chitchat fell flat as I kept a steady flow of alcohol streaming over my lips and wetting my tongue.

  Finally when the last person has left the plane, I stand up a little wobbly and reach for my carryon. I can tell the flight attendant is anxious for me to get off this damn plane so she can too. I straighten out my skirt and feel the ache of standing in my heels again. I hadn’t had time to get out of my work clothes before rushing to make this flight. With my bag in hand, I exit the plane and take the long walk up the jet way feeling my dread build as I take each step.

  It isn’t horribly late for a Monday night, but the airport is still pretty empty and there are small areas where the shops have closed and the lights are shut off. Of course there is no one waiting for me, I didn’t really confirm with Rachel what time I’d be arriving for that exact reason. I think it’s for the best that I get to the hotel and check in alone so I can have a night to let the events of this next week really settle in my head and heart.

  The baggage claim area is a little more crowded, but only a few bags are still making the rotation. I watch my black bag with the pink ribbon I had attached to make spotting it easier, make a turn and move in my direction. When it gets close, I grip the handle and pull it to the floor beside me. This is it. I have arrived and a few hours from now I’ll be facing my childhood best friend and the rest of her bridal party at the hotel restaurant for brunch.

  The air hits me like a tepid wet breath, sucking the air from my lungs and plastering my face with a moist sheen of perspiration. Yes, I’m back in Florida for the first time since leaving four years ago. I have about six days before I’d be stepping back off of an airplane and into the fresh California air. I just hope I can survive this week with my sanity and dignity. Right now it doesn’t feel like either was possible.

  I pull the wedding invitation from my purse and hail a taxi at the curb. The driver pulls over and helps to put my bag and carryon into the trunk before returning to his seat. The smell of fake leather and old air freshener offends my nose, but I know that I must smell like a bar fly so I try my best to pretend it isn’t hard to breathe and switch straight to mouth breathing only.

  “I’m going to the Marriot.” I move to show him the invitation but he waves it off and pulls into traffic so abruptly that I slam back against the seat. Fine, I guess he knows exactly where that is. I make it about two blocks before I have to roll my window down despite the horrid wet blanket that I know is going to come sweeping in. I hate humidity. I’m sure my sleek, long, straight California hair is quickly becoming my frizzy, fluffy, Florida hair.

  When I finally step into the lobby of the hotel I tip my head back and enjoy the crisp air conditioning. I tip my rolling bag back into a slanted position and pull it behind me to the counter. I reserved my room under the wedding block a few months ago and now I’m having second thoughts about being so easily attached to all the other people in wedding party. Being inconspicuous sounds the safest, but I know the right thing to do is go along with Rachel’s plans since she had probably been planning this day since she was twelve.

  I try to travel the hallway on my floor as quietly as possible so my plans to be alone and not folded into the arms of some women I was happy to leave behind when I boarded that plane four years ago. Once in my room, I quickly kick off my heels and slip on a pair of flip-flops. I pull my hair over my shoulder and braid it quickly so that I maintain some semblance of control over it.

  My short-sleeved blush pink silk blouse has seen better days, but where I am going it doesn’t matter. I open the minibar and pull three small bottles of vodka from their shelf and tuck them into my bra. I have a date with the moonlight and I’m not going down there unarmed. In ten minutes time I’m sneaking back out of the room and making my way to the pool.

  The large sign on the gate warns me that the pool closed ten minutes ago but I still push the gate open and find a chase lounger at the edge of the crystal clear blue water. The lights above are shut off in an attempt to deter rule-breaking guests like myself, but really they have no chance of stopping me. I sit myself down and lean the back of the lounger so that I’m sitting up enough to drink my liquor and also reclined enough to relax and see the stars.

  The sky in Florida doesn’t look much different that the one I could see from my balcony in California. I find that very comforting tonight as I listen to the insects chirping in the grass on the outskirts of the pool gate. The first bottle goes down a little rough since it’s probably more like my eighth or ninth of the day. The next one goes down much smoother and my shoulders relaxed as the thoughts that have been circling in my head bleed together and get fuzzy.

  I close my eyes and listened to the night as the alcohol makes my muscles warm and pliant. The sound of the gate creaking open gets my attention and I slowly lift my eyelids to see who has broken the calm of my private sanctuary. A small light is shining in the distance and the quiet is further broken when he bites back a curse as his toes make contact with the hard metal frame of a lounge chair.

