The Friend Zone Read online

  “Wish I could help you, hon, plus I haven’t seen your parents’ house yet, but hopefully I’ll have a chance to in the near future.”

  “You’re just so busy all the time,” he teased.

  “Whatever. You’re the one with the busy social life, always going to events all over town.”

  “Speaking of which, wish I’d known you were coming back into town this week.”

  “I hadn’t planned to, but my parents were getting on my nerves with their complaining about this person and that person, problems at work and issues with the neighbors. All they ever do is complain. They’re so miserable.” She rolled her eyes. “Tommy and Theresa are staying away this summer because they don’t want to deal with them.”

  Dana had four siblings—two older brothers and Tommy and Theresa, fraternal twins eleven years younger than her. She’d partially raised them, and they were both sophomores in college now.

  “Why’d you mention that anyway?” she asked.

  “I’m going to a restaurant opening on Friday night and would have asked you to come with me if I’d known you’d be back.”

  Tracy was cool and he’d get laid, but Dana would be more fun.

  “I take it you’ve made other arrangements?” Dana asked.

  “Yeah, I did.”

  She glanced down at her dress and brushed away lint. “Well, I just stopped by to say hi. I have a million things to do before I head home. My refrigerator’s empty, so I have to make a trip to the supermarket, but before that, I’m going to the bookstore.”

  “More books on writing?” Omar asked.

  “Yes,” she answered with a grimace. “Since I’m not teaching this summer, I’m going to start working on my first full-length novel.” She let out a deep breath as if speaking the words out loud took courage, and they probably did.

  Dana aspired to become a fiction author. As confident as she was in other areas of her life, writing was the one area where she was insecure. A couple of years ago she submitted her short stories to various contests, with none of them winning any prizes. Since then, she devoted more time to learning the craft of writing, devouring books and YouTube videos about character development and plot structure and everything in between.

  “A novel? Look at you.” Omar slow-clapped.

  “Don’t clap yet. I have a lot of work to do, and I’m not sure I’m up to the task.”

  She stood, getting ready to leave, so Omar stood too.

  “I’m sure you are.” He didn’t doubt for one second Dana would kill it as an author, and as far as he was concerned, she spent too much time preparing to write instead of actually writing.

  “If only there was a way to bottle your optimism so I could drink it down whenever I doubt myself.” She grinned across the desk at him, and the earth shifted beneath his feet.

  Her smile placed a stranglehold on his heart, tightening the muscles in his chest and forcing him to make a conscious decision to breathe. That’s what Dana did to him, ever since his drunken ass showed up at her house—all up in his feelings over another woman—and kissed her. To this day he wasn’t sure if he was glad he did, or if he wished he’d never known the pleasure of her soft, sweet lips. But he kept his distance, being a good guy and treating her with the respect she deserved while secretly wanting to sully her with every carnal fantasy that crossed his dirty mind.

  “I’ll see you later,” Dana said.

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  3

  Dana watched Omar walk—no strut—down the narrow hall ahead of her in gray slacks and a pale green long-sleeved shirt.

  As her eyes followed his movements, she silently lavished praise on his athletic body. He shocked the sporting world when he retired a few years ago and wasn’t as physically large as he used to be then, but nonetheless, he had an amazing body with wide shoulders and a thick neck. He turned heads often because people either recognized him as a former Atlanta Falcon or they simply admired his physical beauty.

  As a linebacker he’d been known as Omar “Motherfucking” Bradford, a beast on the field whose furrowed brow and piercing eyes planted fear into the hearts of many quarterbacks. Fast on his feet, he achieved among the highest number of sacks in the league during his career. With thick arms and thighs she knew for a fact looked like sturdy tree trunks sprinkled with dark hair, he was exactly the kind of man any woman would notice.

  Women noticed him, and he noticed them and went for the same type over and over again—wannabe models and actresses who didn’t care anything about the person inside. He could do so much better. All those women cared about was the exterior—a six-two man with a low-cut beard dusting his chiseled jaw and blemish-free caramel-toned skin—but there was so much more to Omar. He had a big heart, especially where kids were concerned, but most of the women he came into contact with only saw the tight body, handsome face, and dollar signs.

  “I’m stepping out for a minute, Jay,” he said to the young man at the front desk.

  Jay acknowledged them with a nod and returned his attention to the computer screen.

  Omar held the door open for Dana and she slid past, but not without getting a full blast of his sandalwood cologne, the deep woodsy scent making her imagine being slammed on a mattress and taken aggressively.

  Whew.

  She hid the tremor licking through her body as she led the way to her champagne-colored Camry parked in the lot.

  “Is your brother still in town?” she asked, standing beside the car.

  Omar squinted against the sun, his green eyes looking greener because of his shirt. “Yeah. He’s been vague about when he plans to leave.”

  Dana had never met Omar’s older brother, Cole, who was visiting for the first time from New York. He’d arrived a couple of weeks ago. Omar suspected something was amiss and couldn’t figure out what caused him to take an extended trip to Atlanta, but the suspicions about his brother were pure speculation.

