Friend Zone Series Box Set

by Nicole Blanchard

  “Hello?” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as desperate as I thought.

  His didn’t sound breathless at all. It was smooth, confident, and the very same as the one that had been haunting my dreams. “Hey, sweetheart.”

  That’s it. That’s all he had to say for me to be right back in his dark office, naked and needy. I swallowed hard.

  “You shouldn’t be calling me.”

  Dash chuckled. I remembered how his eyes lit up when he laughed. I ached to see him, to watch that light appear. “This isn’t the CIA. They aren’t going to track our phone calls.”

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “I guess phone sex is a no-go?”

  My blood heated. “Not funny. Is that why you called?” Just hearing him was enough to have me shifting restlessly on the couch. His voice was like an activator switch. My skin itched to feel his hands. My mouth yearned for his lips.

  “No, but if you’re ever lonely I’d be happy to serve as your own personal 1-900 number. Just say the word.”

  “I’m hanging up now,” I warned. More to stop myself from begging than from actual irritation.

  “You’re no fun. I wanted to call to give you a head’s up. The woman who was at the benefit will be at a gala my grandparents are a part of. I’m escorting her, but I didn’t want you to think it was a date or anything.”

  I remembered her. Sleek and elegant. The kind of woman his grandmother would be ecstatic for him to be involved with. “Oh?” I said, because what do you say to that?

  “If you want me to tell her no, I will. She saw you coming out of my office a while back, and I didn’t want her to be suspicious. Since we’re laying low for another several weeks, I thought this would be a good time to disprove her suspicions, at least for now. I didn’t want you to be caught off guard if it got back to you. I want to be completely honest with you, Lay. That’s how much I want this to work.”

  I muted the TV so I could think. When I didn’t speak right away, Dash pressed, “Sweetheart? Say something. I’ll do whatever you want me to here.”

  “I’m not happy, but I understand why you’d do it. As long as it’s platonic, like you say, then I guess I’m fine with it. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, and I know how much your family means to you.”

  That and he had no reason to be suspicious about his family. Knowing what his grandmother thought, and his feelings about honesty made the wine sour in my stomach. I wanted to tell him right then, but I was afraid of how he would handle it. My mother had chosen people over me my whole life. He was very close to his grandparents. Would he choose them over me, too?

  I wasn’t ready to know the answer.

  Not yet, anyway.

  I’d always been raised to believe family should be put first. My mother made it clear my whole life that the only opinions that mattered were hers. It made it hard for me to put myself above his grandparents.

  “Are you sure? Say the word and I’ll tell them no.”

  I swallowed back the sour taste in my throat. “I’m sure. I trust you. Besides, we’re both going to be busy. I don’t want you to think you have to check with me about plans. I appreciate it, but you don’t owe me anything. Not until after the semester.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said without heat. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the real thing. I’ll check with you about anything I feel will make you uncomfortable. You’re important to me, Lay.”

  “You’re important to me, too,” I said, my chest flooding with emotion. “But we can’t talk like this all the time. It makes it harder.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll be back to arguing with me in no time. Especially when you consider I’m giving your last paper a B.”

  With that, the line went dead, and I stared at the phone, steaming.

  Like hell that paper deserved a B.

  I couldn’t wait until I could punish him properly.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dash

  I knew the moment we walked into the ballroom, and I saw Jessica standing in a sleek black gown waiting for me, it was a terrible idea to agree to go with her. My grandmother clutched my arm and propelled me forward. Sometimes I was sure she thought I was sixteen instead of an adult.

  “There are the Martins,” she said with barely disguised glee. “Let’s go tell them hello.”

  Jessica beamed as we crossed the room to their side. I couldn’t help but remember the calculating gleam in her eye when she’d confronted me in my office. She latched onto my arm the moment we got close.

  “Dash, I’m so glad you could make it.”

  I removed her talons and forced a smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  She followed my grandparents and her parents to our assigned table. As we walked, she chattered on about the gala, but honestly it went in one ear and out the other. All I wanted was to find a way to escape. Being with her felt wrong down to the bone.

  It was going to be a very long night.

  I reached for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter along the way and drank deeply. As I was lowering the glass, a couple making their way across the room caught my attention. I sprang to my feet and in three long strides had my arms around the woman of the pair and smiled at the man.

  “Mom, Dad. What are you two doing here? I thought you were in Washington.”

  My mother, Naomi Hampton, barely reached my shoulders. Her strawberry-blonde hair fell in sheets to the middle of her back, a rose-gold waterfall. Green eyes, the same shade as mine peered back at me, alight with excitement. A weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying, since I said goodbye to Layla, lightened.

  I looked to my father, Peter Hampton, as he spoke, “The holidays are coming up. We thought we’d surprise you. Besides, Mom mentioned you’d met someone, and your mother couldn’t contain herself at the thought.”

  Dad was about my height with dark brown eyes and the same dark hair as mine. Aside from my eyes, I inherited everything else from my father. Mom used to harass me about being his twin after the burden of carrying and delivering me.

