Jeremy,
I’m sorry. Last night was amazing, but I really can’t date another hockey player.
Chelsea.
***
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Wanna drink about it?”
“Yes, but I’m not gonna.”
“Wanna eat your feelings?”
“All. Of. Them.”
AJ offered the pizza box to Jeremy as they sprawled out in the living room.
“Have at.”
It had been a week since Chelsea had skipped out on Jeremy. She still wasn’t answering his messages and he was still pissed about it. He felt wounded, confused, and angry, yet part of him wasn’t completely surprised. He should have known if he moved too fast with her, he would spook her. As he folded the slice of pizza into his mouth, savoring the cheesy bliss, he picked up his phone and decided to send a message to Jess. He was feeling better about himself. He’d managed to pull his life back on track and he was ready to get back to having fun.
Jeremy: Butt stuff?
Hold up! Keep reading!
Dear Reader,
Thank you for reading Four Letter Feelings, I hope you enjoyed it as much as I loved writing it. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love for you to leave me a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.
To listen to the soundtrack, I’ve put together for this book, just head over to Spotify.
To pre-order book two in the series, The Good in Goodbye, click here (there’s an excerpt on the next page!)
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If you want to see the full list of my works, you can find them on Amazon, and if you want to add them to your TBR pile on Goodreads you can do that, too.
Finally, don’t stop reading here – keep going! You still have my (obviously wonderful, must-read) author notes and samples of some of the other books in my series.
- Lasairiona x
Jeremy Lewis will return in:
Let Me Love You
Enjoy an exclusive excerpt now
Chapter 1
Someone grabbed my dick.
Jeremy winced at the thought. He pinched at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb, blinked a few times and re-read the words on Jess’ phone screen as she sat nuzzled against him on the loveseat.
Yeah, that definitely says ‘someone grabbed my dick’. What the fuck is she reading? And who the fuck is Moses? Moses, Moses? Like, the dude from the Bible, Moses? Why is she reading about someone grabbing Moses’ dick? Is she really sitting next to me after a night of hot-as-fuck sex, reading porn? Ouch. That definitely stings. Was last night THAT subpar that she couldn’t even wait ‘til she got home to break out the word porn? Is this a hint?
He sucked in a slow and cleansing breath.
Shit. Where the hell has my confidence gone? The sex last night was just as mind-blowing as it always is, you know this, so why are you suddenly intimidated by someone groping Moses’ dick in book porn?
His eyes glanced back to the screen. Chapter one. Moses. Someone grabbed my dick.
Yeah, I’m totally back to what the actual fuck is she reading?
“What the fuck are you reading?” he spluttered, finally giving in to his internal monologue.
He could feel her chuckling against his body.
“Julia Wolf.”
She answered, dismissively, as though that were enough information to satisfy his curiosity and he watched her swipe to continue reading.
“I don’t know who that is. Is she the someone grabbing his dick? And Moses, like the Bible Moses? Why is this Julia woman grabbing Moses’ dick? I have so many questions from that first line alone, Jess. Are you reading porn? ‘Cause it looks like porn. Didn’t you get enough dick last night?”
She laughed harder, turned her head to flash him her signature side-eye glare and shook her head.
“What, so it’s ok for guys to think every love story starts with a boob grab, but you’re gonna get all butt hurt when it’s a guy who gets violated? Talk about double standards!”
“Ok, woah. Down girl. That’s not what I meant. At all. I don’t give a chicken-fried-fuck who’s doing the grabbing, or whether it’s a dick grab or a boob grab – none of that shit is ok—”
“Oh wait, I get it! Your pride is wounded. You think I’m reading smutty porn after a night of rocked-my-world sex and you feel somehow emasculated and insecure, right?”
She turned her head again so he could see her smirk and reached her hand up to patronizingly pat his head. “Your dick performed admirably last night. There, feel better? Damn, Jer. For a fuck buddy you sure are needy!”
“Says the ‘no strings’ woman who’s cuddling on my loveseat the morning after the night before, while reading all about Moses’ junk.”