  When Cole arrived, he brought Omar’s son, Prince, from New York with him, and after Father’s Day, Omar would take him back.

  “How do you feel about him being here?”

  His relationship with his brother was similar to her relationship with her parents—tolerable at best.

  Omar shrugged. “Doesn’t make any difference to me. I see him when I go over to my parents’ house. Otherwise, we don’t spend time together.”

  “Eventually, the two of you are going to have to reconcile your relationship.”

  “It’s not me, it’s him. He doesn’t want to have a real relationship with me, and it took a long time for me to understand and accept the truth. Anyway, you’re one to talk. You hardly speak to your parents.”

  “We speak, but our conversations never go well. Their negativity is draining, and as you know, they’re not the most supportive people in the world.”

  She couldn’t remember her parents ever once attending an awards ceremony when she was a kid. They were always too busy at work, so they said, but their lack of support extended into adulthood. By then, she’d become accustomed to being the only person who didn’t have family in the audience cheering and clapping for her.

  Thank goodness for her friends. When Georgia Piedmont Technical College gave her an outstanding teacher award and a leadership award back in April, her besties and Omar were in the audience, screaming as if she’d won an Oscar, and then they took her out for drinks afterward.

  “Aren’t we a lovely pair with our family issues,” Omar said dryly.

  “Can’t pick your family…” Dana began.

  “But you can pick your friends,” Omar finished.

  They smiled at each other, and the heat of longing wound a sinuous path beneath Dana’s skin and made her nipples tighten. When he looked at her with his eyes soft and head tilted to the side, she wanted to grab him around the neck and kiss him senseless. One would think, after six years his gorgeous face would no longer affect her, but such was not the case.

  Omar Bradford did crazy things to her
lady parts, and she hoped one day she could meet someone who’d help her get over her pathetic crush on her friend.

  “Don’t forget, we’re defending our championship at Deon’s a week from Friday,” he said, backing away.

  Deon was a cornerback with the Atlanta Falcons, and every few months he and his wife organized a lavish game night at their estate in Buckhead. Last time she and Omar took home the spades tournament trophy.

  “I won’t. I’m ready to defend our title.”

  Omar grinned. “Holler if you want to do something before then.”

  “You call me. You’re the one who’s in tune with the social scene.” Because of his celebrity status, he regularly received tickets to shows and invitations to events all over town.

  “Bet. I’ll do that,” he said.

  Dana climbed into her car and watched him walk into the building.

  Her friends insisted there was something going on between her and Omar, and she constantly denied the accusation. Partially for her own sanity and partially because she couldn’t admit the truth. Three years ago, they shared a kiss she never forgot.

  His ex-fiancée, Athena, hurt him deeply when she cheated on him, and he’d discovered her betrayal when he flew to New York to surprise her. When he returned to Atlanta, he showed up drunk to Dana’s apartment. She listened to his angry, hurt-filled rants until he fell quiet, burying his face in his hands. She had offered comfort with a friendly embrace, but Omar slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her. She stiffened with shock, and the moments afterward were forever burned into her brain. He’d sobered up real quick and hopped up from the sofa.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered.

  “It’s okay,” Dana said, mouth tingling, heart racing.

  “No, it’s not. We’re friends. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She pushed down the hurt clawing its way up her throat. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it.”

  He apologized for kissing her, as if it were the worst thing possible. The sting of those words left an emotional blister that had never gone away.

  They didn’t talk for weeks after, both keeping their distance from each other. Then one day he showed up at her house and invited her to a club opening. She said yes, and they were back in sync again as if nothing happened. But something did happen, causing a thin crack in the wall of their friendship and forcing her to think of the possibilities with the one man who knew her better than any other.

  Seconds. Mere seconds of lip-to-lip contact altered the way she viewed him for good. But nothing was going to happen between them because she put a tremendous amount of effort into hiding her feelings to hold on to their friendship.

  Besides, a new Omar had emerged from the wreckage of his relationship with Athena. Dana watched his transformation from monogamous husband-to-be into a man the media referred to as Mr. Casanova. News about his latest bed partners no longer made headlines at the gossip blogs, but he kept a protective wall of thorns around his heart by going through women as if a doctor told him he only had six months to live. She sympathized with the poor women who thought they could win his love. They had a better chance of winning the lottery without buying a ticket.

  Dana briefly touched her mouth and relived the moment his lips touched hers several years ago. An onslaught of tingles invaded her body at the memory, and she sighed heavily and then started the car.

  “Friends, Dana,” she muttered.

  Surely these feelings would eventually pass.

  4

  Bookstores were one of Dana’s favorite places.

  She breezed through the doors, feeling as if she were home, and nodded at the clerk at the desk before strolling past the in-store coffee shop to the nonfiction section. There, she zeroed in on the shelves filled with reference material for aspiring and seasoned writers.

  With so many bookstores closing in recent years, she was relieved a few independent ones remained open to accommodate people like her. Some of her fondest childhood memories included spending time at the bookstore or the library, browsing the stacks and discovering new authors. Books allowed her to escape the drudgery of her life—growing up poor and taking on the responsibility of being the caretaker of her two younger siblings. Her troubles faded when she spent a few leisurely hours among books. In their pages she was whisked away to foreign lands, traveled through time, or became friends with characters who successfully overcame their problems.