  “No, no, I’m ok,” he says into the phone that is shining on the side of his face. “I just kicked something. Fuck that hurts!” He doesn’t see me as he limps in my direction and I try hard not to find his half limp, half hop attempt at
moving hilarious. Alcohol can blur the lines between mildly amusing and completely gut-busting. When my snickering breaks the night air between us, his face snaps in my direction and he comes to a complete stop.

  “Let me call you back.” He moves the phone from his ear and taps the screen. I try to wave away his gaze on me but I keep giggling.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage to say before another bout of giggling bubbles out of me. I wipe at my eyes, sucking in a few breaths to try to put an end to the cackling.

  “You’re not even trying to contain yourself,” he teases and I’m pretty sure I snort from the ridiculousness of this whole situation.

  “I’m sorry.” I reach into my bra and pull out the last small bottle. I look down at his feet in the darkness and wonder why he hadn’t at least worn flip-flops. He starts to approach me slowly and I watch as this man in an expensive suit tries to walk like his toes aren’t hurting. He almost pulls it off, but a few feet from me he starts to hobble again and then lets another chain of expletives fly as he spins around and plants his ass in the chair next to mine.

  I tip my head back against the vinyl straps of the chase and lift my small bottle of vodka in his direction. “This might help.” His lips curl into a smile and he takes the bottle from my hand. When his skin touches mine I can feel the proverbial spark between us. He twists the little blue top off the bottle and sighs.

  “It won’t be nearly enough, but it’s something.” Before he tips it back he reaches up and loosens the silk tie around his neck then leans back and adjust his lounger to match mine. Finally he tips the small bottle back and swallows its entire contents in one gulp.

  I watch him stare up at the sky for a minute before I turn my head back to the moonlight and try to not notice the way he smells like soap and the spice that seems uniquely male. I think I also smell power and money, but it might just be the alcohol. I would never claim to be an expert in men. This week was going to really pound that message home.

  He tucks the small bottle into the pocket of his perfectly pressed shirt and then reaches for his wrist. He struggles for a minute with the button and I realize that he is almost as tipsy as I am. I hold my hand out for him to put his wrist in and he only hesitates a brief moment before allowing me to help him with the button. When it is freed, he moves his other wrist into my grip.

  Pulling the sleeve down to gain a small bit of tension, he expertly rolls up his sleeves and then unbuttons the top two buttons on his collar. “Thank you.” His voice rolls over me and I love the way it burns as warm inside me as the alcohol.

  “It’s the least I could do for laughing at your expense,” I tease. He nods his head. It’s quiet for a moment as we sit under the night sky. Under any other circumstance this would be an excellent way to meet someone. It has just the perfect amount of amusement and attraction. The problem is, there’s already a history between us. Not a love story, just a few years where Andrew’s friendship with the man I was in love with put us together quite often.

  “Do they know you’re here? I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” He slowly turns his head to look at me, but I keep my eyes trained on the sky above. Just like that the lightness of the evening suddenly becomes heavy and insufferable.

  “No, and I wasn’t sure I was going to come either.” My answer doesn’t require any more explanation than that. He already knows why I don’t really want to be here. My heart aches in my chest as the reality of what I’m going to have to take part in this next week sets in a little deeper.

  “If it’s any comfort to you, I think Rachel and Evan have worse boundaries than Facebook.” While he says it in a serious tone, I immediately laugh. I don’t know that a truer observation has ever been said. When I turn my face towards him he is looking right at me. He smiles, but I see the empathy for me in his eyes. “You should have told them to fuck off.”

  “Perhaps, but then I wouldn’t have been the bigger person. Who knows, maybe this is something I need to see.” I shrug a little and watch his face become a little clearer as my eyes adjust to the darkness around us.

  “Sure, but did you have to watch it from the front row? Shit, Sophie, you’re the maid of honor.” He shakes his head and breaks our eye contact to look back up into the sky.

  Rachel and I have been best friends since kindergarten. For years we had been inseparable. I always knew that I would be the maid of honor at her wedding, just like I imagine she should be mine. However, what I never could have imagined is that she would be marrying the man I was in love with. Maybe one day I will say it’s for the best, but as of today, I’m not quite there yet.

  Chapter 2

  Andrew

  I still can’t believe she came. If I were her I would have told Rachel and Evan to go hell. I might never know the truth about what happened between them that finally ended their two-year relationship, but I know that my best friend made the worst mistake of his life when he let Sophie Richards walk out of it. I’m not sure if he ever stopped thinking about her, but I know that I haven’t. If she wasn’t my friend’s ex, I would have tracked her down and fought hard for a chance to have her myself.

