Friend Zone Series Box Set

by Nicole Blanchard

  “Do you have something against libraries?” he asked, taking my hand and helping me down.

  “No, of course not.” It was the middle of the day and the parking lot was nearly empty. It crossed my mind there was a slim possibility we’d run into someone from school, but I didn’t want to think about that yet. “What are we doing here?”

  “You ask so many questions,” was his only answer.

  Normally, I valued being in charge. I liked knowing what would happen, when, and how, but I had to admit it gave me a little thrill not knowing what he had planned. I followed as he bounded up the steps and held the door open for me. He made a beeline for the help desk and gave the woman behind it a dazzling smile. I hid my own as he retrieved a handful of scrap paper from a basket on the counter and two stubby pencils. Apparently even married librarians weren’t immune to Dash’s charm.

  He herded me across the room toward the maze of shelves and handed me half the scrap paper and a pencil.

  “Okay?” I said with a raised brow. “Don’t tell me you brought me here for homework.”

  “Don’t tempt me. No. When I was younger, my mom liked to bring me here. We’d write notes and put them in our favorite books for the next person to read. After they moved to Washington for my dad’s campaign, I’d come here whenever I missed them, and I’d look through all her favorite books to see if I could find any notes she’d written. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write notes and leave them in your favorites. Last one finished buys lunch.”

  “You’re crazy,” I said with a laugh, then added, “But you’re on.”

  Without waiting for his response, I booked it to the end of the aisle, already hunting for the titles of my favorite books. I’d never known he used to do this with his mother. It humanized him, turned him from the guy who’d been my enemy to something more. What else did I have to learn about him?

  I searched through the rows of books, lost for a while in the memories that arose with each one: Anne of Green Gable, Charlotte’s Web, The Secret Garden. The notes were a combination of life advice and things I’d wish someone had told my younger self, specifically, things I’d wished my own mother had said instead of the constant litany of ‘you’re not good enough.’

  When I finished, I glanced up and didn’t see Dash anywhere around. Curious and feeling a little competitive, I snuck around the shelves searching for him. I found him in the chapter book section a couple rows away. He hunched over a battered copy of The Hobbit, which made me smile. I could picture him reading it, engrossed. He carefully tucked the slip of paper into the pages and replaced the book on the shelves.

  He glanced up and I threw myself behind the shelves, not wanting him to catch me staring at him. I peered above a row of books and watched him amble down the end of the row and out of sight. A few more seconds passed without him returning. Ears straining, I crept down the row to the place where I saw him put the book back and scanned the titles until I came to The Hobbit.

  The cracked spine whispered as I opened it. The pages rustled open to Dash’s handwriting.

  There is some good in this world, and it’s worth fighting for. J.R.R. Tolkein

  I did the same thing when I found him on the next aisle. This time, it was a copy of Alice in Wonderland. It’s note read:

  It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.

  These words had touched Dash, the guy who’d mercilessly teased me, who’d been the bane of my existence growing up. I couldn’t help but feel like they were a message. Maybe I’d been the person who needed to read them.

  Competition forgotten, I ambled up and down the aisles, lost in thought, until Dash found me wandering around the picture book section. “There you are!” He spotted the papers in my hand. “Looks like you owe me lunch!”

  I gave him a small smile, but I couldn’t seem to look him in the eye. “Guess so. Where do you want to go?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Wherever you want. I’m not picky if you’re treating.”

  I made to move past him, but he stopped me. “What?”

  “Did it hurt?”

  Laughing, I shook my head and stepped away. “Dash, no.”

  He blocked my exit. “C’mon, sweetheart. Be a good sport.”

  I turned away so he couldn’t see my smile. He didn’t need any encouragement. “I don’t think so.”

  Dash nipped at the underside of my jaw, causing my breath to catch. “Pretty please?” His voice was low, intimate. Like it had been last night when he spoke those sweet, sexy words in my ear.

  “Fine. Let me guess. When I fell from heaven? I hate to break it to you, Dash, but I’m no angel.”

  He pressed a kiss to my lips. If it had a taste, it would have been sugar-sweet. “No, did it hurt when you fell for me?”

  The denial is immediate and overwhelming, a wave that swelled in my chest and washed away all my thoughts. “Stop it,” I said, my voice almost a whisper and smile turning to a frown.

  It was too much. I couldn’t handle the feelings that had taken root inside of me the night before. Not when he’d charmed his way through my defenses, then completely disarmed me today.

  If this was war…he was winning.

  “Stop what?”

  I squirmed away, but he pulled me right back. Despite everything inside of me telling me to fight, to run, to hit back like I’d always done when it came to him, something stopped me. A part of me wanted to hear what he had to say next. After seeing all the sides of him I’d never known existed, maybe there was a new side of me, too. One that wanted Dash more than it wanted self-preservation. I swallowed hard.

  “Teasing me.”

  “I’m not teasing you.” He lowered his voice even more. “You’d know it if I was.”