  I started to mention that Layla wasn’t here, but caught myself before I could. Manners ingrained in me since childhood allowed me to introduce Jessica Martin to them without faltering. I guess I’d inherited my father’s ease for smoothing over social situations, because no one seemed to notice my pause. Mom looked at me with interest, but that was probably because it had been a while since she’d seen me.

  “Peter,” Grandmother ordered after the introductions, “come sit. We have to catch up. They’re about to serve dinner.”

  Dutifully, my father took the seat next to her, my mother on the opposite side. I sat next to Mom and Jessica took the open seat to my left.

  Drinks were ordered, small talk made. Having my parents in attendance made the conversation much less stilted. I began to think the night might not be so bad after all.

  Until the topic changed to my work and my plans after graduation.

  “How is teaching going, Dash? Last I heard you were assigned a business class?”

  I felt Jessica tense beside me, even though my gaze was on my mother. “It’s going well. Professor Johnson seems pleased.”

  “I’m happy to hear that, honey,” Mom says, patting my arm.

  “He’s excited to join your campaign in the new year,” Grandmother broke in. “I can’t wait for the Hampton line to continue. I’m so proud.”

  I took a sip of my champagne before I responded. “Well, don’t get too riled up about it. I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to join him.”

  Grandmother waved that away. “Don’t be silly, Dashiel. Of course you will.”

  Dad and I shared a look. He’d told me stories about how his mother had pushed him, first into graduating at the top of his class, then into law school after college. Then up the ladder in politics. There hadn’t been a moment in his life she didn’t orchestrate, at least not until he met my mom. She was the one thing he chose without Gra
ndmother’s influence, which—according to family history—she hadn’t been thrilled about. My mother hadn’t come from a wealthy family. Her parents had been thoroughly middle-class working people, good people, from what I’ve been told. They both passed away when I was young.

  I ignored Grandmother’s comment, like I ignored most of her behavior. She was my father’s mother and deserved respect, but that didn’t mean she was allowed to control my life the way she’d done his. He turned out all right, but that was only because he had Mom, or at least that’s what he’s told me several times over the years.

  “Jessica, why don’t we dance?” I suggested after we’d eaten.

  Jessica beamed up at me and accepted my hand. I ignored the pleased look on my grandmother’s face and led Jessica to the dance floor. She attached herself to me like a burr, but I reasoned it was only one dance. It’d give both of us some space from my family, and I’d have an opportunity to set things straight.

  “I love this song,” she breathed into my ear.

  I didn’t even hear it. “Are you having a good time?” I asked politely.

  Her claws contracted as thought to prevent as escape. “I’m having a wonderful time. Your grandparents are such wonderful people. I’ve been dying to meet your father. He’s such an inspiration.”

  As she spoke, recounting the conversation at dinner, I couldn’t help but think about Layla. She would have hated the gala, where most of the money went into throwing it rather than supporting the cause. I had a hard time imagining her in this life. She’d never be able to sit on the sidelines, blinded by the glitz and glamour. She’d want to be in the trenches, volunteering, organizing. She was a doer, not a watcher.

  “Dash,” Jessica prompted. “Did you hear me?”

  “I’m sorry,” I replied with a kind smile. “What were you saying?”

  “I asked if you were having a nice time.”

  I nodded dispassionately. “Of course. Thank you again for coming.”

  Her eyes sharpened, and she cocked her head. The look reminded me so much of my grandmother’s that I blinked twice. “Are you sure? You don’t even seem like you’re here. Is something wrong?”

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry. You’ve been wonderful, I’m afraid my heart’s just not in it tonight.” My only goal as far as she was concerned was to placate her suspicions.

  Jessica’s lips twisted. “It’s that girl, isn’t it? That student? She’s the one you’re thinking about. Why you’ve been so distracted all night. Really, Dash? I thought you wanted me here because you’d given up on her.”

  I shook my head. “It's not about her. Or you. I didn’t mean to lead you on, but you should know I have no interest in pursuing a relationship with you. I’m sorry if that hurts your feelings, but—”

  She cut me off before I could offer any more platitudes. “She is. You don’t have to lie to me. I saw the way you looked at her when she left your office. I’m not stupid. I thought when you invited me here tonight; you’d come to your senses, but apparently not. I won’t make a scene tonight, but you should really think about what you’re doing. What you’re risking. Is she worth it?”

  The song ended and Jessica turned and glided back to our table. When she saw it was only my mother reigning, she made a deft turn for the restrooms. That hadn’t gone the way I’d expected. I hoped she meant what she said about not making a scene. Not for my sake, for Layla’s.

  Mom turned as she heard me approach and beamed when she saw me. “Good, you’re father’s gone schmoozing, and I’m dying to hear more about what’s been going on with you. I wish you’d come join us in Washington. I miss you.”

  “You sound like Grandmother,” I said with a teasing smile.

  “Blasphemy,” she answered with a laugh. “You know better than to compare me with Elizabeth. Now, tell me all about this young lady you brought here tonight. Do you like her?”

  “Jessica. She’s nice, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Oh,” Mom said with a tone of surprise. “Why not?”