  She settled on two books. One gave advice on plotting and the other promised the keys to overcoming writer’s block. Once her primary task was completed, she scanned the fiction shelves to reward herself for when she completed the first few chapters of her manuscript.

  She eventually found a thick fantasy novel, the first in a series getting rave reviews. Flipping through the pages, she walked slowly toward the front of the store, not paying much attention to her surroundings. She was so enthralled she didn’t see the person coming to her left, and bumped into a hard body at the end of one of the rows. Startled, she gasped as she bounced back, the books tumbling from her hands. Almost at the same time, a pair of strong hands gripped her upper arms to keep her from crashing backwards into the bookshelves.

  “Excuse me,” the man muttered at the same time she said, “I’m sorry.”

  There was a brief pause, and then they both laughed.

  “It was really my fault because I wasn’t paying attention,” Dana said.

  “Neither was I, so we’re both guilty.” He picked up her books, eyes trained on the top one, and handed them back. “You’re a writer?”

  “Wannabe writer,” she corrected.

  “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

  Dana blinked, pleased he was familiar with the quote. “Maya Angelou,” she said.

  “One of the greats, though not without her critics. I once read a scathing critique of her poetry, referring to her writing as—and I quote—‘dreadful’ and ‘shit.’ Though they did speak highly of her activism.”

  “As they should.”

  They both laughed again. Dana studied him, and he clearly studied her in return. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, with caramel toned skin and brown eyes.

  “So, you’re a fan of Maya Angelou?” she asked.

  She herself was a fan, particularly of her poem “Still I Rise,” having the words from the poem tattooed on the back of her neck after graduating from college. Her college years had been rough, doing her part to take care of her younger siblings, working almost full time to pay expenses not covered by her scholarship, and navigating the college experience on her own as the first person in her family to attend a university. Then she’d worried about entering the work force with dreadlocks and rings in her nose, but she found a position where she didn’t receive judgment and flourished because of her love of the work.

  “Honestly, I’m learning more about her. I’m reading classics by people like Langston Hughes, James Weldon Johnson, and Nella Larsen and more history texts, trying to broaden my horizons and learn now what I should have learned years ago.”

  “That’s commendable,” Dana said, very impressed. “It’s never too late to learn.”

  “True. So, you’re a wannabe writer. What’s your real job?”

  “I teach English at a local college.”

  “Helping develop young minds.” His pleasant smile and friendly features appealed to her.

  “I like to think so. And what do you do?”

  He looked thoughtful for a moment and then shrugged. “I’m in between jobs right now. Recently moved here from New York, and I’m taking time to relax and spend time with family I have here. I needed a break from the rat race and the 9-to-5—or rather the 7-to-6 most days.”

  There were a lot of New York transplants to the Atlanta area, and Dana had picked up on his accent right away.

  “Work-life balance can be hard to achieve,” she remarked.

  “Yes, but we need to prioritize
our breaks and take time off. Stress is a silent killer, and if it doesn’t kill you, it causes a host of problems.” He shook his head as if running through the list. “Anyway, I won’t go off on one of my tangents. I noticed one of your books was fantasy. Do you recommend it?”

  “I haven’t read this author before, but the series is very popular, so I thought I’d give the first book a try. The store has a great fantasy section, as well as a great selection of books in the African-American Literature section. You should find something you like,” she said.

  “Actually, I think I already have.”

  “Oh?” Then his intense expression clued her into the meaning behind the words. “Oh,” she repeated, cradling her books to her chest as warmth seeped into her limbs.

  “I’m Sheldon Reevus.” He extended his hand. “Could I interest you in a cup of coffee?”

  Dana gave a light laugh and shook his hand.

  “I know, you didn’t come to the bookstore to get picked up, but that’s your fault.” Sheldon continued to hold her hand.

  “My fault?” She didn’t pull away.

  “Sure. You’re a beautiful woman, and I’m going to guess a very smart one too. A lethal combination.”

  “Intelligent women often turn men off.” Dana smoothly removed her hand from his grasp.

  “Not this man.” Sheldon moved closer and lowered his voice. “Tell you what, give me thirty minutes of your time, and if after thirty minutes you no longer want to be bothered with me, I’ll leave you alone and you can walk away.”

  Dana watched him with narrowed eyes. “Thirty minutes is all you need?”

  “Yes, over coffee or whatever you want to drink, and I heard the scones are really good here.”

  He was slightly charming, not too pushy but making the effort. And he was in a bookstore, for goodness’ sake. Definitely a plus.

  When her last relationship ended, she decided to take a break from men because she seemed to constantly end up with duds. They were either intellectual types, too aloof or snooty to relax and have a good time, or they were men whose only interests revolved around partying and sex. She longed for a happy median, someone like Omar—a veritable unicorn—who knew how to have a good time but also had interests in business and philanthropy. Maybe she’d found herself another unicorn.