Page 5 of Friend Zoned

“Oh, really? I’ve never heard of such a thing. What does this tell you?” She reaches for a chocolate covered strawberry, but at the last minute, she moves her hand and takes one wrapped in white chocolate.

Her eyes light up in mischief, and I’m left wondering if she’s trying to tell me something with her choice.

Calm down, Aiden. She doesn’t see you as white chocolate.

“Or this?” She takes a piece of yellow cake. “And this?” She grabs a puffy thing, and I realize I have no idea what it is. “And this decadent piece of chocolate cake. Do tell, Coach,” she challenges. She’s completely transformed from the girl that was detached and engrossed in a book at a wedding. She’s happy and playful now. She takes the strawberry and bites it, and I will myself not to groan.

I fill my own plate and follow her to the table where I take the seat directly across from her. “That chocolate covered strawberry tells me you’re sweet but have a naughty side.”

She looks up at me, clearly unimpressed. “That’s it? I haven’t been called naughty since the third grade.”

“And what did you do?”

“It was someone’s birthday and we had cupcakes. We were each given one, but there were extras, though not enough so that everyone else could have two. Well, that wasn’t going to stop me, so when Sister Mary Francine had her back turned, I snatched one. She turned around just as I grabbed it and ordered me to put it back, but I didn’t. I shoved the entire thing in my mouth. To this day, I have no regrets.” She chuckles at the memory. “I’m serious about my cupcakes, but you’ve got to do better than naughty.” She leans back in the chair and stares at me.

“Oh, there’s more,” I tell her.

“I hope so.” She bites into another and moans.

I scratch my head and pretend to think. “That chocolate cake tells me that you like chocolate.” She rolls her eyes at me. “And lemon cake means you like sour things. I’m not sure what this puffy thing is.” I reach over, grab it and eat it. Her eyes widen in shock right before she bursts into laughter. “I still have no idea what it is, but it was good.”

She tries to reach for one of my strawberries, but I move it aside.

“You are terrible at this. I bet you’re not a football coach at all,” she says.

“And you would be right.”

“You’re probably the water boy.”

I put both hands to my chest and pretend to be offended. I dig inside my jacket pocket, pull out my wallet, and hand her one of my cards.

“See that? Aiden Walsh, general manager and head coach for the Manhattan Mischiefs.” She eyes the card, moving her head to the side as if she’s debating on what to say next.

“Walsh? You’re not a Walsh Group Walsh, are you?” She smirks and looks me in the eyes. Then she giggles as if the idea is absurd.

“I’ll have you know, I’m the heir apparent. I’m very much one of those Walshes,” I tell her. “In fact, I amtheWalsh.”

“Oh, right,” she snorts. “I bet you are, Mr. Heir Apparent. Is that what they call you?”

“Nope. They call me Aid.” She snorts again, takes a drink, and laughs uncontrollably. Her face flushes and she fans herself with her hands to calm down.

“Um, sure. Last time I checked, Katherine W. Pierce is the heir apparent, or whatever. She runs things.”

“Oh, you mean my big sister? I’ll tell her you said hi.” She rolls her eyes and waves me away. “Be nice. I’m going to run things with her one day soon. And the W stands for Walsh.”

“Oh, yes, sir.” She gives me a fake salute. “I don’t think Katherine is one to share her title.”

“Have you met her?” I ask.

“No, but I did see the back of her head once. She’s definitely an alpha female and one hell of a boss. We are always fully staffed. New hires are trained before starting. I have tons of vacation time, and not that I know from personal experience, but the maternity leave is very generous, and the company heavily subsidizes daycare. All of this started after she took over from her father. I think there might be protests if there’s even a hint of change. Your big sister is the best.” She puts big sister in air quotes then looks at my card and flips it over. “I’ve seen her father. You look nothing like Roger Walsh. I think you better stick to football”

“Basketball,” I tell her. “Read the card.” And she’s wrong. I do look like my father. We have the same face structure and eyes. The only difference between us is that I’m about ten inches taller than he is. Neither of my parents is especially tall, but my sister and I are.

“Anyone can make cards on the internet these days,” she says. “And for the record, I don’t like chocolate. I only took this to prove you wrong.” She sticks her tongue at me, and I get the image of sucking it into my mouth.

“In that case,” I reach over and take the cake before biting it. “Mine. And you just ate chocolate covered strawberries.”

“I prefer white chocolate.” I start to cough at her words. I’m sure she’s talking about the food and not trying to be sexual, but now she’s put another image in my mind. “And regular chocolate is good too but only if it’s mixed with something else.”

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