Friend Zone Series Box Set

by Nicole Blanchard

  Grandmother straightened, looked down her nose. “You’re going to regret this. Don’t come crawling to me when she uses and discards you, Dash. I won’t want to hear it.”

  She left and shut the door quietly. A Hampton didn’t make a scene. It must have really peeved her when news spread about my relationship with Layla. Bad press wasn’t acceptable. Apparently, deceit and exploitation were much more tolerable.

  I finished packing in the ringing silence of my grandmother’s departure with the copy of The Hobbit catching my eye every few seconds. It sat in the passenger seat of my car as I drove home. Without thinking, I took the elevator to Layla’s floor and my feet carried me directly to her door. I knocked, but she didn’t answer.

  I tried knocking again. No answer.

  Her phone went straight to voicemail when I tried to call.

  After twenty minutes, I gave up. I’d try again in the morning. And the next day, and the next day until she answered.

  Because she was right.

  We were worth fighting for.

  I made my way back to my floor with renewed determination, already coming up with a plan to win her back. I was going to go the whole nine, flowers, chocolates, trips to her favorite art galleries, and enough orgasms to leave her limp and sated for the rest of her life. All she had to do was give me another chance.

  I wouldn’t fuck it up.

  I got out of the elevator on my floor, but I was looking down at my phone, texting Layla for the third time.

  So I didn’t see her standing at my front door until I nearly bumped into her.

  She grabbed onto my arms to keep from being bowled over, but our feet tangled, and we went tumbling down.

  “Oof,” Layla said as I landed on top of her. “Were you trying to turn me into a pancake?”

  I steadied myself, raising up on my forearms to keep my weight from crushing her. “If you’d answer your phone once in a while, I wouldn’t have run into you.”

  “I packed my phone charger, and I don’t know which frigging box it’s in or I would have answered my phone,” she growled.

  “Packed away? What do you mean packed away?”

  “It’s where you put things into boxes to make it easier to move them,” she said slowly.

  “Why are you packing?”

  Layla scowled up at me. “Do we really have to have this conversation in the middle of the hallway while you’re squishing me to death?”

  I got to my feet and helped her up. “Now speak.”

  “I’m not a dog, Dash. Why do you always have to boss me around?”

  I nearly growled. I missed this?

  With exaggerated care, I opened the door to my apartment and waved her inside. “I suppose asking you to sit would be outside of the question?” She sent me a scathing look and spun on her heel to leave. I caught her arm and said, “I’m kidding. Kidding! I promise. No more jokes.”

  I’d left my box of stuff from the office in my car, but I’d carried the copy of The Hobbit upstairs with me. When we’d crashed into each other it had gone flying. While she took a seat on the couch, I retrieved the book from where it had landed by my door.

  Holding it up as I went inside, I said, “I guess by fight for me, you really meant fight with me.”

  “Dash,” she said in a warning tone, but there was a hint of a smile shining from her eyes.

  I sat beside her on the couch and took her hands in mine. She angled her body to face me, a wave of vulnerability creeping into her expression. “I was just at your apartment to talk to you. I guess we both had the same idea. Why are you packing?”

  She looked down at our hands. “I blew my mom off and she basically cut me out of her life. I can’t afford to live alone for next semester, so I signed a lease with a couple other roommates until summer when I can figure something else out.”

  After kissing her fingers and pulling her in for a hug, I said into her hair, “I’m so sorry it came to that, but I’m proud of you. So fucking proud. She didn’t deserve you. You’re an amazing person, Lay. Right down to the bone. If she couldn’t see that, then screw her.”

  She pulled back, and a tear leaked from her eye. I brushed it away with a knuckle. “Thank you. I know that’s true. It’s just hard because she’s my mom.”

  “I understand. I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

  “What about your grandmother?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Before we get into that, I just want to apologize for the way I reacted. I was wrong. I know you, Layla. I should have trusted you. I will trust you, from now on. For a long time the people around me have used me for their own means, and even though I knew you would never do something like that, it was a knee-jerk reaction. I hope you know I’ll spend every day, for as long as you’ll let me stay around, making it up to you.”

  Her hands came to my shoulders and my eyes closed at how good it felt to have her touching me again. How right. “I understand how hard it is to be faced with the truth about your own family. If it weren’t for you, I never would have come to realize exactly how bad mine was. I just hate I had to come between you. I hope your parents understood.”

  The fear in her eyes had me pulling her close. “They did. My dad didn’t, at first, but my mom has been putting up with my grandmother for a long time and didn’t hesitate to stand up for me. And you didn’t come between anyone. My grandmother made her choices. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “It feels so good to hear you say that. I was worried you were going to tell me to take a hike.” She sighed as she settled into me, and I wondered if there was a more perfect feeling than having her in my arms.

  “That wasn’t what I was planning on saying,” I told her.

  “What were you going to say?”

  I tipped her chin up with a finger and smiled. “That you’re worth fighting for, too.”

