Page 17 of Friend Zoned

“I always take the train home but thank you.” A harsh gust of wind hits, prompting me to resume my walk, but he walks much faster than I do.

“Look, it’s cold, and I have a waiting car.” He grabs my elbow and points to a sleek black car parked in front of the hotel. I stare at him, unsure of how to proceed. On one hand, it’s freezing. It’s probably in the single digits. On the other hand, I don’t know this man. Eating dessert and dancing together at a wedding doesn’t make him any less of a stranger.

But that’s the most fun you’ve had in ages. You feel more at ease with him than with people you’ve known for years.

He steers me toward his car, but I don’t get in. I tighten my scarf around my neck as I weigh my options.

“Come on.” When the harsh wind blows again, and it starts to sleet I make up my mind to get in. He slides in beside me, and I find comfort in the plush leather and warmth of the car. It’s so warm, I remove my scarf.

“Jimmy, this is Jeannie. Jeannie, this is Jimmy, my driver. Just tell him where you live.” After greeting the driver, a dark-skinned man with a low fade, I give him my address. He turns his body around slightly and offers me his large hand.

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Jeannie.” I think I hear a slight Jamaican accent.

“Nice car,” I say after a few uncomfortable moments of silence. “Football coaching must pay well.” I could cut off my own tongue for saying that. That’s tantamount to asking the man how much he makes, which I already know, thanks to a very quick Google search. I found the answer in the first article I clicked on. I remember slamming my laptop shut after that and reminding myself that he was none of my business, but the very idea that he makes eleven million dollars a year is insane. I opened it again and spent hours looking at old videos of him when he was in the league. There are pictures of him with women. Beautiful statuesque women with legs that go on for miles, all wearing couture clothes.

“I do okay,” he says.

We stay quiet, and I pray to God that traffic is light so I can get out of this car. I don’t know why it’s so hot in here when Jimmy’s window is cracked open.

“When do you hit the road again?” I ask. I clear my throat, unsure of what else to say. He looks so intense on his side of the car. As roomy as the backseat is, I feel it shrinking with each passing second.

“We go to Houston and Boston. We leave in two days. After that, we have three games at home. Game three is on Christmas, then we don’t have anything until we go to Minnesota on the twenty-eighth.” I let out a loud whistle. Yeah, that would never, ever work. The man spends more time away than he does at home.

Never be afraid to ask for what you want. That’s what one of my books says. I push that thought aside. Why am I thinking of relationship goals when I’m not in a relationship? When I am ready, it won’t be with a man who’s never around.

“Sounds busy. When do you have time for a social life?” Not that I care, but since he’s considerate enough to give me a ride home, I feel like I should make polite conversation.

“Well, when the season is over, I’m pretty much free. I always take a nice long vacation then.” I nod. “Anywhere in the world.”

“Sounds nice,” is all I can think to say. The only time I left the country was when I was twelve and my family went to Haiti to visit relatives. And there was the senior trip to The Bahamas that time in high school. “Where did you go this year?”

“Spain and Portugal,” he answers quickly. I’m dying to know who he went with, but I refuse to ask. Not my business, but I can’t imagine he’s lonely for female companionship. The man is handsome, rich, and successful. So far, he hasn’t displayed any asshole vibes. I’m sure women are beating down his door.

“Where are you going next year?”

“Not sure yet. That’s still to be determined.” Luckily, Jimmy is getting close to my street, but we’re stuck at a red light that seems to be taking forever to turn green. “Did you go anywhere last summer?”

“Yeah. The Jersey Shore with a few of my cousins. We do something together every couple of years.” We always go somewhere drivable. Next year, we’ll probably go to Atlantic City. I’m not going to Spain and Portugal, that’s for sure.

Jimmy finally comes to a stop at my building. It’s a quiet street. It wasn’t the nicest place back in the nineteen-nineties when Quintin’s parents bought this condo. Now, it’s mine.

“Well, thanks for the ride, even though you didn’t have to wait around for me.” I open the door and practically run out. He follows me. “You don’t have to see me inside. Thanks again, Coach.” I stick my hand out awkwardly as if this is the end of a job interview.

His large hand completely engulfs mine. Big mistake. I definitely should not have offered to touch him. He’s warm. Despite the harsh December winds, I can feel heat radiating off his body. He brings the back of my hand to his lips, and I want to jump out of my skin.

No, I want to jump into his arms, wrap my legs around him, and direct him to my door. Once there, he will make me scream out in ecstasy for hours and hours…but someone comes out of the front door, giving the excuse I need to make my escape. I hold the door open and say, “Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.” He looks into my eyes, but I look away. After what seems like forever, he says goodnight and walks back to his car. I stand on the stoop holding the door open until his car disappears into the dark December night.

I let out a deep breath and finally step inside. I don’t bother with the elevator. I walk the entire four flights until I get to my door. Once I’m inside, I make sure to lock and put the chain on the door and then lean against it waiting for my heart rate to return to normal.

Chapter 9

Aiden

“Great job so far tonight, Wakowski. Our defense has been consistent, so let’s change it up. Let’s get away from the zone and play man to man. We’re halfway through this game. Put it all out on the court. We’ve got no choice but to win this. That’s the mindset we need to have.” The team claps in our locker room. Everyone’s been away from their family for a week, and I know our team is hungry for this win. If we can beat Boston, we will sweep all the away games. “All right, Mischiefs on three.” We form a circle, and after I count to three, the locker room erupts with the name of our team.

I’m exhausted. I’ve been thinking about going home and crawling into my own bed since our first night away. I follow the team back to the court, taking mental notes along the way. My phone buzzes, and I look down only to be disappointed when I see a text from my sister.

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