  I lifted a shoulder and sipped champagne that had gone warm. “I’m not interested in her romantically.”

  “So who is she?”

  “Her parents are friends with Grandmother and Grandfather.”

  Mom laughed and her eyes twinkled. “I don’t mean her, silly goose. I mean the girl you are interested in.”

  I sputtered slightly, choking on my drink. “What?”

  “Don’t play dumb. A mother knows when her son likes a woman. If it isn’t this Jessica girl, then who is it?”

  I thought of Layla with her obsession with books and her love of art. A woman who worked so hard to please everyone she sometimes forgot to please herself.

  Mom slapped my shoulder affectionately. “I knew it. I told you. Who is she?”

  “She’s...complicated,” I said slowly. “I’m still trying to figure it out. If something happens, you’ll be the first to know, I promise.”

  “Well, if she can put that look in your eye, I’d say you have it figured out,” she teased. “But I’m patient. When it gets uncomplicated, you should bring her to meet us.”

  Jessica kept her word about not making a scene. At the end of the night, she’d managed to keep the conversation flowing and didn’t say another word about the conversation we’d had on the dance floor. She left with her parents after thanking my grandparents and saying what a pleasure it was to meet my mom and dad. Being with someone like her would be so easy in this way. Her family was remarkably like mine. My grandmother certainly liked her.

  The problem was she wasn’t Layla. And she never would be.

  It was as simple and as complicated as that. My parents took a car back to their hotel and my grandfather stayed behind to talk business with some contacts, which left me to drive my grandmother back home.

  “That was a lovely evening,” she said as she got into the passenger seat.

  “It was. Did you have a nice time?” I asked.

  “A lovely time. What did you think of Ms. Martin?” She was about as subtle as a rock.

  “She seems great, but before you get any ideas, we’re just friends. “

  “Just friends? Is this a young person thing?”

  “No, it’s an I’m not interested in her kind of thing.” I was thankful it would be a short drive.

  Grandmother turned in her seat to face me with the same look in her eye she got when something went wrong in one of my father’s carefully coordinated campaigns. “Don’t be obtuse, Dashiel. She’s a wonderful girl and the two of you make a beautiful suit.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Grandmother, but it’s not going to happen.” I pulled into her driveway and unlocked the doors.

  As I helped her out of her seat, she clasped my hands. “Why don’t you take some time to think about it? She and her family will be attending Thanksgiving with us, and you’ll have more time to get to know one another.” With that, she kissed me on the cheek and strode inside.

  Now I know how my father must have felt his whole life. It was no wonder he decided to move to Washington as soon as he could.

  I gave a passing thought to calling Layla, but decided against it.

  As I drove home, I thought of her and mentally calculated the days until I could see her again and make her mine for good.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Layla

  “Ms. Tate, Ms. Tate, there’s a ghost!”

  I smiled at the little boy who was working with pieces of magazine prints to recreate his own picture story as a part of an assignment for one of my education electives. “There’s a ghost in your story?”

  I would miss them when the class was over. I loved being in the classroom. Answering their questions. Watching a student exploring art was an experience without compare.

  The little boy named Tony was a mischief maker, but he did well if he was encouraged to stay on task. He shook his dark brown curls and said, “No, Ms. Tate.” Then, he pointed toward the classroom door. �
��Right there!”

  I glanced over his shoulder, prepared to humor him, but found something more horror inducing than a ghost—Mrs. Hampton stood at the door—her pale overly made-up face peering through the keyhole window. I gasped before I could check my response, causing several other students to perk up from their assignments and follow my gaze to the door.

  Mrs. Hampton knocked twice in rapid succession, then opened the door before I could get to my feet. She was as intimidating as ever. Not a hair was out of place and her outfit—a sleek, feminine suit—cost more than my entire wardrobe. She took a step inside, pausing by the door.

  “Tony, why don’t you finish up here while I talk with our visitor?” I replaced the glue I was using and got to my feet.

  I trembled with a combination of humiliation and rage, but I tried my best not to let it show. Lifting a hand, I gestured to the hall. “Why don’t we talk outside, where there’s more privacy?”

  With a derisive little sniff, she turned on her heel and I followed her out into the hall.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked when we were alone. The hallway was blessedly deserted. It was embarrassing enough being confronted by her again, without having it witnessed by a colleague or student. “This is my job. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if you’d taken my advice from our last conversation.”

  “What I do or don’t do in my personal life is none of your business.”

  “If it involves my family, it is my business.” She reached into her leather bag, dug around, then pulled out a checkbook. She flipped it open with ease, clearly used to spending money like it was water. The gold glint of her pen flashed in the dingy light from the fluorescents overhead. She scribbled in a neat scrawl on a blank check.

  I took a step backward, uncomprehending. “I think you should leave,” I sputtered before she could say a word. She wasn’t doing what I thought she was. People only did that sort of thing in the movies. There was no way this was real life. I glanced back at my classroom to find my students peeking up from their work to see what I was doing. At my glance, they turned their attention back to their desks.