  Epilogue

  Layla

  Two years after graduation, I’d never sold a piece at a gallery. I’d never become a household name as an artist. Hell, even my Etsy page did a minimal amount of business. I guess my mother had been right in assuming my art degree would never rake in the bucks.

  But I couldn’t be happier.

  As I tidied the little garden behind the sweet yellow cottage Dash and I rented, I felt full to bursting. Radiant as the sun. If Dash didn’t get home soon, I would explode with the news.

  Brushing my hands off on the little apron I wore when I puttered around the garden, I surveyed my work with a keen eye. The dainty pansies and perky petunias danced in a gentle spring breeze. Tomorrow, I’d finish the darling little hummingbird feeders I’d been working on, and I’d hang them in the ancient oak that towered over our backyard like a sentinel.

  A tortoiseshell cat I’d named Tiger twisted around my ankles as I gathered my supplies and packed them away in the garden shed. When I shooed her away, she scampered off to chase a pair of butterflies flittering around my lantana plants. Dash had surprised me with the kitten after I won an award last year from my employer.

  Rookie Teacher of the Year.

  I still couldn’t believe it.

  Not only that I’d found my niche, my passion, but that it hadn’t been in the avenue I expected at all. I suppose it was the student teaching I’d been required to do for my education minor. The semester after I dropped my business class, I’d decided to fill the extra time with education courses. I loved them almost as much as I loved art, which had come as a surprise to me.

  I never would have considered it if it hadn’t been for Dash.

  At the sound of the door opening and closing, Tiger’s ears perked up and her tail flicked three times in rapid succession. When footsteps echoed, she scrambled out of the lantana bushes, up the back steps, and disappeared into the dining room. Moments later, I could hear the low rumble of Dash’s voice greeting her.

  Tiger had been a gift for me, but Dash was her true love.

  I couldn’t blame her.

  He was mine, too.

  Notin
g a flower that must have gotten uprooted when Tiger was chasing the butterflies, I squatted down to pack it more securely into the soil. When I finished and looked up, I found Dash sitting on the top step of the deck, the kitten purring contentedly in his arms.

  Like he had done almost every day since that fateful day in his class, he simply took my breath away.

  Dash was handsome no matter what he wore, but the suits were my favorite. I was ever so thankful he was required to wear one to work Monday through Friday. I liked seeing them on him, but I also enjoyed taking them off him.

  Crossing the garden, I bent down and kissed his lips as the kitten settled into his arms. “How was work?” I asked, already feeling a little breathless and wondering how quickly I could convince him to make a detour to the bedroom.

  “Dad’s on a tear. His opponent is tough this year.”

  Despite all the protests he’d made, Dash had gone into politics, though not at the pressure of his family. His parents had told him repeatedly—whatever he decided to do—they would support him.

  It turned out, without the constant pushing from his grandmother, he actually enjoyed helping with his father’s campaign. After completing his MBA, Dash joined his father as a campaign manager, and he never looked back.

  It was a side benefit that his grandmother wasn’t allowed to attend any events, and she frequently made her displeasure known. Not that anyone cared.

  My mother hadn’t contacted me since the day she disowned me. She wasn’t missed. Delia, on the other hand, had since been to therapy and we’re slowly rebuilding our relationship. It was hard and awkward, but she was making the effort, so was I. I was cautiously optimistic, but I kept my ears tuned for any nonsense about mending fences with my mother.

  “He’ll win. Hamptons always do,” I said.

  “That’s because we have excellent taste,” Dash said, drawing me into his lap, displacing a disgruntled Tiger. “I have something for you.”

  “I have something to tell you, too.”

  Dash smiled patiently. “You first.”

  The news burst forth. “Liam and Charlie are having a baby!”

  He winced a little at the volume of my voice. “That’s wonderful. I bet they’re excited.”

  “She couldn’t wait to tell everyone. Now you, what’s your news?”

  “We may have to wait to tell them so we don’t steal their thunder, but maybe you can keep a secret.”

  He placed a package in my lap, and I tore into it with the enthusiasm of a child.

  It was a pristine copy of Charlotte’s Web. Inside was a note.

  “You have been my friend," replied Charlotte,

  "That in itself is a tremendous thing.

  ― E.B. White

  Below that it said:

  Layla,

  There’s nothing I would like more than to spend the rest of my life arguing with you.

  Marry me?

  Attached to the note was a ring.

  Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next book in the series…Friends with Benefits!

  Friends with Benefits

  Tripp Wilder is more than a friend…

  ..but Ember Stevens is determined not to make him a boyfriend. After a bad breakup, she prefers the sex without the strings and who better to teach her about NSA relationships than her love ’em and leave ’em neighbor, Tripp?

  It’s the best of both worlds. She gets all the fun aspects of a relationship–the sex, the cuddling, the secrets in the dark–without all the obligations and resentment that go along with it.

  Ember Stevens is everything he wants…

  …but can’t have. Tripp lost his chance at a relationship with Ember years ago and has settled for being her BFF ever since. Now that she’s on the market again, he refuses to let his second chance with her pass him by.

  Except she’s not interested in commitment.

