Page 10 of Friend Zone to End Zone

It was stupid, since the only time she’d ever given me any indication that something could happen between us was over a year ago—a stolen moment we’d never talked about after it happened.

Even though we pretended the night of my twenty-sixth birthday never happened, I’d relived it a million times. Because even if she instantly regretted it, that night and that kiss had given me hope that deep down, even if she didn’t realize it, she wanted me.

Delusional hope? Maybe. But still hope.

5

Cole

“Haveyou thought more about which woman you’re going to ask on an actual date first?” Arianna asked me after she’d finished shearing off the majority of my hair.

“I haven’t looked at my app since last night, so not really,” I said as she used her scissors to make the top portion of my hair match whatever vision she had in her head.

That was the part about this plan of mine that I wasn’t really looking forward to.

I liked the idea of spending one-on-one time with Arianna where she coached me and looked more closely to tell me which parts of myself to bring out when on a date with a woman, since that would tell me exactly the parts that subconsciously attracted her to me. But the actual ‘going on dates with women’? It just sounded like a chore.

Plus, it felt almost wrong to do something like that. Ask other women out on dates and pretend to be interested in the possibility of a relationship with them, only to dash any hopes they might have in becoming the girlfriend of an NFL player with all the perks that came along with it, because I just wasn’t invested in moving on from the woman I was still secretly holding a candle for.

I mean, the only way I could actually feel okay about leading someone on like that was if it was obvious she was only after me for my money and notoriety. If I could weed out all the sweet and sincere women and only keep the gold-diggers, then maybe I’d keep my conscience clear.

Or maybe I just took dating too seriously. Growing up, I’d been taught that you date who you marry, and since I couldn’t imagine ending up with anyone besides Arianna, I’d decided not to date at all.

Incredibly stupid of me? Maybe.

But it was what it was.

I had been busy working to become one of the best on the field during that time, anyway, so dating was too much of a time-suck as it was.

“How about you tell me about your ideal girlfriend and maybe we can narrow down your matches from there,” Arianna said, bringing me back to the present.

“You want to know about my dream girl?” I asked, not sure this was a safe line of conversation given the fact that my dream girl was currently standing right behind me.

“Yes,” she said. “Like, for example, do you prefer blondes or brunettes? Do you want a Polynesian woman who can give you those adorable babies with hair like yours? Or are you into dating someone who looks nothing like you? Do you want a career woman, or someone who wants nothing more than to support you as you chase after your dreams and help you raise a family?”

“I don’t know,” I said, actually considering the different variables she was talking about. “I’ve never had a list like that.”

“You haven’t?” She tsked, like it was unfathomable to not have a whole list of things to check off when thinking about spending your life with someone.

Which I guessed shouldn’t surprise me since she’d mentioned dozens of times in the past how Chad checked every box she’d ever had on her list of qualities for her perfect match.

Wears business suits to work.

Check.

Well-traveled.

Check.

Speaks four languages.

Check.

Degree from Harvard.

Check.

Has a trust fund and a bloodline that could be traced back to the first aristocrats of New York City.

---