“Yes, I understand,” she said quietly.
The hurt in her voice tore at him because at one time he had loved her and planned to marry her. She somehow managed to make him feel guilty though he was simply telling her the truth and setting boundaries for their relationship—boundaries she tried to circumvent at random times.
“Anything else?” Omar asked.
“No. I’ll let you know if I decide to come to Atlanta.”
“Sounds good. Talk to you later.” Omar hung up before she could say another word.
7
“What are you doing here?” Dana asked.
Omar stood on her doorstep.
Pursing his lips, he slowly shook his head. “You did forget.”
Hair piled on her head and glasses perched on her nose, Dana stared at him in confusion and then gasped, covering her mouth. “Game night.”
“Yeah, game night.”
His gaze assessed her oversized shirt, leggings, and socks. “Please tell me you forgot, because if you’re going dressed like that...”
“Hush.” Dana swung away from the door and dashed over to the sofa where she’d been engrossed in her story.
After getting stuck on a scene for over an hour, she’d left the desk and moved to the sofa with a notebook and pen. One of the books she purchased at the bookstore suggested writing long hand to get rid of writer’s block. The tip worked, and she quickly wrote ten pages as the words poured out of her.
“What were you doing?” Omar asked.
“Writing.”
Dana scraped up her notebook and pen and dumped them on the desk in the corner. Then she turned off the computer and faced him. Of course he looked magnificent, filling the room with his presence in dark slacks and a black, fitted polo shirt lying like a second skin over the contours of his chest.
“Give me fifteen—no, twenty minutes—and I’ll be ready to go.”
Omar pulled out his phone, and she knew he was setting his timer.
“Is that really necessary?” Dana grumbled as she hurried past him and headed for the stairs.
“You do it to me, I do it to you,” he said, amusement in his voice. “You have twenty minutes.” He held up the face of his phone so she could see the countdown had begun.
She shot a nasty glare in his direction, and a burst of laughter left his throat before she raced up the stairs.
Luckily, she didn’t have to shower, so she should be able to meet the twenty-minute deadline. After screwing up because she forgot about their plans, she’d never hear the end of it if she was late. They mercilessly teased each other at the slightest shortcoming.
Dana ditched her glasses and changed bras, putting on a black one that lifted her bosom. Then she wiggled into a black, open-bust bodysuit and buttoned her figure-clinging denim dress, leaving the top button undone to give a hint of the great cleavage created by the bra.
She kept her hair piled on her head but added large gold earrings. With lipstick, a little mascara, and a pair of white tennis shoes, she was ready to go with minutes to spare.
She grabbed her cross-body bag and ran downstairs. “I’m ready—”
To her surprise, Omar sat on the sofa with her notebook in hand and was reading the words on the page. He looked up, and before he said a word, there was a pregnant pause as his gaze scanned her appearance. She couldn’t define what she saw in his expression, but his eyelids lowered, as if to hide his thoughts, and heat burst onto her cheeks and neck.
Dana snatched away the book. “You can’t read my story.”
Omar brought his gaze—almost reluctantly—from her chest up to her eyes. “Why not?”
“Because it’s a rough, rough draft.”
He stood up and towered over her. “Give it back. I’m not finished.”
“I didn’t give you permission to read my work,” Dana said, holding the notebook behind her and backing toward the far wall.
“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”
“I am now.”
“Too late.”
Her back hit the wall, and he didn’t stop coming. He stepped right up to her, crowding her against the Sheetrock.
“Give it,” he said, holding out one hand.
“Nope.” She stared up at him in defiance.
Their eyes locked in a silent battle.
“I’m going to count to three,” he warned.
“You can count all you want,” Dana said, trying desperately to ignore the pleasing scent of sandalwood invading her nostrils.
“One.”
“This is my work. You need my permission to read it.” She rolled the book into a cylinder and tightened her fingers around it, fighting the urge to raise up on tiptoe and press her nose into his neck.
“Two.”
“What exactly do you plan to do, huh? I’m going to fight you.”
“Three,” Omar said with finality.
He tugged her toward him and her breasts smashed into his chest. Dana let out a low screech filled with alarm but also the thrill of excitement. Omar reached behind her, and she twisted to avoid his hands, but his reach was long. He grabbed her wrists and forcibly curled her arms in front of her body. Darn, he was strong.
He easily tugged away the notebook. “Thank you,” he said.
“Give it back!” Dana jumped, but he held it above her head out of reach.
“I only have a few more pages to go.”
He walked calmly back to the sofa, as easy as you please, while she stayed in the same spot for a few seconds, trying to get her shallow breathing under control because being so close to him deeply affected her. He, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine.
She settled on the other end of the sofa and watched him read with a knot in her stomach. His expressions alternated between a blank face and deep frowns.
When he finished, he set down the book.
“Did she kill her husband?” he asked.
“I’m not saying.”
