Page 7 of Friend Zoned

“The lovely bride vouched for me.”

She shrugs. “Okay, I’ll give you that point. I guess you are a big, bad football coach."

“Damn right, only it’s basketball.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” she says.

“Except it’s not. I’ve proven myself, but how do I know you really work at The Pierre? Maybe your real job is escorting your mother around to social events.”

“You’re not wrong. It’s like a part time job that I don’t get paid for, but here you go.” She grabs that godawful purse, rummages through it, and hands me a business card. Jeanine Dubois, Assistant General Manager. It has a business phone number and email address but no cell.

“This is definitely from VistaPrint.” I make sure to put the card in my pocket, but now that I know her full name, I can easily find her. “So, do you work weekends?” She reaches for a white chocolate covered strawberry.

“One weekend a month. How about you?”

“All the time. I travel a lot too.” That’s always been a problem whenever I’ve tried to have a relationship. The women always say they understand at first, but a few months in, they want more time. Basketball has always come first before everything else.

“But it’s your passion, right? That must make it worth it.” I pick up one of those pastry things, but she grabs it from my hand and shoves it in her mouth. “Revenge!” she announces.

“There’s three more.” I point to the plate.

“Yeah, but I wanted the one you had. Makes it taste better.” She moans loudly, and I imagine picking her up and dragging her into a far, dark corner and giving her another reason to moan.

“How about this? We eat this dessert, and then we burn off the calories on the dancefloor.” I jerk my thumb behind me.

She looks around me and whistles. “You think you can keep up with those frat boys you coach?”

I turn to find Wakowski in the middle of the dance floor doing a moonwalk and dancing like Michael Jackson.

“I’m pretty sure, but maybe you can’t.”

“Oh, is that a challenge? Check this out.” She starts to slowly move her arms, doing a great robot.

“Oh, please.” I do my own robot, and she looks at me, clearly impressed.

“I’m a black girl from Brooklyn,” she says as if that’s supposed to have some deep meaning.

“I’m a white boy from Greenwich,” I tell her. What I don’t say is that my mother made sure I had professional dance lessons.

“Greenwich? The one that’s in Connecticut?” She giggles.

“The one and the same.”

“Your street cred game must be strong.” She does her best to suppress her smile but fails.

“Damn right. And by the way, that’s south-central Greenwich.”

“It’s on then. I think it’s timeyouget coached.” She stuffs a piece of cake in her mouth and stands with her mouth still full. “Let’s do this.” She grabs my arms, and I jump from my seat. The dance floor is full now, and an upbeat song comes on.

“The invert,” she says. “Dance off, Greenwich.” She starts to move, popping her body back and forth. I mirror her movements but add my own spin. She opens her mouth in shock, clearly surprised and impressed.

The song changes and an old school rap song comes on.

“Oh, you’re about to go down,” she says. She takes off her shoes and kicks them to the side. Lil Jon starts to rap, and Jeannie gets in my space. “I can get real low,” she yells over the music. She starts to dance, slowly gyrating. It’s all pretty tame at first, then she turns, gives me her back, and starts to lower her body while twerking her behind.

I start to dance behind her, getting as close as possible without allowing our bodies to touch. I succeed until Wakowski bumps into me and my crotch rubs against her ass.

“Coach! When the hell did you learn to dance?” He pushes me away and takes my place behind Jeannie. She faces him, and the two of them start to dance, but I push Wakowski away.

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