“Fine. I have to admit he won me over a teeny tiny bit with the hit on his last album, ‘Without You.’”
“That was written about his wife. Rumor has it, the song got them back together.”
“Let’s hope he keeps his penis in his pants so they can stay together this time,” Dana said dryly.
Omar laughed softly. “I’m staying out of their personal business. I have a complimentary ticket and can invite up to nine people to sit with me in VIP, so you can bring your girlfriends. You in?”
She thought for a moment, then replied, “I’m in. I haven’t been to hear live music in a while, and it might be fun. Can Tamika and Layla bring their fiancés?”
“The more the merrier. Matter of fact, bring your new guy too, since he’s so damn special.”
Dana frowned at his cutting tone. “Okay.”
“By the way, how was your date?”
Tracing her finger down the stem of the wine glass, she replied, “We went on a night time tour of Oakland Cemetery and then went to Six Feet Under for dinner and drinks. It was nice.”
“Nice? You blew me off for nice?”
“I didn’t blow you off,” Dana said defensively.
He actually sounded annoyed, which came as a surprise because Omar was usually pretty chill. What was going on with him?
“You do anything else?” he asked.
She considered the question, wondering if he were fishing for information on whether she’d slept with Sheldon. They never discussed those topics with each other—at least not in detail. She saved the talk of her sexual exploits for her best friends, Tamika and Layla. Talking to Omar about having sex with another man didn’t sit well with her, and she definitely didn’t want to hear about the women he slept with. Besides, she already had a pretty good understanding of his activities and abilities from the details in past online articles.
“Nope,” she replied.
I turned him away at the door because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
“A’ight, well… I’ll see you on Friday night. Maybe we can arrange for you to have more than a nice time.”
Wow, he was really salty tonight. Could he be jealous? If so, was he jealous as a friend who wanted to spend time with her, or as a man who viewed her new beau as competition?
“I appreciate it. Text me the details.” Dana shifted and bumped the caddy with her knee. “Oops.” Her wine glass wobbled, and she grabbed the stem to keep it from falling.
“What happened?”
“I’m in the bath and almost knocked my wine, candle, and phone into the water. That would have been a mess.” She laughed at herself.
There was silence on the other line for a while, then Omar asked, “You’re in the bath… right now?”
She paused at the oddly strained sound of his voice. “Yes.”
“Bubble bath?”
The air evaporated from her lungs. Why was he asking her that? “Yes.”
“You been in the bath the whole time we been talking?” His deep voice went lower as it filled with incredulity.
Her skin prickled, and her heart started racing. “Yes.”
Omar fell silent, but she heard him breathing and stared at the flickering light of the candle, waiting for him to speak. To say something. The entire time, her heart thumped beneath the tightening nipples of her breasts.
“Omar?” she said tentatively.
“I’ll text you as soon as I get off the phone. Good night, Dana.”
“Good ni—”
He was already gone.
When the audiobook automatically came back on, Dana hit Pause. An odd burning sensation lay buried in her chest. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and tried to understand what happened. Half the conversation had been strange. Something just happened between them, right? She wanted to reach for it but was terrified, because what if her feelings were one-sided? What if she imagined the tension, the awkwardness, the peculiar sound of his voice?
She and Omar had been friends for six years and crossed the line only once, but every now and again their interactions became weighted with tension and unspoken words, as if they were each waiting for the other to say—or do—something. Ask a question, make the first move.
Maybe those awkward moments were all in her head. She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t a model or an actress. She wore flats, not heels, and slacks and blouses, not halter tops and mini-skirts.
Mr. Casanova frequently switched sexual partners and was known for having lovers who only said good things about him. Former lovers frequently described him as a gentleman and romantic, and of course there were rumors of his sexual prowess in bed. One source claimed to have passed out from the intensity of an orgasm he gave her. Another claimed he was hung like a horse with the stamina of a bull.
Whatever the truth, Omar had a reputation with the ladies, but no one said a bad word about him, and without a doubt the female population of Atlanta silently thanked his ex for cheating and setting him free. Why would any man, especially an eligible bachelor like Omar, settle for one woman when he could have dozens?
Hesitantly, Dana parted her thighs and slid a hand between her legs. Closing her eyes, she released the soft moan that climbed up her throat as her fingers encountered her hypersensitive flesh. She might not be what he wanted, but her swollen clit betrayed that he was exactly what she wanted.
She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do. She’d masturbated plenty of times but always resisted the urge to let Omar star in her fantasies. This time she held no such reservations. She touched herself, imagining his deep voice, his green eyes, and his sinfully sexy lips touching the slippery, hot flesh between her legs. She imagined caressing his broad, naked shoulders and having his thick thighs slide between hers right before he thrust into her.
Dana lifted a hand to her breasts and finished herself off with a small cry, trembling through the climax—gasping and moaning so loudly the sound echoed against the bathroom walls.
When she finally settled down, her tense muscles relaxed, and she slowly opened her eyes.
“Shit,” she whispered on a pant.
Good as the release was, she suspected nothing could compare to the real thing. She couldn’t continue like this, longing for more and remaining unsatisfied.
