Friend Zone Series Box Set

by Blanchard, Nicole

“What did you say about the twins?” he asked, rubbing at his eyes.

  “They think we're a couple.” The horrified tone in my voice was shrill and made my brain pound in protest. “They saw us in here together and woke me up this morning. God, Tripp, what were we thinking?”

  Why did I think those last couple of drinks were a good idea?

  His smile was way too relaxed. Why wasn’t he freaking out? “Well, we did sleep together.”

  “Yes—literally. As in, just sleeping!” I tried not to remember how good it felt to wake up in his arms.

  Tripp cocked his head to the side. “I’m wondering if your horror should insult me.”

  My brain stuttered. “I—what? No!”

  “I enjoyed sleeping with you.” He said it so sincerely, I could only blink.

  Then I frowned. “You’re finding this far too funny, Tripp.”

  He reached out and twisted a lock of hair around his fingers. “Maybe I’m just flattered.”

  I pushed his hand away. He was only touching my hair, but I felt the responding tingles shoot up and down my arms. What was happening?

  “Don’t be stupid. We probably shouldn’t drink like that with the girls around. I don’t want to confuse them.” More like I didn’t want to confuse me.

  Tripp got to his feet and covered the glory of his bare chest with an FSU baseball shirt. “They’re fine. But I’ll make sure to tuck you into bed next time.”

  I decided not to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. “Don’t you have practice this morning?”

  He whipped around, muttering under his breath. After a frantic scramble for his phone, he sighed in relief. “I’ve still got thirty minutes until I have to be at the field. I guess there’s a first time for being grateful the monsters get up early.”

  “I guess we overindulged a bit,” I said.

  “No such thing, angel.”

  Giggling sounded from the entrance of the hallway, and we both turned to find the twins watching us with broad smiles. They were haphazardly dressed, with mismatching skirts and shirts, and four different kinds of shoes.

  I crossed the room and knelt in front of them. “What are you two laughing at? Did you dress each other?”

  “She picked my clothes, and I picked hers,” said Molly, and her gaze kept flitting to Tripp, then back to me.

  “Don’t we look pretty?” Tillie asked.

  “Gorgeous,” I said. “Do you want me to help you with your shoes?”

  They nodded, and I retrieved the correct mates for their shoes and helped them dress. The giggling and looking at Tripp continued until they were properly dressed. He, of course, didn’t help matters and kept wiggling his eyebrows and winking at them. I tried giving him stern looks, but that only made the girls laugh harder. Finally, I threw my hands up, got myself dressed, and started a pot of coffee.

  The only thing I knew I could do was to keep myself busy and hope whatever weirdness the night before had inspired would disappear. I failed miserably as Tripp appeared out of nowhere behind me and quipped, “Is that coffee?”

  I jumped about a mile high and spun around, coffee sloshing everywhere. The screech that burst forth from my chest sounded like a bird on crack.

  His eyebrows lifted. “You okay there?”

  “Shut up,” I snapped, which made him laugh. I made him a cup of coffee in the hopes that it would inspire him to give me some space. I didn’t know what had happened, but I couldn’t seem to get enough space. “Here.”

  In return, he handed me a couple of tablets of ibuprofen, and I swallowed them back. Maybe they would magically turn everything back to normal.

  “Thanks.” My hands were cupped around my mug, which I held in front of me like a shield. “Sorry, this is…”

  “Weird,” he finished for me.

  “A little,” I admitted. Keep busy. I retrieved cereal from the cabinet and fixed the twins their bowls at the table. The food distracted them, and they no longer made gooey eyes at Tripp and me.

  Thank God for small favors.

  “You don’t have to look at me any differently, Em. You know how much I care about you, and I’d never do anything to jeopardize that.”

  If I were the type of girl who cried at the drop of a hat, and if I hadn’t already leaked out a river of tears, his comment would have softened that rock-solid place where my heart should have been. “I don’t look at you differently,” I protested. “It’s just a lot of change. I’m being silly.”

  He rinsed out his cup in the sink and put it on the rack to dry. I tried to remember if Chris had ever done something as simple as rinsing out his own glass. The only memories I could recall involved him asking me to cook for him or me rushing to take care of things for him. It had never been like that with Tripp, who always seemed to come to my rescue instead of the other way around.

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. We’re friends. We can talk about stuff like that. I can keep your secrets,” he said with a grin that I felt all the way down to my toes.

  I shoved his shoulder instead of responding. “Have a good practice.”

  Tripp nodded to me, then bent down to kiss both girls on their foreheads. I watched as they smiled, eyes bright with happiness at his attention. He was so good to them that it made my chest ache. So good to me, too, as a matter of fact.

  The invitation to dinner hovered on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to pay him back for being there for me, listening to me whine about Chris and rant about my parents, but I knew it was probably the wrong time. It would feel…too intimate after being so close to him all night. I’d wait and offer to cook for him later—when these feelings went away.