  Evan and I have been friends since grade school. I don’t always agree with his choices, but when he started bringing Sophie around our junior year of high school, I was jealous that he’d found her first. She was so beautiful. Her hair was a bit shorter back then, but still the same dark brown shade that it is now and her eyes crystal blue and hard to look away from. They would have kept my attention much more if her body hadn’t also been something that made every male head around turn and stare.

  She didn’t go to the same school as us, so I was only able to see her when Evan and I would throw a party or double date. Sophie has seen me date a parade of women, but she has no idea that she had set the bar so high it was hard to keep someone that wasn’t as great as her around long. I told myself a long time ago that I would find someone that would make my heart race and thoughts scatter like she did, and to this day I’m still looking.

  I blow out a breath laced with vodka thanks to her small attempt at making my toes feel better. It didn’t help at all, but how do you say no to something she pulled straight from her bra. Shit, I was so flustered I couldn’t have even come up with a nice way to decline it. I was trying hard not to ask if I could see that move again. So now, I’m sitting outside in the humid night air in one of my best suits just because there is pretty much nothing that could pull me away from the sweet scent of her perfume and the slight bite of alcohol I can smell on her.

  “So, you and Evan are still friends. That’s good.” Her voice is quiet and raspy and damn if it doesn’t make every part of me light up with desire. My eyes are getting more adjusted to the darkness and I can see the way the small lights of the hotel rooms shine down to reflect off of the smooth skin if her exposed legs. What once were miles of teenage perfection are now smooth and sleek curves of a woman. I let my eyes trail up to the hem of her skirt before remembering that I should probably say something back. If only the blood would reroute itself back to my brain.

  “Yea, still friends. We don’t spend as much time together as we used to, but we’ve traded football for golf and try to find time to get a few holes in once a month.” My phone rings again in my pocket and I know it’s Evan wanting to finish our phone call and hear the last details of the bachelor party. I don’t give a shit. “What about you? Still as close to Rachel?”

  Her laugh is music to my ears, but I know it isn’t sincere. I hear the hurt in her chest as she sighs. “Sure. As close as we can be living on separate coasts and living different lives.” She pulls her feet up a little and I wonder if she remembers she’s wearing a skirt. A quick glance around at the empty courtyard lets me relax.

  “I’ll never understand women.” How could they still be friends if Rachel dated her boyfriend right after they broke up? I expect her to argue with me or tell me that it just makes them far superior to men, but instead she closes her eyes and shrugs her shoulders, pulli
ng the pale pink fabric of her shirt higher and exposing a tiny sliver of skin at the waist of her skirt.

  “I don’t understand them either. If I could, I’d resign from my sex effective yesterday. I guess there are those of us that break the rules and ask for forgiveness and lucky for them there are some of us that value the friendship enough to fall for it.” Her honesty makes my heart clench. She’s trusting me and maybe it’s just because she’s drunk, but I’ll take it.

  “Resigning from sex sounds pretty serious,” I joke, earning me a light slap to my chest. She knows I know exactly what she meant. “But seriously, Sophie, how are you going to watch Evan marry her?” Her eyes meet mine and I see the evidence of hours drinking in the whites of them. Maybe she wasn’t having as easy of a time being here as she first appeared to be.

  “With the help of my friends.” I can feel my brows pull together in question and the most brilliant smile shines at me from her moonlit face. Her hand lifts between us and she tosses me the small empty vodka bottle. Catching it, I laugh and nod my head. “But I’m afraid my room is all out of vodka and I might need to borrow some of yours.”

  My mind shouldn’t go there, but of course it does instantly. I can imagine her in my room, the soft curves of her body beneath my palms and my mouth on hers. I know she’d taste like alcohol and the sweet flavor of six years of longing. I’ve wanted her since the first day I saw her and the four years that have past have done nothing to extinguish the heat that races though my body when I look at her.

  “I do believe I saw three of your little friends hanging out in my wet bar.” She laughs, and this time it’s light and bubbly like before.

  Very breathy and dramatic she exhales, “I’ve been looking all over for them.” I know its very late and I want to stay out here with her all night, but I believe the girls have some event in the morning tomorrow while the boys will be headed to the golf course. I hope if I ever get married I remember how fucking ridiculous it is to hold your friends captive for a week celebrating a ten-minute ceremony.