She thought about Sheldon and their easy conversation. He didn’t excite her like Omar did, whose six-year head start gave him an advantage, but given enough time, her feelings for Sheldon could grow.
Lifting her glass to her lips, she drained the remnants of wine in one gulp. Then she picked up the phone and dialed Sheldon’s number to invite him to the Friday night concert.
11
“Wait, one more!” Tamika said, lifting her shot glass in the air.
Everyone around the low table groaned. Tamika had already completed two toasts to celebrate the May first test launch of her cosmetic line in stores. She showed them photos of her visiting different stores and posing in selfies next to her products on the shelves.
Her walnut-brown skin glowed with bronzer, and she wore her short pixie brushed into a faux hawk—high on top and tight on the sides—and sat atop her fiancé’s lap. Anton was more subdued than her outgoing personality, making them an interesting study in opposites, but they worked.
“Hurry up!” Dana shouted above the noise, holding up a shot of rum.
The crowd at Hot Vinyl Playhouse was loud as they waited for the main act, T-Murder to take the stage. The drinks were flowing and the animated crowd of mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings grooved to the sounds of the opening act, a cover band playing everything from rap to nineties R&B.
Dana and her friends sat in the balcony in one of two roped off sections with a great view and a dedicated waitress serving their group of eight. Next to Dana on the sofa were Layla and her fiancé Rashad. Beside them in a chair was Tamika on her fiancé’s lap. Jay from Omar’s foundation came with his wife, and they were seated to Dana’s right, with Omar at the end.
She ro
de to the venue with him, and Sheldon was supposed to meet her there, but he hadn’t arrived yet, and her last text went unanswered.
“Okay, damn, I’ll hurry up.” Tamika grinned, eyes alight with laughter. “I just want to say, work hard, believe in your dreams, and don’t let anyone dull your shine!” She screamed the last part.
“Here, here!” they all hollered, and tossed back the shots.
Dana slammed her glass on the table and shivered as the smooth rum coursed down her throat. “Where’s our waitress?” she asked, looking around.
“You want another drink? Long Island iced tea?” Omar asked, standing. The perfect host all night, he made sure everyone was comfortable and having a good time.
“I can wait.”
“Nah, I’ll go to the bar. Anybody else want a drink?”
The others shook their heads.
“One Long Island iced tea coming up,” Omar said, leaving the table.
Dana met Tamika’s eyes, which sparkled with mischief as she simultaneously arched an eyebrow. Dana arched hers right back, silently asking, What?
Tamika stood and signaled with her hands for Dana and Layla to follow. The three went to stand at the railing overlooking the crowd, which also gave them a view of the bar at the bottom right. The floor was crowded, with bistro tables lining the back and guests on their feet, a huddled mass dancing in front of the stage.
Literally two seconds after Omar pulled up to the bar, a woman approached as if she had been waiting for the opportunity all night. Dana couldn’t blame her. His clothes gave him the perfect V-shape. The charcoal gray slacks emphasized his narrow waist and hips, while the white shirt—opened at the top to expose the strong column of his throat—made his chest and back appear broader. The woman batted her eyelashes at him and pouted sexily as she handed over a card, which he tucked into his pants pocket.
“Where’s your new man?” Tamika asked.
“I don’t know. He should have been here by now, or at least called to let me know he can’t come.” She didn’t know if to be annoyed or worried.
“Probably a good thing he’s not here. If you watch Omar any harder, you’re going to bore a hole in his head.”
Was she that obvious? She constantly reflected on the conversation they had while she was in the tub, and the way she made herself come from simply thinking about him.
She shot her friend a lethal glare, similar to the one she levied at students who dared lie about why they couldn’t complete an assignment. “I’m not staring.”
“Sure.”
“I saw you,” Layla interjected. She wore her long hair in a knot on her head and a sparkly red jumpsuit in the same shade of red as her lipstick.
Dana had opted for black jeans and a fuchsia tie-neck top and, of all things—gold heels on her feet. She wanted to make a good impression on Sheldon, but he wasn’t here to see her effort.
“When did you see me staring at him?” Dana asked, challenging them.
“All night!” her friends said in unison.
The three of them busted out laughing.
When she stopped laughing, Dana brushed tears from the corner of her eye. “Really?”
Layla nodded. “Really. So can you please stop pretending you don’t like him?”
“Hypothetically, it doesn’t matter because I’m with someone now.”
Tamika leaned across Layla. “But it’s not serious yet, is it?”
“No, but it could be. Last time we went out, he brought up marriage.”
Tamika lifted her eyebrows in surprise.
“He intends to move here permanently,” Dana added.
“Because of you?” Layla asked.
“He didn’t explicitly say so, but it was implied.”
The three of them directed their gazes back to the bar, where two women chatted with Omar. They were definitely his type, both in heels and body-hugging dresses, revealing shapely figures.
He laughed easily, and though she couldn’t hear his laughter, she imagined the sound of the deep-throated chuckle. The women wrote their numbers on a napkin, which Omar pocketed before he sauntered away with the drinks in hand.