“Damn, what an opening. Excellent.” He placed the book in the space between them.
“Really?”
Dana was so self-conscious about her work, she never let anyone read her stories. She guarded them like the gold at Fort Knox, so his compliment meant a lot.
“Hell, yeah. You know I don’t read much, but your story kept my attention.”
“You’re biased because I’m your friend.”
“You’ve known me long enough to know I wouldn’t pay you a compliment if I didn’t mean it. It’s a really strong start.”
Dana let out a quiet breath of relief. He was her cheerleader. She wasn’t allowed to doubt herself in his presence. He also spoiled her—as much as she let him. She was so used to taking care of others and spending on others, but he didn’t hesitate to take care of her in small ways—dinners out, tickets to events.
For years, she toyed with the idea of attending a writing retreat but didn’t know if she was good enough. Maybe she didn’t need to be so worried after all.
“I’ve done research on writing retreats, and I’m thinking about attending one in Colorado. For two weeks, I and other aspiring writers would get to work with one of the best writing coaches in the business.”
“You sound like you’re not sure you want to go,” Omar said.
“I do want to go.”
“Then do it.”
With airfare, lodging, food, and the training, the trip cost thousands of dollars. She didn’t want to admit her concerns about spending so much money. What if an emergency came up?
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Omar studied her for a minute, then he said, “You have to do things for yourself too, Dana.”
“Yes, I know. You’ve told me a thousand times.”
“Then why don’t you? In all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never seen you take a real vacation. Every year, you go back to Chicago and spend time with your parents, and you take a short trip here and there, like the time you went to DC with Layla. But that’s it.”
/>
“Can we skip the lecture tonight?” Dana stood, ready to go.
He remained seated. “Dana—”
“I know you don’t understand, but not everyone has a bunch of cash lying around, and you know I don’t have only myself to think about. Tommy or Theresa might need help, and if I splurge on the trip, they’ll have to do without.”
“Splurge? The retreat isn’t a splurge, Dana. You want to be a writer, and it takes work. You should be able to take the necessary steps if you want or need to.” Omar looked steadily at her. “You’re not their mother,” he said quietly.
She and Omar were alike because neither wanted kids. Though he already had a son whom he loved, he didn’t want any more children and got a vasectomy soon after. Meanwhile, she made the decision a long time ago to be child-free but still felt responsible for her younger siblings.
“No, I’m not their mother, but I don’t want them to go through what I did. I want them to see the world and have amazing life experiences, and if I can help, I want to. They shouldn’t be stuck the way I was, having to live vicariously through characters in a book!”
She became emotional when she thought about her upbringing. No, Tommy and Theresa weren’t her kids, but there was nothing wrong with helping them financially, and no real difference between what she did for them and Omar taking care of his parents, buying them a house, or investing in his brother’s failed businesses.
The only difference was, his bank account was larger than hers.
Omar pushed up off the sofa. “Let me pay for your trip.”
She suspected he’d say that. “No.”
“Dana, we’re friends, and I can afford it.”
“I can afford it too. When the time is right.”
“Would you let me—”
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore! Can we go have fun? Please?”
Omar rubbed a palm over his bald head as if exhausted from the conversation. “Fine. The conversation is over. For now.” He looked pointedly at her.
Dana gladly accepted the temporary reprieve, and they left her townhouse. Omar opened the door for her, and she climbed into the Escalade.
It was her favorite of his vehicles. He loaned it to her for a week once when her car was in the shop, and she’d been spoiled by the roomy interior, the high-end sound system, and the navigation screen. There was even a console refrigerator where she had kept chilled water and juice while running errands around town. Man, she missed this car.
She watched him circle the front and climb in, and they took off. Omar drove with one hand on the wheel and eyes trained on the traffic before him. Because of their brief argument, an awkward silence filled the car.
To ease the tension, Dana asked, “How was dinner at your parents’?”
He glanced at her. “I survived,” he replied.
He was talking to her. A good sign.
“They didn’t give you too much of a hard time about your love life?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, which meant they were definitely in a better place than ten minutes ago.
“Nah, they were on their best behavior. Interesting enough, so was Cole. There’s a tiny chance he and I might be able to have a better relationship. My dad invited him to go golfing with us, and he accepted.”
“Wow, progress.”
“We’ll see. Keep your fingers crossed for me.”
“How was the restaurant opening?”
Stroking his bearded chin, Omar replied, “A mixed bag. Good energy, but they weren’t ready for the crowd. Food tasted fine, but the service was terrible. I think the owners underestimated how much staff they needed, so the food came out of the kitchen slowly, and they brought me the wrong dish for dinner. I ate it, though, because by then I was starving. I got someone’s salmon and somebody got my trout. The whole experience made me think about Kitchen Love and how I need to make sure we have plenty of staff to handle service opening night.”
“Better to have too many people than not enough.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes.
“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” Dana asked.