She sighed, sat her phone on her lap and shook her head again. “Dude. It’s not porn, it’s not even erotica, though it is romance. Steamy-as-fuck rockstar romance actually. Moses is Mo, he’s the lead singer of a band and if you had read the next line, you’d know he wasn’t really ok with having his junk molested by a front-row fan. Julia Wolf is the author, Michaela is the object of his affections and I’m your hostess, Jess, who didn’t pick up this book because I wasn’t satisfied by your dick last night. I picked it up because I’m still tired, I’m achy from being pounded by your wonderful dick and don’t want to go home yet. And I’m hungry, so do a girl a solid and make her some breakfast would ya?”
“We’ve been here before.”
“No shit. I like your pancakes.”
“I bet you say that to all the guys.”
“If all the guys made pancakes like you do, betchurass I would.”
“I more meant the fact that the first time we met I almost, kinda, sorta, accidentally accused you of being a hooker and here you are, demanding pancake payment for services rendered last night.”
She feigned horror, gasped and spun to face him, throwing a playful thump at his bicep. “Pancake payment?” she managed, her now-giggles betraying the fact she wasn’t actually horrified. “We both know that if I was to demand payment it would cost you a lot more than a stack of pancakes. Pancake payment!” she muttered, shaking her head.
“Fine, I’ll throw in some bacon.”
She swung a pillow at his stomach as he stood up. “You’re lucky you’re good with your tongue Jeremy Lewis, or I’d cut it off with a blunt knife.”
He held his hands up in surrender and backed away from her slowly, flashing her a cheeky grin. “Wait, are we hacking off my tongue or my penis?”
“Yes.”
“Scrambled eggs, too, then. Got it!”
He chuckled as she tossed the pillow at him as he escaped into the kitchen to make breakfast and it landed with a thud at his feet on the wooden floor.
It had been a while since they hooked up. When Jeremy’s parents died, she’d tucked tail and run at the prospect of her friend-with-benefits also being the friend-with-a-mental-breakdown. She’d kept her distance and he’d honored her wishes and kept to himself when he saw her in the bar or around campus. At first, he’d thought it was him, that his being broken had driven away the women in his life. With Chelsea leaving in the middle of the night and not returning his texts or calls, and Jess deciding his grief was somehow radioactive and not conducive to a friends-with-benefits arrangement no wonder he’d been insecure and self-conscious. After a couple sessions with Dr. Sheila, his therapist, he’d come to realize that while it was quite an ill-timed coincidence, it likely had very little to do with him. It was more likely everything to do with whatever the women were going through themselves. He wasn’t responsible for their actions.
Dr. Shiela had tried to drill into him that he was not responsible for other people’s behavior from the moment he first stepped into her office, but as it turned out, it was proving a hard lesson for him to internalize. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d e
ver fully be able to disassociate himself from the guilt and self-blame that came along with other people’s choices. Whether it was his parents’ murders, AJ’s attempted suicide or Chelsea ditching him post sex, Jeremy still felt responsible. Sheila had assured him that was a totally typical response, which comforted him a little, but it was something he was working on.
As he pulled bags out of cabinets and started measuring out the ingredients he needed to make pancake batter, he went through the events of the previous night. He’d gone out for a drink with AJ to catch up. AJ had been out of town for the last month or so, he’d been traveling with his parents and his sister, and visiting with his family in Canada. Jeremy had joined them for a bit, but he’d come back to Alabama to give AJ time with his family without Jeremy-the-fifth-wheel tagging along. They’d gone out last night to catch up, and not that he’d ever admit it out loud, but Jeremy had missed AJ and was looking forward to hanging out with him again. Chris had joined them at the bar and when Jess had spotted him ordering a round of drinks, she approached him and struck up a conversation.