“His behavior down there doesn’t mean anything because he was checking you out a couple of times tonight,” Tamika said.
Her friend meant well, but Omar collected numbers like other people collected marbles. Where would she fit into such a lifestyle?
“Guys, I’m fine. Like I always say, Omar and I are just friends.”
He stopped to talk to someone below, the lights went down on the current act, and the emcee appeared and explained T-Murder would soon come on stage.
Dana’s phone beeped, and she saw a message from Sheldon.
Sheldon: Sorry! Car trouble. Damn thing died on me on the highway and my phone was dead too. Bad fucking night. Can’t make it.
She swallowed her disappointment.
Dana: No worries. Are you OK?
Sheldon: Yes. Call you tomorrow?
Dana: OK.
“He’s not coming,” she told her friends.
Tamika pouted and Layla gave her a sympathetic look.
“We don’t need him to have a good time,” Layla said.
They went to sit together on the sofa, and when Omar brought her drink, Dana gratefully accepted the tall glass. Omar and Jay went off to the side to talk, and Dana resigned herself to being dateless for the rest of the night.
Finally, T-Murder came out on stage, and when the beat dropped to introduce one of his biggest hits, the crowd went wild.
Tamika threw up her hands and let out a whoop. “Yasssss! You ladies want to dance?” Her shoulders shimmied as her gaze swung between Dana and Layla.
Not in the mood, Dana shook her head.
Layla jumped up and so did Tamika.
“Come on,” Layla said, extending her hand to Dana.
“You two go ahead. I’ll sit here and watch.”
After more cajoling with the same result, they finally gave up and went back to the railing and started dancing. After a few minutes, their fiancés joined them, and Jay and his wife did too.
Omar strolled over and settled into the empty space on the sofa beside Dana. “Where’s your man?”
“He’s not coming. Car trouble.” She took a sip of her tea.
“He’s missing out.” His gaze dropped to her feet, and his jaw tightened. “I like your shoes. They’re sexy.”
He noticed! His gaze met hers, and heat brushed Dana’s cheeks and neck. Thank goodness for her dark complexion. If she were a fairer skinned woman like Layla, she would be red for sure.
“Thank you,” she murmured, rubbing a sweaty palm on her thigh. “You’re popular tonight.”
“Me?”
“Don’t be falsely modest. I saw you collecting numbers down there.” Her heart hurt a little as the words left her lips.
“I’m a friendly guy,” he said, all sly and slick, his voice dropping as he gave her one of his sideways glances. He set down his drink and stood up. “Come on, let’s dance.”
“You want to dance?” Dana teased, anticipation fluttering in her chest.
He chuckled and extended his hand. “I don’t do this often, so enjoy it while you can.”
Her feet would hate her in these heels, but she couldn’t pass up an opportunity to dance with Omar.
“I intend to.”
She took his hand and ignored the charge of warm tingles up her arm when his big hand enveloped hers.
He pulled her toward the velvet rope.
“You want to go downstairs?” she asked.
“Yeah. We’re about to get in the thick of it.”
“Won’t dancing down there with me create problems? You know, because of your admirers from earlier.” She lifted an eyebrow.
He bent to her ear and whispered, “I ain’t worried about them, so you don’t worry about them.”
Lawd, this man did things to her. His mouth was so near to hers, she caught a whiff of the whiskey from his drink an
d clenched her teeth, fighting the urge to turn her head and get a taste of his mouth—anything to alleviate the tightening of arousal in the depths of her belly.
Omar led her by the hand down the stairs, and she followed him into the crowd around the stage. Twenty minutes into the set, they were packed in tight with everyone else, squished like sardines. With the combination of sexually explicit lyrics and Omar behind her, Dana let loose, dancing in the middle of the crowd as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
T-Murder started rapping the lyrics to one of his biggest hits, “Bomb Pussy,” an ode to the pleasure he received from being inside his woman and going down on her. With his dark umber skin glistening and gold chains flashing on his bare chest under the lights, he took the audience down memory lane. Almost every person in there lifted their hands in the air, moving like one unit from side to side as they shook their asses to the beat and screamed the raunchy lyrics.
Omar’s fingertips trailed down the tattooed words on the back of Dana’s neck, and she caught her breath as warm waves of sensation undulated over her skin. His light touch was unbearably erotic, and pretty soon they were grinding on each other, Omar’s hands gripping her hips while she gyrated her bottom against his pelvis.
For the moment, she didn’t care whether this was appropriate behavior. She didn’t care that he was her friend, and chances were, he wasn’t sleeping alone tonight. His hands on her waist and hips felt good, and she would continue to relish every single minute of his touch.
12
“I don’t want to leave you guys!” Tamika moaned melodramatically.
She, Dana, and Layla were wrapped around each other in a group hug in the parking lot. The long night was over, and they were exhausted but had fun.
Finally, reluctantly, they let go.
“Bye,” they said, waving at each other.
Rashad and Anton gave Omar some dap and then went in the direction of their own vehicles. Dana followed Omar to the Escalade, and he let her in before going around to the driver side.
“So, how was the show?” he asked as he climbed in.
The Friend Zone Page 6