  “I emailed my mom and dad about watching the girls when you have class or a shift. When I hear from them, I’ll give you a shout,” he said as he walked to the door. “See you later, monsters,” he said to the girls.

  I had almost forgotten about his promise to talk to his mother. Yet another way I’d be in his debt.

  As soon as he closed the door behind him, the girls turned to me in unison and smiled broadly.

  “Oh, finish eating your cereal,” I ordered. But I couldn’t help it.

  I was smiling, too.

  Chapter Eight

  Tripp

  I tapped the faded, dirty paint on the wall next to the weight-room entrance. The 1,179 had once been a bright garnet with gold trim, I was sure. Now, it was faded, the paint was worn and ragged, and dirty fingerprints covered a near-perfect oval around it. It gave me a chill damn near every time I saw it. So many of my favorite players had been here and had stood in this very spot. Had touched these numbers.

  Now, it was my turn.

  The 1,179 signified the 1,179 miles to Omaha, where the College World Series takes place. Every morning when I was up at five thirty, before the rest of the school, those worn numbers reminded me that I do it for a reason. Each workout, each pitch, and each swing got us one step closer on those 1,179 miles to Omaha. One step closer to achieving my dream.

  One step closer to pro ball.

  I arrived ten minutes early for our five-thirty lift practice with most of the other pitchers. Half split off for bullpens—they’d lift with the rest of the team at the evening practice. The rest of us were in for an hour-long workout. Being late wasn’t an option. Coach Rick Taylor deemed anything less than five minutes early as “late.” I always aimed for ten, just in case. I didn’t want to be the reason the rest of the guys had to run suicides for the duration of practice. Coach Taylor believed the punishment wasn’t over until someone was puking.

  My best friend Alex sidled up to the weight bench where I was lifting, a mile-wide smile on his face.

  “I don’t know what you’re smiling about,” I said as I began with bicep curls. “One minute later, and your ass would have been grass.”

  Even though we’d been best friends since he joined the team as a freshman the year after I did, we were complete opposites in every way. Where I was lanky and all about precision on the mound, Ale
x was as solid as a mountain, had at least fifty pounds on me, and was all power, all the time. I was in awe the first time I ever saw him. He grew up in Jersey with a big Italian family and a dozen immediate relatives, whereas it was just my parents and me. He was a diehard Yankee fan, while I lived and breathed the Braves.

  Alex waved away the threat with one big paw. “I’m here, aren’t I? If anyone is going to get reamed, it’s you. You haven’t been answering any of my texts. What’s up with that?” His northern Jersey accent would have been indecipherable to anyone else. It had taken me years to get used to it. Which was funny because he said the same thing about us Florida natives. He still gave me a hard time for each y’all. I gave him a hard time whenever he shouted, “Yeah, buuudddy,” for no reason at all.

  I fell silent for several reps. “No reason; just been busy.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, dude.” He said liar like “li-uh.” “You’re still trippin’ over that sexy-ass neighbor of yours.” He switched to lat raises, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless. Why don’t you just put the moves on her?”

  “I’m not having this discussion.” Again.

  And especially not now.

  “We’re gonna keep having it until you give it up. The girl has a boyfriend.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” I said before I could think better of it. I winced, even as the words passed my lips. I wished I was a better liar.

  His eyes widened. “Dude!”

  “Don’t read into it,” I warned.

  “C’mon, bro. This is the last chance you’re ever gonna get with this girl. You better hop on that before she’s locked down again.”

  “I can’t do that. She’s really broken up and shit. She doesn’t need me being a douche about it.”

  “If you say she needs a friend, I’m gonna slug you one.”

  I focused on my reps for a few. “She does just need a friend.”

  “That’s it; I’m gonna hit you. Someone has to knock some sense into you.”

  “Not every chick is DTF, man. Even if it was like that, I’m not that kinda guy anymore.”

  “We’re all that kinda guy. You’re just stuck on this chick. I don’t know what you see in her that’s got you so twisted.”

  “I’m not twisted up about her.”

  “You’re so twisted, you might as well be a fuckin’ pretzel. I wish you two would just fuck and get it over with. Then maybe you’d be my wingman again.”

  “I’m still your wingman,” I said indignantly.

  He scoffed. “You haven’t been my wingman since you laid eyes on that girl.”

  “Whatever, man.”

  “I’m telling you,” he said as we moved to the benches, “if you’d get her into bed, you’d get her outta your system. Yeah, buddy!”

  * * *

  I was avoiding her.

  Call me a dick, but it was best for both of us, especially considering the conversation I’d had with Alex. Spending more time with Ember would only be a bad idea; she had enough on her plate to deal with as it was. Besides, I doubted getting her into bed would get her out of my system.

