Page 26 of Friend Zoned

The driver opens the door and offers me his hand. He points to the townhouse and opens the gate. Each step I take makes my heart beat faster. The door flies open just as I get to the top step, and he stands there, looking very much the Viking dressed in all black. A gust of wind blows his long hair all over his head. He has his sleeves rolled up, and I eye his tattoos for the first time.

“Don’t tell your mother.” He puts a finger to his lips. He waves me inside, and it’s like I’ve entered another world. I’ve never seen such a spacious house in New York City. He has cathedral ceilings, and the back of the house is a wall of windows, but it’s dark already, so I can’t see what he has back there. He takes off my coat while I look around.

His living room is all brown leather with a matching oriental rug. There’s a big flat screen television where a basketball game is playing. He takes my hand in his, and it’s as if he’s been holding my hand my entire life. His hand is big, but his skin is so smooth. He leads me into an all-white kitchen with marble countertops. It looks like it belongs on the cover of a magazine. It’s much too beautiful to cook in.

“Relax,” he says. He rubs my shoulders, and I wonder how such big hands could be so gentle against my body. “How about some wine? Red or white?”

“White,” I say. I think I hear him chuckle, but I’m too busy admiring the kitchen to pay attention. There’s a dual range oven, a wine fridge, and a French door refrigerator. “White for you.” He hands me a glass. He fills his own with red, and we clink. “Welcome,” he says with a smile.

I know I hold the glass to my lips, but I think I forget to sip. I’m so lost in his brown eyes, I forget where I am and what I’m supposed to be doing. After I watch him drink from his glass, I remember myself and take a sip.

“Mmhmm,” I moan. “This is a beautiful kitchen.” I look around again and run my hand over the marble. His phone buzzes against the countertop and he grabs it.

“Give yourself a tour. This is the owner of the team, and I told him I’d give him fifteen minutes tonight.” He raises a finger gesturing for me to wait and answers the phone. “Hey, Wayne. Hold on a sec.” He puts the phone down and whispers to me, “Go look around.”

“Are you sure?” I’d love to tour this place alone.

“Yeah. We’re friends.” He gestures for me to go. I walk away and take my heels off at the bottom of the stairs. I finish the wine before I get to the top floor. The carpet feels plush against my bare feet. There are skylights throughout the ceiling upstairs. There are several ceiling fans on low. I open a set of French doors that reveals a family room. This TV has a basketball game playing too. There’s another room across from that. I open it, and it’s the one I’ve been looking for. It’s his bedroom.

There’s not a thing out of place. The big four poster bed is in the middle of the room. I put my glass down and climb on his bed. It’s just as I thought. Solid and firm. I pick up his pillow and inhale it, and it smells like a mixture of cologne and fabric softener. I hop off and smooth the comforter back into place.

I open the top drawer to his dresser. All his underwear is neatly folded. So is the drawer with his T-shirts. I enter the walk-in closet next. He seems to have a penchant for Armani and Tom Ford. Gucci and Ralph Lauren also make a few appearances. I take one of his suit jackets off the hanger and put it on. It’s so big, it practically swallows me whole. I spin around in it before putting it back in its place.

Once I leave the closet, I step inside his bathroom. Heated tiles. There are heated tiles. I make a mental note to lie on the floor if he invites me back again. The shower is big enough to fit a dozen people. I count five showerheads. I’d step inside, but it’s wet in there. He must have showered recently, and I envision him in here naked. I slam the shower door shut and push the dirty thought away.

Reluctantly, I leave the room. There are two guest bedrooms with more of his clothes in the closets, but I don’t nose around too much. I return downstairs, but when I hear him on the phone still, I explore the first floor. He has an office with pictures and framed newspaper articles. There’s a framed family photograph on his desk. They are dressed like the characters from The Wizard of Oz. I pick it up and run my finger over the frame. Aiden looks to be around five and is dressed like Toto. There’s an older girl dressed like Dorothy, an older woman dressed like The Wicked Witch complete with green paint on her face, and the man is dressed like the Tin Man. He’s in head-to-toe metal. I put the picture back when I hear footsteps.

I almost collide with him when I leave his office. An arm snakes around my waist, and he holds me against him. “There you are,” he says. His voice sounds husky, and I close my eyes as I try to live in this moment. “Hungry?” I get so consumed by the feel of him that I don’t hear the question. His chest is broad and thick. I bet if I press a little more, I’d feel something else, but I remind myself that friends don’t do that. And his scent. I can’t get enough of it. Then I go and look into his eyes and nearly drown in a sea of brown.

“What did you say?” I whisper. He lets me go, and I feel unsettled, almost lost.

“Are you hungry?” he repeats.

“Um, yes.”

He takes my arm and tucks it into his. I fight the urge to put my head on his shoulder and walk back to the kitchen like two lovers and successfully resist. He pours me another glass of wine and gestures to the table. It’s round with four chairs and a large bouquet of wildflowers in the middle.

“I forgot to ask you what you wanted to eat. I hope you like braised short ribs. If not, there’s stuffed chicken breast too.” He stands at the island and starts piling things on a plate. I’m so mesmerized by his movements that I don’t tell him there’s no way I’ll be able to eat everything on that plate. He puts it in front of me, and it’s too late. Then he serves himself and sits across from me. I avert my gaze when he smiles.

“So,” I say a few seconds later, “you worked a full day today and managed to put together this elaborate meal.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Is there a question in there, Ms. Dubois?”

“We agreed no takeout,” I remind him.

“This isn’t takeout. You said home cooked meal. This meal was cooked in my home, just not by me.”

“Oh, that’s cheating, Coach. I cooked when we were at my place.” I put a piece of short ribs in my mouth, and it’s like butter.

“Well, if you want peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. That’s all I can make, and I can’t even do that well.”

“This is much better.” We eat without saying a word for several minutes. Each time I take a few sips of my wine, he refills my glass. I can’t remember the last time a man served me. Quintin never did. He was barely home for dinner most nights. “Last time, I hogged the conversation. Tell me about you now.” There’s so much I don’t know. I can’t imagine a scenario where this man is single, but he obviously is. I didn’t see one feminine item in his bedroom or bathroom. This is a man only space.

“Nothing to tell. What you see is what you get.”

“So, you’re a Viking?” The question leaves my mouth before I can think better of it. He tilts his head to the side as if he can’t believe what he just heard.

“A Viking?” he teases. “I’m pretty sure there aren’t any Vikings walking around New York City, but I’ll take that as a compliment. According to my sister, Vikings are hot.” I can feel myself blush. God, he’s gorgeous. He has his hair pulled back now. He looks more tamed, but he still has a feral look about him.

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