He let out a little laugh, and the same corner of his mouth curled into a smile, while he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She wondered if he had any idea how sexy he looked.
“You know I can’t stay mad at you.”
His voice had dipped low and vibrated in the air, leaving her skin peppered with goosebumps. She smoothed a hand over her thigh to negate the effect and hide the trembling of her fingers.
“I appreciate your offer to pay for my trip, and if my situation changes, I’ll let you know.”
He nodded slowly. “I’d do anything for you. I hope you know that.” He kept his eyes on the road, but she didn’t miss the gravity of his words.
“I do.”
8
Deon and his wife Rebecca lived in a multi-million-dollar home in an affluent Buckhead neighborhood filled with more multi-million-dollar homes. Their brown, Tudor-style house seemed to rise up out of the concrete at the end of a long driveway brightened by landscape lights and lights in every window.
Game night at their house included a spades tournament with a one-hundred-dollar buy-in. Last time Omar covered his and Dana’s fee, and when they emerged the victors, he split the sixteen-hundred-dollar cash prize evenly with her. While the money was merely pocket change to him, Dana used her winnings to help Tommy and Theresa cover school expenses.
The basement of Deon’s house was crowded, but as soon as they walked in, Dana spotted the host. During the off-season, the showy athlete had dyed his hair blond, in sharp contrast to his mahogany skin.
“Look who’s here. The tournament champs!” Deon bellowed as soon as he spotted them.
He came over, and he and Omar greeted each other with a complicated dap, slapping their palms together, snapping, and ending with a fist bump.
“I’m coming for your trophy,” Deon said, briefly hugging Dana.
“You can have the trophy when you pry it out of my cold, dead hands,” Dana said.
“Oh damn, she already talking shit. It’s on, baby, it’s on!” Deon hollered.
Dana and Omar laughed at his antics and then made their way over to the cashier. Omar paid the one-hundred-dollar fee and so did Dana. Afterward, they snacked on heavy hors d’oeuvres but limited the amount of liquor they drank so they could keep clear heads.
Guests crowded around the roulette table, played cards, or chatted at the bar. The company catering the event supplied servers who took food and beverage orders from the guests, and anyone not playing a game sat at the tables eating or hovered near the bar chatting and drinking.
When the spades tournament started, four teams participated, half as many as last time. Walking over to their table, Omar whispered, “We’re going to kick their asses.”
“Most definitely,” Dana agreed.
They were both competitive and being the defending champs fueled adrenaline in their veins.
They sat across from each other, and after the dealer distributed the cards, Dana examined hers and looked at Omar.
“How many you want to bid?” he asked.
“I have four and a possible,” she said.
He nodded, a grin spreading across his face. “I have four.”
“Nine,” they said in unison.
Not only were they competitive, they were so in tune, they practically read each other’s mind.
The game started, cards dropping quickly in the center of the table because of the ten-second rule. Omar and Dana ended up with the nine books as expected, but the last one was a bit of a fluke. Dana looked at the cards and shook her head, and when her ten of diamonds walked, the players and the spectators hooted and hollered.
“Goddammit!” said her opponent to the right.
She and Omar cackled and high-fived over the table and then prepped for the next game.
Over the course of the night, two teams were eliminated, l
eaving Dana and Omar and two brothers—Mario and Jayson. Earlier, the brothers won their game with a flourish, with Mario standing up from the table and slamming down the winning card. They were as cocky as Dana and Omar, but she was certain they could beat them.
The final game began with a lot of tension. Dana and Omar eyed each other across the table, carefully bidding each hand as a small crowd of spectators encircled them to watch the final match up. The game was close and essentially came down to the final play, when each team held one card in their hands.
Dana said a silent prayer and played her card, a nine of diamonds. Mario put down a ten of hearts and looked at his brother with hopeful eyes. Omar placed a four of spades on the stack, and Dana inhaled sharply, careful not to smile but crossing her fingers under the table. Could they win again? She sure hoped so. It all depended on the card in Jayson’s hand. She glanced at him and caught the fleeting look of disappointment on his face. Her foot bounced excitedly under the table, and she held her breath.
When Jayson tossed the Ace of diamonds on the table, their audience erupted into a mixture of cheers and groans.
Dana jumped to her feet and screamed, “Yes!” Hands in the air, she danced in a circle while doing a body roll. “We won… we won…” she sang.
Deon shook his head in disgust. “Y’all be cheating, man.”
Omar put him in a headlock. “I’ll take the cash and the trophy before we leave, thank you very much.”
He looked at Dana and grinned.
She grinned back and gave him a fist bump.
Omar and Dana strolled to her front door.
“Deon hates us now,” he said.
“I know. Did you hear his crazy self when he said he was going to ban us from coming to his game night?”
“I heard him,” Omar laughed.
At the door, Dana held the gold trophy above her head and then slowly lowered it to her lips. Omar chuckled at her theatrics.
The Friend Zone Page 4