Page 31 of Friend Zoned

“Toloache?” Jeannie says. I can see Jimmy looking at me through the rear-view mirror. I want to kick myself. I’m so used to making unilateral decisions, I didn’t ask her where she wants to go. “I was thinking Chipotle, but Toloache it is, Coach.” She playfully punches my shoulder. It’s a punch like a friend would give another, and I don’t like it. I want to take her hand and hold it until we get there. Then I want to intertwine our fingers as we walk inside that restaurant together, and afterward take her home and make love to her for hours.

That will come in due time, so for now, I punch her shoulder back. Traffic a week before Christmas is crazy in the city. It takes thirty minutes to go two miles. When we arrive, I follow behind her and admire her ass and the nice curve of her hips and wonder when I’ll be able to touch them whenever I want.

The restaurant is crowded as we maneuver toward the hostess.

“Oh my God! We might have to go to Chipotle,” Jeannie yells over the loud crowd. “It’s packed like sardines in here.” For anyone else, that might be true, but for the coach of the Mischiefs, there are always exceptions.

I address the hostess and give her my name. We’re escorted to a secluded table immediately. Once Jeannie takes off her jacket, I pull her chair out for her.

“How did you do that?’ she asks. The server returns and fills our water glasses, and I tell her to bring guacamole to the table. When she asks what kind, I tell her all of them.

“I’m the big bad football coach.” I wink at her, and she nods her head in appreciation.

“I’m not worthy,” she says. She lifts both hands and brings them down repeatedly. “I’m not worthy.”

“Stick with me, kid.” I wink at her. “You definitely are, and dinner’s on me, so have whatever you want.”

She picks up the menu and says, “Don’t mind if I do, Coach. Don’t mind if I do. Starting with this margarita right here. I need it after a week like I’ve had.”

We both get one. I also order all four types of ceviche, and we pick three different entrees to share.

Once our drinks are served, we clink our glasses. She downs half of hers in two big gulps. She sighs happily and sits back in her chair.

“Did that asshole ex-husband seek you out again?” I’ve restrained myself from doing a deep dive into this guy. I’ve had to remember that Jeannie isn’t my woman, at least not yet, and when that changes, I’ll have to figure out a way to reveal who I really am. I don’t need to add that on top of things I’ll have to apologize for.

“I haven’t heard from him since he called to book the room for the baby shower, thank God. I’m sure he’s just plotting a way to stick it to me.” She rolls her eyes as if the very idea is absurd. “But someone else did come by and see me. Leah,” she whispers.

“Your former friend?”

“Yup.” For the next five minutes, I sit back and listen to her tell me about the confrontation she had with her friend at work. “Why can’t these people just leave me the hell alone?” she asks. “I’m over it.”

Our guacamole is delivered. “Enough about that,” she says, waving her hand in the air as if that would erase the talk of her past. We both finish our drinks, and I order a pitcher. “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“I’m working. We have a game, remember?” She makes a face and mouths ‘yuck.’ While I try not to laugh at that reaction, I say, “Then we have no games until the twenty-eighth, but then we hit the road for a week for four away games in a row. We won’t get back until January third.”

Our pitcher is delivered, and I fill both our glasses. She takes two long sips and says, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but your schedule seriously sucks.”

“Yeah, but at least the game on Christmas is at home and it’s early. I can still make Christmas dinner. What about you?” I ask, a little deflated at her reaction to my work schedule.

“I’m off so my mom is cooking. They’re going to Canada to see family for New Year’s, so I’m on my own since I told them I don’t want to go.”

“I guess you’ll be drinking that expensive champagne on your own couch on New Year’s Eve,” I tell her. I’d give anything to be there, but I’ll be in Oklahoma City and then I fly to Toronto from there.

She pouts, and part of me wishes it was because she’s disappointed about me not being there.

“What about Christmas Eve?” she asks.

“No game.” I told my sister I’d be home, but I can always get out of that and show up on Christmas after the game.

“Okay, hear me out.” She finishes her drink and reaches for the water. “Besties Christmas Eve.” She waits for me to react. “Food, presents, and television. No drama. No family. Are you in? I’ll cook.” I can imagine it now, and it’s the first time in years that I’m looking forward to a holiday. “High five. Right here,” she says, and I hit her hand.

“Your place or mine?” I ask.

“Um, mine. Yours is not festive at all. And I’m cooking. All you have to do is bring yourself.”

“Okay, deal, but we’re also having besties New Year’s, but it’s going to be on the third. My place. I’m not cooking, but you’ll be fed.”

“It just so happens, I’m off until the fifth, so that works perfectly.”

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