She offered to buy him an apology beer. The promise of a beer with a hot woman was enough to make him ditch his friends despite feeling hurt over her abandonment. Wringing her hands together and avoiding his gaze she had apologized to him for being a selfish bitch when his parents had died. She confessed that having been through the loss of her father she wasn’t in an emotionally stable, or available, place to help him through his grief and so she bolted. She told him it wasn’t something she was proud of, and she felt pretty crappy about it. When she had finally met his eyes, he saw the all-too-familiar flicker of grief and heartache that had clung to him since the death of his parents. Her eyes glistened with tears as she asked him to forgive her for being such a shitty friend and she asked if they could perhaps work towards picking up where they left off.
He wasn’t big-headed enough to think the beautiful woman sitting in front of him didn’t have a line of suitors at her door, and he knew their friends-with-benefits agreement had benefited both of them while it lasted. He also knew as soon as she’d approached him at that bar that they were going to end up in bed together.
Smiling to himself as he finished whisking the fresh batch of batter and switching it out for the batch he had made the day before he shook his head.
Some things are as predictable as a moth to a flame.
He cracked a few eggs, whisked them in a bowl with a little cream, seasoned with salt and pepper and sat them to the side while the frying pan heated up.
“What are you grinning at?”
Glancing up from his workspace his eyes lazily relished the curves of the beautiful woman leaning against the doorframe.
“And did I just see you put new batter in the fridge and take out existing batter? That’s next-level organized, Jer.”
He chuckled. “Day old batter is better than fresh batter. If you can leave it to chill for at least an hour or three, that’s better than freshly made. But it’s even better if you leave it overnight,” he explained, pointing to the jug of batter on the counter. “Exhibit A, milady. And as for the grinning, I was just thinking about how you threw yourself at me at the bar last night,” he added, nonchalantly, dolloping some of the thick pancake batter into the center of the pan.
“Excuse me?” Her eyes had narrowed to slits and he was sure if she could, lasers would have shot out and turned him to dust.
“You heard me,” he answered, waving the spatula at her before flipping the pancake.
“I, do not throw myself at anybody. Ever. You came on to me, I just… let you.”
“Oh, I might have grazed your thigh under the table, sure. But you… you…” he trailed off as he pointed the spatula in her direction again. “Just, what, exactly are you doing?” She had slipped her hand underneath the hem of his oversized UAH shirt she’d borrowed to sleep in.
“What?” She asked, feigning innocence. “Oh this? Well, at the mention of our sexcapades last night, I just had to. Can’t blame a girl, Jer. I clearly can’t contain myself, what with all the throwing myself at you and I obviously can’t throw myself at you again with all this,” she gestured casually at the messy worktop, “between us.”
She arched her eyebrow as though to challenge him, closed her eyes and allowed her head to loll back against the door frame.
Jess moaned.
Jeremy groaned.
“Can you at least wait ‘til we eat?” he half-joked, half-pleaded with her. He flicked his gaze from the pan under his nose to the beautiful woman continuing to pleasure herself against the door frame. “You’re not helping!” he growled at the growing bulge in his boxers while he pulled the pan off the heat, slid the pancake onto a plate and put the empty pan back onto the stove. “Ok, fine. I’ll allow you to seduce me before breakfast, but I’m going to go on record here and tell you that things would be progressing very differently right now if I’d already started to cook those eggs.”
She didn’t open her eyes, or stop moving her fingers, but he could see a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Sure they would, Jer. Sure they would. Just you keep telling yourself that. While you’re at it you might wanna tell it to that bulge in your pants over there. I don’t think it got the memo.” She paused and sighed deeply. “Dude. You mind hurrying up? There’s an orgasm with my name on it and if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not get there by myself.
He grinned as he abandoned every notion of pancakes, eggs and bacon and strode towards her with purpose. “Yes ma’am,” he answered as he freed himself from his boxers, picked her up and wrapped her legs around his waist, leaning her back against the doorframe. “I’ll get right on that.”
Author Note I
I am writing this author note before this book was even finished during the great toilet paper crisis of 2020 (I might write another one when I’m done – who knows?) While it might sound glib to call a global pandemic ‘a toilet paper crisis’ that doesn’t mean that writing, and living through it is easy. I am smack bang in the middle of what feels like a never-ending mental health crisis. I know I’m not the only one feeling this way and I know it will pass, because it always does, but right now, things are hard.
