Page 3 of The Friend Zone
Omar: I’ll come get you at seven.
Tracy: I’ll wear those heels you like.
Omar bit his lip, imagining her long, cinnamon-toned legs in the strappy sandals. He was a leg man, and every time he observed a woman in three-inch heels or higher, he couldn’t help but admire the sexy arch in the line of their calves.
Omar: Do and you might get laid.
Tracy: I hope so. [wink emoji]
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” he called, glancing up.
The door opened, and the woman who entered made him immediately lose interest in the text conversation.
“Well, look who’s here,” Omar said, setting down the phone.
She grinned at him.
Dana Lindstrom. His friend. His buddy.
The one woman he couldn’t have.
2
Damn, she looked good today. But when didn’t she? Whether she wore makeup or went barefaced, she was a vision.
Dana was an earthy, plus-size goddess in a sky-blue, ankle-length maxi and toe sandals. Colorful bracelets encircled her wrists, and large colorful earrings—which she at one time told him were ‘statement’ earrings—hung from her ears.
Today she wore her waist length dreadlocks piled on top of her head in his favorite style, which emphasized the beauty of her face and showed off the tattoo on the back of her neck. From the top to the base, the ladder of motivational words was a succinct embodiment of exactly who Dana was.
Still I rise.
I rise.
I rise.
I rise.
“How was Chicago?” he asked, getting up from behind the desk.
He pulled Dana into a warm hug, her soft body settling against his in a comfortable way, and took a deep breath. She always smelled so good—vibrant and refreshing, as if she showered in citrus juices.
“Chicago was Chicago,” she replied dismissively, tipping back her head to look up at him with bright brown eyes.
Omar changed the subject because her parents were a sore topic. “What did you bring me?”
“Is that the only reason you’re happy to see me?” she asked.
“Now you know better than that.”
If she knew the truth, she’d probably slap him. He shouldn’t be thinking about his friend naked. So he told himself but couldn’t control his thoughts. For years, he squashed his feelings for Dana because deep down he knew he wasn’t her type. Frankly, she was too good for him—smart as hell and generous to a fault.
Dana lifted a tin of Garrett’s popcorn from the tote she brought in. “Pecan caramel crisp. Don’t eat it all at once.”
“Challenge accepted,” he said, taking the container.
“That wasn’t a challenge, you nut. Idon’twant you to eat it all at once.”
