Page 3 of Friend Zoned

“So, you ah, coach football?” I ask, unsure of what else I could possibly ask. I try to think of any information my mother has given me. She says Mr. Colt is a football player. Vickie giggles and Colt groans.

“Basketball,” Aiden corrects.

“Are you sure?” I ask. “My mom said you’re a football player,” I say to Colt.

Vickie tries to hide her laugh but fails.

“I’m going to have a talk with Myra,” Colt says, but he’s being playful, so I’m not completely mortified by my faux pas.

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure I coach basketball, not football,” Aidan says.

“Oh.” I wave my hand. “I don’t watch either.” I turn back to my chair, certain that they think I’m an idiot and will leave me alone now.

“More of a reader, I see,” Aiden responds. “What book has you so engrossed?”

My eyes dart to the table in search of my book. I thank a higher power that it’s safely inside my purse. No need to let these newlyweds and the sexy one know that my life is a train wreck. “Nothing you would find particularly interesting.” I clear my throat, but when I turn to look at Aiden, he’s looking directly at me.

“Try me,” he says. I take a step toward the table, grab my purse and shove it under my chair. No way in hell he’ll see this book.

“I know what it is,” Vickie says. “It’s Jeannie’s copy of the women’s guidebook of how to take over the world and kick the men out.”

She’s giving me an out. I like this girl. I put a finger to my lips. “Shh. That’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Should we be worried?” Aiden asks. He inches closer to me. He’s big. Bigger than I assumed when I was only checking him out from across the room. He smells good too. Good and expensive. He’s better looking up close. He has full lips and a firm jawline. It’s the kind of jawline you want to run your tongue along. When he smiles, I stifle my groan. It transforms his face, making him look less feral. I’m not sure which I like more. Sexy Viking or this.

“Very,” I say, finally remembering that he asked a question.

“Why don’t you two get a drink or more dessert? Coach, escort the lady,” Vickie suggests. “And ask her to dance.”

The idea of getting close to this bear of a man is more than I can stand. Jesus, did I mention how good he smells?

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’ve had enough and—” I start to stammer, but Aiden offers me his arm. I stand there like a deer in headlights as I try to think of what to do next. There’s only one thing I can do at this point. Well, two things. I can run out of the room screaming like a lunatic, or I can act like a person with just a modicum of social skills. So, I put my arm through his and let him escort me to the bar.

Chapter 3

Jeannie

I can’t bring myself to look at him. The scent of his cologne is about all I can handle right now. I’m seconds away from running my fingers through his hair. My mother would call him a vagabond. Long hair on a man has never been my thing. I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it, but on him, it’s downright sinful. It just kisses his broad shoulders. I bet it would feel like silk between my fingertips.

“How about one of these festive drinks?” We finally arrive at the bar, and he hands me a glass filled with a red liquid. It’s only a couple of weeks before Christmas, so there are lots of red and green drinks. It’s good. It’s cranberry juice and vodka. I take a large gulp to calm my nerves.

“Thank you, Coach.” I almost want to bite my tongue off for calling him that. I know it’s been years since I dated, but I don’t remember being this awkward before.

Whoa, girl. This is not a date.

“Aiden is fine,” he teases. “I’m Coach to those guys, and I’m off tonight.” He points behind him. There’s a group of guys doing shots. “What do you do for a living, Jeannie?”

My mind goes blank, and for the life of me, I can’t think of a response. Then the fog clears, and I regain my ability to think and speak. “I’m in the hospitality field. I’m an assistant manager at a hotel in midtown.” It’s a fancy hotel, too. The type he probably stays in.

“Oh? Which one?”

It takes me a few seconds to remember the name of the hotel where I’ve worked for three years.

“The Pierre,” I finally say. “The Walsh Group is the parent company. Have you ever heard of them? It’s like every hotel in America is owned by them.” The drink starts to hit my bloodstream, and I relax. “The Pierre is one of their more upscale hotels,” I whisper.

He raises both eyebrows and chuckles.

“Yes, I’ve heard of the Walsh Group, and The Pierre is very nice.” I see something flash through his brown eyes. They look lighter now, and I’m not sure if what I saw is playfulness or nervousness. “I’ve had brunch there a few times,” he adds.

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