Many people think that during this time, authors like me – and Kelsey Kingsley and K.K Allen whose books Warrior Blue and Through The Lens respectively are mentioned in this book (they are real books and yes you can, and should, go read them cause they are FAB!) – are sitting at their laptops churning out all the words and writing opus after opus when in reality this isn’t always the case. For many authors, myself included, the Coronapocalypse has stunted pretty much all capacity for creation. We started lockdown on March 16th and I didn’t write a single new word in my manuscript until May 3rd and even then, it was an uphill battle. For someone who had grown accustomed to writing every day, this definitely hurt. It wasn’t just that my creative process had stalled, but also the number of hats I was wearing every day multiplied overnight. I suddenly went from mom and author to mom, author, primary educator, afterschool club carer, full-time cleaner, and cook – so by the time I do get any time and space to write, I am way beyond too tired to even try.
I’d love to say that’s ‘all’, that these are the only reasons I’m finding this book difficult to write, but if I tried to, my lovely friend Clare would call bullshit and tell me I’m lying to myself. And she’d be right. I met Clare the week before lockdown started, and if I ever didn’t believe that things happen for a reason, meeting her would have converted me. We were at the same conference in August of 2019 but we didn’t meet, and yet right before a lockdown we meet up – coinkydink? I think not. She has quickly become an integral part of my daily life and a willing accountability partner; we talk to each other daily and she’s been my lighthouse and my lifeboat. She’s kept me focused and calm, and when I have a wobble or want to set fire to my computer, she talks me down. I am in no doubt that she was put into my path to help me ride the crashing waves of this
C-19 crisis and maybe even to help me persevere and churn out this damned book (which, if you’re reading this, it clearly worked!)
I’m giving you this quick backstory on my friendship with Clare because it’s important. Because without her, more than likely, you wouldn’t be reading this book – and you certainly wouldn’t be reading an edition published in 2020. Yesterday, when I sat about 1/3 of the way through the manuscript, staring at the screen, I told her I thought I was done. I couldn’t do it. I can’t do it. I told her I was feeling intimidated by my manuscript when in truth, I’m just plain scared. Why am I scared to write this book? For so many reasons, really. I know it’s going to involve dredging the depths of my soul, it’s going to be deep and hard. I’ve picked a point in time to start where I have to write about Jeremy’s parents dying only six months after losing my own father, I have to write about AJ’s mental health, a breakdown and his suicide attempt in the middle of my own mental health crisis. There will be tears. It will be exhausting and raw. She asked me if I thought I wasn’t ready right now and needed to step away for a while and circle back, but I told her that if I did that, I’m not sure I’d ever come back to it. I’d just let it taunt me from the depths of my computer’s hard-drive.
I told her that I’m not sure anyone who has lived through their own suicide attempt or the loss of a parent is ever ready to write about those things. I also told her I feel an overwhelming pressure to do this book justice, this character justice and most of all do myself justice. I’m partly overwhelmed because many of my wonderful readers have fallen in love with this cockblockin’ butthead and partly because many of your reviews focus on how well I’ve been writing about mental health. Writing about mental health, loss, grief and the other topics associated with my books makes an author feel incredibly vulnerable. It takes a titanium-clad vagina to put my books out there. People who know me, know I weave a lot of my own experiences and emotions into my books, and those who don’t, assume the story is based in fact because it feels real. I could just skip ahead, I know this. I could just start Jeremy’s story where the other books start on the timeline, but then I’d be taking the easy path because so much of who he is and why he is stems from where he’s come from. I’d be copping out. I know I could easily gloss over these milestones and just pay them lip service, but I’d be short-changing you, dear reader, and I’d also be short-changing myself. Many things can be said about my books, but paying lip-service to a difficult topic isn’t one of them, nor is taking the easy path.
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