  Stuck between a rock and a hard-on, Tripp agrees to show Ember how to navigate the world of casual sex, but he’s determined to convince her that nothing can go wrong when a friendship comes with a guaranteed happy ending.

  Chapter One

  Ember

  I got the text message while I was in the home improvement store trying to figure out which carpet to buy to replace the one my sisters had ruined.

  I ignored it for a few minutes as I decided between sandcastle and brilliant beige. The last thing I should be doing is putting more stainable, light-colored carpet in their room, but these were the only two options in my price range, and my budget was already stretched to the max. My parents should be attending to this particular responsibility, but asking them to do anything responsible was like trying to pluck a star from the sky: impossible.

  “How much is this one?” I asked, pointing to the beige. The clerk stretched to check the printouts as I dragged out my phone to read the text.

  At first, my heart lifted at the From: indicator. It was Chris, my boyfriend, who was away at college in Miami. It had been a couple of days since I had heard from him, and although I wanted to talk to him more often, he’d made it a point to let me know I was smothering him, so I had backed off.

  Apparently, I hadn’t backed off far enough.

  CHRIS: Hey pretty lady. Wassup?

  It should have pleased me to hear from him, but an indescribable weight seemed to take up residence on my shoulders. Anxiety bubbled in my stomach. All I wanted was for us to work out. Our relationship had become more work than anything else, but that’s what relationships were—or so I told myself. If I kept working at this, it would pay off.

  ME: Getting carpet for the twins’ room. How are you?

  Somehow, my relationship with the man who I thought I loved had turned into a carnival reflection of itself. I didn’t recognize it when I looked in the mirror. Chris and I had met when we were in high school and then reconnected when we were at the same community college. I had been training to be an EMT; he had been finishing prerequisites to transfer to a four-year university. To be honest, I’d had a crush on him for as long as I could remember, and when he had reciprocated interest, I had thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.

  It had been a long time since I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world.

  Ever since things had gotten more serious and the time began to draw near for me to either stay in Tallahassee or join him in Miami, he’d begun to retreat. The more I tried to make it work, the more he pulled away. In my heart, I knew what that meant, but I didn’t quite know how to give up hope.

  It didn’t matter. Reading his text told me all I needed to know about our future together. As the words began to sink in, my tongue went as dry as the Mojave, and my thoughts blurred together.

  CHRIS: Look, I think I need to be upfront about something with you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ve met someone. I thought I should tell you.

  My fingers went numb where they clutched at the phone. Even though I had an inkling it was coming, the reality was so much worse than anything I could have dreamt up. My vision went white, and, dramatic though it was, I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.

  I’d never been the type of girl who went gaga over any guy, but I guess there was a first time for everything.

  It shouldn’t hurt so much to have my suspicions confirmed. I hadn’t wanted to say my fears out loud, afraid that it would make them too real.

  But here it was, in black and white. The undeniable truth.

  The guy I loved, the one I’d trusted and believed in for so long, wasn’t who I thought he was.

  The poor clerk who was reading off measurements, colors, and prices gaped after me as I dropped the other supplies I’d been considering in the shopping cart and then abandoned it in the middle of the aisle.

  Normally, I loved this store. I loved the possibilities of it. The little apartment I rented for my family wasn’t in the best shape, and fixing it up was one of the most rewarding things about my somewhat dismal life. But suddenly the sky-high shelves of paint chips and caulk did
n’t feel reassuring. Instead, the winding aisles became a maze from which there was no escape.

  I texted a response blindly. I was sure to read it back later and regret it, but if the only weapon I had was words, I wanted to aim for his heart and make it hurt.

  ME: Then I guess all the promises you made about wanting to be with me forever, all the times you said you loved me meant nothing. All those were just lies? I’m not a perfect person, but I deserve better than this. I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am, but I actually believed the bullshit you spun to me about it being us against the world. Lose my number. I don’t ever want to hear from you again.

  As tears flooded my vision, I blocked his number and navigated through the aisles to the front door. I don’t know how I made it back to the apartment complex without wrapping my car around a pole, but I did. Sheer will, I suppose. All those late nights driving an ambulance, high on adrenaline, must have paid off.

  An indeterminable amount of time later, I found myself in the shower, the hot spray beating down on my naked body and hot tears streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t know a person could hurt so much. It felt like I was dying, except there was nothing I knew in my repertoire of life-saving skills that could resuscitate me.

  I don’t know how long I sat there, wallowing in self-pity. It could have been minutes, but it felt like years. The water began to run cold, although I could barely feel it. My brain seemed to have disconnected from my body. It was probably a good thing. The flashes of pain that radiated down to the marrow of my bones were almost too much to handle.

  I’d never believed in broken hearts. Get over it, I’d think to myself when friends of mine would go through a breakup. Even when Liam and Charlie or Layla and Dash had split, granted it was only for a short time, I didn’t think it was so bad. They’d gotten back together, after all. I’d been with Chris so long it had never occurred to me what would happen when we broke up. Not even when things started to get so rocky a couple of months ago.