The Friend Zone
Delaney Diamond
Garden Avenue Press
Contents
Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Also by Delaney Diamond
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About the Author
Blurb
Their friendship is strong. Their attraction is stronger.
For years, English professor Dana Lindstrom has been crushing on her friend, ex-NFL football player Omar Bradford. When another man sparks her interest, she embarks on a new relationship to help her get over those feelings for Omar.
To Omar, Dana is a prize he’s held at arm’s length for years, stifling his long-held feelings for her to preserve their close relationship. When Dana’s new love interest stirs intense jealousy, he’ll risk their friendship to show her once and for all he’s the only man she’ll ever need.
The Friend Zone by Delaney Diamond
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Copyright © July 2021, Delaney Diamond
Garden Avenue Press
Atlanta, Georgia
ISBN: 978-1-946302-48-9 (Ebook edition)
ISBN: 978-1-946302-50-2 (Paperback edition)
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Cover photography: Jazmin Quaynor
Cover model: Jazmin Quaynor
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This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and e-mail, without prior written permission from Delaney Diamond.
www.delaneydiamond.com
1
“Throw it to me, Daddy!” Prince screamed, jumping up and down.
Omar pretended to search among the group of screaming little boys for the right receiver, stepped back, and then tossed the Nerf football underhand to his four-year-old son. Prince caught it against his chest and took off running with five boys and girls around the same age racing after him. When he crossed into the end zone, he spiked the ball in the cutest way and did his rendition of the Falcons’ Dirty Bird dance.
“That’s my boy!” Omar hollered. He raced over and swept up Prince in his arms, spinning them in a circle.
Giggling, Prince flung his little arms around his father’s neck. Patting him on the butt, Omar placed him on the ground.
“Good job. All right, guys, I gotta get some work done. Miss Julianne is going to take over.”
A series of disappointed moans went up from the group.
“I’ll catch you all another day,” Omar promised.
“See you later, Daddy!” Green eyes gazed up at him in adoration.
“Later, big man.”
After a quick fist bump, Omar strolled across the playground, past the basketball court, toward the front where landscapers were cutting and edging the grass surrounding the white brick, one-story building he purchased four years ago. He hadn’t been inside since he pulled up earlier, going straight out to the playground because his son wanted to see his friends.
Bradford Enterprises, only five minutes away, was located in a multiple-story building with a sleek glass exterior and was the headquarters for his business ventures, which included real estate development and investing in new and upcoming companies. But this place, the Omar Bradford Foundation, was his baby. The passion project provided all types of assistance but was best known for focusing on kids through mentorship programs, holiday gift-giving, and funding college scholarships.
Inside the building, two eight-year-olds dashed through the lobby, giggling and laughing.
“Hey, hey!” Omar’s arm shot out and grabbed the boy in front. “No running in the building. You know better.”
“Sorry, Mr. Bradford,” they sang.
Typical kids, they continued laughing and jostling each other as they speed-walked down the hall toward the back, probably headed to the playground.
Shaking his head, Omar walked up to the front desk. “Afternoon, Jay. What’s good?”
Tall and lanky, with close-cropped hair and a narrow face, Jay had been among the first group of teens when Omar initially set up the mentoring sessions at his foundation. Back then, he’d been a scruffy-looking fifteen-year-old whose mother was at her wits end because he’d been fighting at school, and his grades plummeted as a result.
When Omar hadn’t been at practice or playing a game, he spent as much time as he could with him. During those hours, he learned about Jay’s insecurities and the anger he experienced after his parents divorced and his father moved to another state.
Now in his mid-twenties and wearing a crisp white shirt and tie, Jay was the face of the Omar Bradford Foundation, the person who greeted people who entered the building looking for help. Because he went from being one of the attendees to working at the foundation, his unique perspective made him empathetic to the parents and young people who walked through the door seeking help.
“I’m all right on this beautiful Monday afternoon. How you doing?” Jay asked.
“All right. You watch the playoffs this weekend?”
“Of course. I think the Hawks can go all the way this year, man.”
“You dreaming, bruh. I’m pretty sure my Knicks are going, though.” Omar had lived in Atlanta since he started for the Falcons, but after eleven years he still rooted for his hometown team.
“You dreaming, bruh,” Jay said with a laugh.
“Need I remind you who has two NBA championships?”
“From a long time ago, though, and no worries, we’re coming up. Watch, you’ll see.”
“Uh-huh, keep dreaming.”
Omar went toward the back offices and knocked on the door of the executive director.
“Come in,” she called.
Inside, his mother sat behind her desk flipping through papers. The open blinds to the left of the desk let in the sun’s rays and gave a view of the roadway alongside the property.
“Hey, Ma.”
“Hey, pumpkin,” his mother replied, looking at him over her glasses.
Dorothy Bradford had been calling him pumpkin since he was a kid and hadn’t stopped once, much to his chagrin. But how could he be mad at her? They were practically twins. Everyone said he looked like his mother because of their similar face shape, caramel-toned skin, and green eyes. Though while he was baldheaded, she kept her naturally curly hair trimmed in a short fade.
Without a doubt, the best decision he ever made for the foundation was relocating his parents from New York and giving her the executive director position. For years, she worked in sales for a high-end jewelry store, rising all the way to regional manager before retiring. During that time, she acquired the gift of persuasion through simply talking to people and getting to know them, a skill she used often in her role as executive director of his foundation. She worked well with the board of directors, and in the past two years her ability to talk donors out of millions was indispensable.