  Instead of answering, I reached for him. Took the kiss I’d been craving since we left his apartment. It was a little desperate, yearning. It took the line between love and hate and blurred it until there was nothing left but shadows.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dash

  She pushed against my chest, but it was half-hearted, and her fingers twisted the fabric of my shirt. The distance between us shrank the longer the seconds drug on. I regretted bringing her to a public place. At first, it had been because I knew I needed the buffer. It was too easy to fall into her, too easy to get lost in her. If we’d spent any more time alone together, I would have convinced her to get naked again. Convinced her to let me inside her. She’d given me her virginity, but it felt like she’d taken a part of me instead.

  I stared deep into her eyes, the playful smile on my lips disappearing. “What are you doing to me?” I asked, my tone softening from teasing to questioning.

  She flinched, then licked her lips. Her voice was breathy when she answered. I imagined her on her knees, licking her lips like that as she held my dick. She was barely touching me, and I wanted her with a fierceness that superseded common sense. “I’m not doing anything.”

  She was everything.

  “I think about you all the time now,” I told her, the words wrenched from my chest like she was my absolution. “Used to be it was because I liked getting a rise out of you. I’ll admit, arguing with you is fun. Part of it was knowing you’d be thinking about me for hours afterward.”

  “I don’t think about you for hours,” she protested.

  I studied the flushed swells of her cheeks and thumbed her red lips. “You think about me so much, that’s why you’re always so fired up when you see me. You think about me so much it pisses you off. You wish you could dismiss me as easily as you claim.”

  “I can,” she says defiantly, tossing back her mane of brown hair. I’d believe her more if her hands weren’t roaming over my chest.

  “If you could, then what are you doing here with me now?”

  Her mouth dropped open and I took advantage of her surprise with a kiss that tempted us both. Lips parted, she moaned against mine, then submitted, her body going lax.

>   And. I. Fucking. Loved. It.

  Watching her fight how much she wanted me, and then succumbing to it, had to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. Women had wanted me, chased me, fallen for me, but never, not once, have they fought against it. Tried to run. Not like Layla did. For years I’d been trying to catch her. And, God, how I enjoyed the chase.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she whispered against my lips. Her words tasted of desperation. It would have been easier to say yes. “Let’s go back to your place. I want you. Please.”

  “You only say that because you don’t want to have to think about what’s going on between us. You want to run away from what’s happening here, just like you’re always running from me. Sex is easy, it’s feelings that are hard.”

  She pulled away. “Why do we have to complicate it? Life is complicated enough as it is.”

  “The things in life that are most worth it never come easy. Maybe I think you’re worth it.” My words stole her protests and while she had time to think, I tugged her toward the exit. “Let’s get something to eat. Are you hungry?”

  “Really, Dash? You’re just going to ignore the whole thing? We have to talk about this.” I had to be a bastard, because much as I liked her, there was something about hearing the frustration in her voice that brought a satisfied smile to my face. Surprise or disbelief had her pulling away. I glanced back and found her frozen in place.

  “I’ll buy you ice cream after lunch. Chocolate fudge, whatever you want. C’mon.”

  She hesitated for a moment on the edge of indecision, then took my hand. “It’d better be a big one.”

  I took her to the Railroad Square Art District, a little bohemian mecca for occultists and obscure art collectors and distributors. Situated in the heart of Tallahassee, it’s nestled on a railroad track and shaded by ancient oaks, like much of the rest of the capital city. Funky little businesses occupy candy-colored storefronts. It has everything from a second-hand store to an herbalist to an eco-tourism place.

  When I first came to Florida State as an undergrad, I took advantage of the nightlife. Wasted away thousands of hours trolling the bar scene, the party scene. They didn’t call FSU a party school for nothing. Since I’ve come back, I’ve spent most of my free time exploring the city for hidden nooks like this one.

  “Where are we going?” Layla asked when I came to a stop in a shaded gravel parking area. “Where are we?”

  “You’re treating me to lunch. Then we’ll hunt down some ice cream.”

  “You act like that’s going to solve all of our problems.”

  I shrugged as I helped her out of my Jeep. “You act like ice cream doesn’t solve all problems on a regular basis.”

  She harrumphed, but followed me down the road nonetheless. When I took her hand, she didn’t protest. Baby steps.

  “There’s a little restaurant just over here. It’s actually made from the caboose of a train. I think you’re really going to like it. They’ve got good beer and great sandwiches.”

  As a plus, the area didn’t get much business in the middle of the day, so we were unlikely to be spotted by anyone. Campus may be huge, but my father had campaigned enough that it wasn’t out of the norm for me to be recognized. Word traveled quickly when you were named one of Tallahassee’s Hottest Bachelors. Even more quickly when you were teaching.

  “I’m only going with you because I’m hungry,” she said, then gasped as we drew closer to the train car.

  It was painted a faded red that drew the eye. We approached from the back where a large sign advertised open spots for entertainers. The entrance was on the short side of the car and facing the front was an outdoor seating area under an open-air structure. A small stage was situated under lights that must be stunning at night all lit up.

  “This is beautiful,” Layla said with a sigh. “It’s so cute!”

