Page 9 of Friend Zoned

“Can I wobble? Greenwich, what do you think?”

Chapter 5

Jeannie

It’s been six days, and we’ve texted every day. Nothing serious, just silly little things and memes. Mostly dancing memes. It’s midday, and I haven’t heard from him, but he did say he’s flying to Orlando today for an away game.

We were the last two people to leave the dance floor. We partied and laughed until the DJ left. The last half hour, only love songs were played, and I can still feel the strong beat of his heart while he held me against his body.

“Thanks for keeping me company, Coach,” I whisper while gazing into his eyes.

“Best night I’ve had in a long time.” He looks down at me, his brown eyes clear. I press myself into him, and I think I hear him moan. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he opens them again, they’ve darkened. He starts to lower his head, and I stand there, transfixed and eager to see what he does next.

“Jeannie, I’m tired. Time to go.” My mother taps my shoulder, and the moment with the coach is lost.

I hear a knock on my small office door before it’s pushed open. Layla, one of the front desk employees, sticks her head in. “Jeannie, the douchebag is here and is asking to see you.” The douchebag is my ex-husband, and that’s the only way she refers to him.

“Ugh.” I make a face. Layla comes in and closes the door.

“Say the word and I’ll knee him in the balls.” Layla’s like a protective little sister. She’s a pit bull. She lifts her leg, bends her knee, and pretends to hit someone. She’d do it if I gave her the okay.

“Down, girl.” Just as I’m about to tell her to let him in, my phone vibrates and it’s a FaceTime call from Aiden.

“Tell him I’m on a call and to wait. I’ll call the front desk when I’m ready for him.” Whatever bullshit he wants to throw at me today, I’m not in the mood for it. Layla nods and leaves my office. Once the door is closed, I answer the FaceTime call.

“Hey, Coach,” I say to him. A few of the rowdy guys from the wedding are standing behind him. One of them must hear my voice because his face fills the screen. It’s the baby-faced guy who goes by Wakowski, but Aiden grabs the phone from him.

“We’re about to take off.”

“Are you on a private plane?”

“That’s how I roll,” he says.

“When do you get back?”

“Tomorrow night. What are you doing this weekend?” My heart rate picks up at that question.

“It’s my weekend to work.” There’s a commotion on the plane, and he says he’ll call me later. Once the call ends, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever crap Quintin wants to bring down on me today.

A few minutes later, he slithers in without knocking, and I ask myself how I was so blind and dumb as to pledge to spend my life with this guy. He’s of average height, about an inch shy of six feet. He’s in a dark gray suit, but it’s definitely not bespoke like the one Aiden wore on Saturday. Quintin’s is clearly off the rack, and it looks it.

I have a small office, barely the size of a broom closet. I don’t offer him a seat, but he plops himself on the chair that I keep in front of my desk.

He looks like he’s going to drop some shit in my lap, though I can’t imagine what. Our divorce is final, and the coup de gras was getting the apartment that was in his family for years. He was so angry about that and has had an ax to grind ever since. Unfortunately for him, there’s nothing he can do or say that will have any effect on me.

My phone vibrates, and it’s a text from Greenwich. He sends me three pictures of the private plane. The last picture is of a cupcake with buttercream frosting.

Me: Stop. I’m still detoxing from the other night

I wait for the three bubbles to pop up indicating that he’s replying, but they don’t come. I forget Quintin is there until he clears his throat. I put the phone face down and open the work email on my desktop.

“What, Quintin?”

He leaves the chair and sits on the corner of my desk. When the scent of his cologne hits, it makes me nauseous.

“How are you doing? How’s the apartment?” I hear the smugness in his voice, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of getting angry.

“It’s fine.” It’s fine now, but he removed all the appliances and wrote expletives all over the walls in black paint. He also left holes in the walls and destroyed the bathroom. The place is still a work in progress.

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