/> “Billie left early for a doctor’s appointment,” Dorothy continued, referring to their office manager. “But she placed correspondence on your desk that you should take a look at. One of the vendors from the kid’s carnival a couple of weeks ago wants to get on our approved vendors list. I think they’re fine, but I know you like to take a close look at that kind of thing because we’ll be attaching the foundation’s name to theirs. Let me know what you want to do. The AJC also did a really nice write up about us. They talked about the number of people our scholarship program has helped attend two and four-year colleges. I left a copy on your desk. You should frame it.”
The Atlanta Journal Constitution, or the AJC as Atlantans called it, was the only major daily newspaper in metro Atlanta. “I’ll take a look when I go into my office.”
Dorothy stood and picked up her clutch. She wore a tailored green dress and a green and purple scarf fashionably tied around her neck. “I’m on my way to a meeting with a donor prospect. Are you coming by for dinner anytime this week? I thought moving here meant I’d see more of my son, but it seems I see you less than when I lived in New York.”
“Real subtle, Ma.”
His mother had no qualms about making him feel guilty for not spending more time with her and his father. He saw her every Monday when he stopped by the foundation and regularly dropped off Prince to spend time with them, but he was pretty sure even if he went over to their house every night, she would still complain about not seeing him enough.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying, we hardly see you.”
“How about I come by for Sunday dinner?”
“Perfect,” she said, eyes lighting up with excitement. “I’ll make your favorite. Short ribs and mac and cheese.”
He could already taste the tender meat and the smoky macaroni and cheese dish. “Could you make a tomato pie too? I haven’t eaten one in a long time.”
“I certainly can.” Dorothy looked very pleased with his request. She spoiled the men in the family with her delicious meals. “I’ll see you later,” she said, breezing by him out the door.
Omar made his way down the quiet hall to his own office located in the very back corner. Because he didn’t spend much time here, the room was small and sparsely furnished with a single desk, a file cabinet, and a couple of chairs. He crossed the carpeted floor and sank into his one splurge, a very nice, copper-colored leather chair from a master craftsman in North Carolina, worth every bit of the three thousand dollars he spent on it.
The foundation had received a number of awards throughout the years, and several of them hung on the wall, but the rest of the certificates and trophies were on full display in the entrance for visitors to see.
From in here, he observed volunteers watching his son and the other kids on the playground. The foundation provided after-school care for parents who couldn’t afford it, and in the summer, they offered daycare services and meals. There was plenty to keep the kids preoccupied during the day, including tutoring sessions, a game room, and outdoor activities. Beyond the playground was the baseball diamond, and a basketball court was visible from Billie’s office on the other side of the building.
Omar reviewed the correspondence right away and then read the glowing article, pleased the non-profit he started his first year in the league received such high praise.
When his phone beeped, he glanced at the screen.
Tracy: Hi
He grinned. He met Tracy a couple of months ago at Avery’s Juke Joint with friends. She was a model who hadn’t hit the big time yet, but last he heard from her she was in Miami on a shoot, exactly three weeks ago.
Omar: wyd?
Tracy: Nothing.
Omar: Got plans this weekend?
Tracy: Maybe.
He liked that she wasn’t easy. Being a bit of a challenge and teasing him made their interactions more exciting.
Omar: Got an invite to a new restaurant opening on Fri. But if ur busy…
Tracy: My schedule suddenly opened up.
He chuckled softly to himself.
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. I don’t want you to eat it all at once.”
“Try to stop me.” Omar popped the lid and stuffed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Damn, this is good,” he said with his mouth full.
He could easily order the snack online, but Dana was thoughtful and always took care of others. Without fail, each time she returned from Chicago she brought him back a tin.
Shaking her head in mock disgust, she sat in the chair in front of his desk and crossed her legs. “What did I miss while I was gone for a week?”
“Nothing. Except this. My mother gave it to me today.” He handed her the article and then sat in his chair to watch her reaction. While she read, he continued snacking.
“This is wonderful, Omar. You’re getting the recognition you deserve.”
He could always count on Dana to praise him and give an encouraging word. She handed back the article, and he returned it to the folder.
“Thanks. You have plans this weekend? I’m going over to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner.”
“I know Mrs. Bradford is happy she’ll have her pumpkin with her on Sunday.”
“Cut that shit out. Are you free or not?” Omar said irritably.
Dana giggled, her eyes lighting up, and her full lips slanting upward. She was beautiful, but in an understated way. She didn’t bring attention to herself by wearing flashy clothes but exhibited her own compelling style.
They met six years ago when he chaperoned a group of seniors, on a Georgia Piedmont Technical College campus tour arranged by his foundation. He chaperoned that day because his scheduled volunteer had canceled.
He met Dana halfway through the tour, a funny and direct English instructor with rich brown skin and dreadlocks. She was one of the few who chatted with the kids in detail about the opportunities afforded by a technical college in lieu of a four-year institution. She discussed English composition and American literature and explained the benefits of the humanities, though most of the kids planned to go into specialized fields.
With two rings in her nose—one in her septum and the other in her left nostril—she’d been so different from the rest of the staff that he was immediately drawn to her spirit and sense of humor. He’d be a liar if he didn’t admit to also being attracted to the fullness of her curves. He dated all kinds of women but always appreciated a woman with meat on her bones, and she caught his eye right away. At the time, however, he’d been in a serious relationship.
“Unfortunately, I’m not free on Sunday. Tamika, Layla, and I are going up to Lion Mountain Vineyards in Dahlonega. Layla thinks it’s a great place for Tamika’s wedding, so we’re going to check it out.”
“Damn, I need someone to be a buffer between my mother and father always asking questions about my love life. Shit gets old,” Omar grumbled.
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