  I held open the door for her. “I thought you might like it. The meatball sub is especially good.”

  Small two-person tables lined the wall of windows to the left and a bar flanked our right. Layla took a seat at the bar and studied the menu written in colorful chalk on the wall in front of her.

  Needing to touch her, I always seemed to have some part of me connected with her, I laid a hand on her shoulder and stood behind her. She rested her cheek, just for a moment, on my hand, then went back to reading.

  This.

  This was why I kept coming back to her even though experience, common sense, and even the girl herself kept warning me away.

  One touch from her struck me deeper than any other. It meant more, made me feel more, than anything else I’d ever known.

  The owner finished with another customer and moved down the bar to take our orders. I thumbed Layla’s cheek, loving the texture of her skin under my hands, as she ordered a meatball sub and a bottle of water. I got a brat with cucumber salad and a craft beer. She paid without comment, even though I grinned unabashedly.

  “You can wait here or outside, and I’ll bring it right out to you,” the owner said.

  “Lead the way,” I said.

  The bit of Indian summer we were experiencing had the temperature at a balmy sixty-nine degrees, so Layla didn’t hesitate to step through another door and into the outdoor eating area. Benches peppered the space and she chose the one closest to the door. We were the only ones sitting outside and I was grateful for the privacy. I wasn’t quite ready to share her yet. I liked having her all to myself.

  “Why are you doing this?” Layla asked after taking a sip from her water. She played with the cap as she spoke, twisting the top on and off.

  “Feeding you?” I asked. “I’ve known you long enough to realize you’re better when you’re fed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “After we eat, are we going to discuss what we’re going to do about this? And don’t play dumb. You know what I’m talking about.”

  I rested my elbows on the picnic table where we were sitting and nodded. “Sure, we can talk about it. We can talk about it all you like. After we eat, and that includes ice cream. I want you in the best possible mood before we have this discussion.”

  “You just want to tip things in your favor, but I have news for you, Dash, lunch and ice cream isn’t going to change our situation.”

  “You never know,” I waggled my eyebrows at her. “You haven’t had it yet. Let’s make a deal: you drop the discussion talk until after we’ve eaten and when we’re done, we can hash things out. I won’t dodge questions, and I’ll respect whatever decision you come to in the end.”

  She pressed her lips together, her posture straightening in interest. “Even if I say we can’t see each other anymore? Including get-togethers with my friends and those little verbal sparring matches you seem to like so much?”

  I nodded in affirmative. “Whatever you decide, I’ll respect. Even if it’s not what I want.”

  She hesitated, lifted a shoulder. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Shouldn’t I?” That seemed to stump her. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy watching her struggle for words.

  “If you want to talk, I’ll be asking the questions.”

  I gestured for her to go ahead.

  “You’ll tell me the truth?” she pressed.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Lay, I don’t plan on starting now.”

  “Why didn’t you go into politics like your dad?” It was a question I’ve gotten several times before—from my friends, family, the press. It’s one I normally dodged with a joke and a change of subject.

  “Getting right to the good stuff.”

  She sipped her water. “You promised.”

  “I guess because I wanted to prove I could make it on my own. If I would have followed in the great Hampton footsteps right away, there would have been no way for me to distinguish myself from the name. I wanted to earn what I get on my own terms.”

  Layla didn’t comment, but there was no mistaking the smile on her lips. “If you could be anything in the world, wh
at would it be?”

  I could have answered anything, could have made up something that wouldn’t have been so embarrassing, but I didn’t. I cleared my throat. “A father.” My voice didn’t tremble, but I could feel my throat flush.

  She choked on her water. “What? Really?”

  “Why the tone of surprise?” I asked.

  “I guess I never thought about it. Why a father?”

  I had her whole attention and I couldn’t deny having those wide curious eyes wholly devoted to me. I lifted a shoulder. “My grandparents may not be the warmest people in the world, but my parents are wonderful. I had a great childhood growing up. I want what they have. The partnership. The commitment. The family. They only had me, but I think I’d want to have two or three rugrats. What about you?”

  “Do I want a family?” She fiddled with the cap of her bottle, readjusted her legs. “I’m not sure, I guess I haven’t thought about it much. I’ve been so focused on school and graduating, there never seemed to be time for anything else.”

  “I would have thought you’d have it all planned out by now.”

  She laughed and it lit up her eyes. “Maybe that’s the next step after graduation and getting a job. One thing at a time.”

  “That all you wanted to know?”

  “Not even close, Hampton.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Layla

  A father.

  That had been the last answer I’d expected him to give. An entrepreneur, a rock star, an athlete. Those had been the answers I would have thought he’d give. Something with flash and prestige. A career that would put him in the limelight he so clearly deserved. A father had been nowhere on the list. He may as well have said an orangutan.

  Once the words came out of his mouth, though, I couldn’t stop picturing him toting around babies, joking with smart-mouthed preteens. Kissing a heavily pregnant wife. He’d be a great father. The image shouldn’t be so appealing, but it was. I guess that’s what people meant when they talked about ovaries exploding.