  My phone chimed with a notification as I got on the elevator after a brutal practice. I was sore from my shoulders to my toes, but my throwing arm especially had taken a beating since I had resolved to throw myself into ball to forget all the things I wanted to do to Ember. I unlocked the screen and found an email from my mother. It had been a couple of days, but they didn’t often check their email, and Ember had a few more days before she was in desperate straits without a sitter to watch the girls for her shifts.

  Tripp,

  I’d love to watch the girls for Ember. Does she have a set schedule, or is she on rotating shifts? Why don’t you bring them by for dinner tomorrow if they’re available, and we’ll discuss the details?

  Thank you for thinking of me!

  Love, Mom

  Shit.

  It’s not that I didn’t want to see her. In fact, she occupied most of my thoughts—and even my dreams—at this point. I couldn’t seem to get her out of my head. It didn’t matter how hard I pushed myself at practice or how many books I tried to bury myself in; the only thing I was able to focus on was Ember.

  I blamed Alex for all his shit talking.

  All I could think about was getting her outta her clothes and into bed once and for all.

  The way her hair had felt, silky and fine against my bare chest, haunted me. I couldn’t keep the imprint of her body from haunting my senses like a ghost. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and be disappointed she wasn’t there beside me.

  They’d let us out of practice and training early today since it was a holiday weekend, and Coach Taylor was going to get reamed if he didn’t spend it with his wife. I’d tried to convince them to let me stay and lock up, but no dice.

  My plan was to stop by, extend the invitation from my parents, and then get the hell out of there. If I was lucky, the twins would be home from school early, and we’d have chaperones. God knew I needed one whenever Ember was around. Preferably more than one.

  That way, I wouldn’t be tempted to put my hands on her to see if she felt as good as I remembered.

  Maybe she wouldn’t even be home, and I’d text her or something instead. Which is what I should have done instead of knocking on her door. But I had promised her that shit wouldn’t get weird, and I wouldn’t let it.

  I could control myself.

  At least, that’s what I thought until she opened the door in a thin camisole and yoga pants.

  Goddamn those yoga pants.

  I began to sweat. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I forgot what I was going to say. All I could do was stare.

  “Hey!” she said cheerfully. “I was just doing some yoga. Pinterest says it’s the best way to reduce stress.”

  “Is it working?” I choked out. Maybe I needed to start yoga. I should talk to Coach about it.

  “I guess we’ll see.” Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. I wanted to lick it off her. “Did you need something?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. My mom emailed. She said we could have dinner tomorrow and talk about her watching your sisters.”

  Why was her skin so pink? The flush spread up from her breasts and crept up her neck, a gradient from the lightest red to cream. I wanted to feel the heat of her against my lips. I thought exposure to a stimulant was supposed to make you more resistant. Was I somehow becoming more sensitive to her presence instead?

  She made a squeal of surprised delight. “Really? That’s such good news. Hey, maybe this yoga stuff does work! Why don’t you come in, and you can hang out until the twins get home?”

  I hesitated in the doorway. Being alone together didn’t seem like a good idea. It was ironic that I’d spent the past few years fantasizing about what I’d like to do with Ember when I got her alone, but now that the opportunity had presented itself, I wanted to run in the opposite direction. Not because I was scared, but because I wasn’t altogether certain I could keep myself from doing all the things I’d imagined doing to her over the years.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked as she turned back to me. Her short red ponytail bobbed, the tips of her hair brushing against her neck and along the tops of her shoulders. I was mesmerized. “Tripp?” she prompted when I didn’t answer.

  I shook my head. “No, everything’s fine. I’ve got a load of homework to do, though, so maybe I should head back to my place.” The end of my sentence sounded more like a question than a statement.

  She scoffed, rolled her eyes, and took my hand, pulling me inside. My feet followed without any encouragement on my part, despite the shouted protests inside my head. I was the one who told her not to make it weird, and here I was, acting like a complete creep.

  “You should try yoga, Tripp. You seem stressed enough for the both of us. Practice not going well? How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s alright,” I answered, glossing over the question. “Are you sure you want me to hang
around? You’re probably busy with the girls.”

  She shoved my shoulder and said with a laugh, “Don’t be silly. Of course I want you to hang around.” At my grimace, she gasped. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  The look hadn’t been because of my previously injured shoulder. It had been because having her hands on me felt electric––like being struck by lightening.

  “No, I’m fine. My shoulder’s okay. You seem to be feeling better,” I commented as she went to her TV to pause the yoga video. She gestured for me to sit beside her on the couch.

  “I dunno, maybe. If you count shoving everything down and trying not to think about it ‘better,’ then yeah, I’m fabulous.”

  Her smile was a little too bright, and it was as though her forced cheerfulness would shatter at the slightest touch. It only drove home the feeling that it’d be wrong to make a move on her.

  But, God, how I wanted to.

  Instead, I nudged her soulder. “Don’t bullshit me. What’s going on? That dickhead call you again?”

  “If I say, ‘I’m fine,’ are you going to ask if I’m sure?”

  I found myself playing with her hair. I always seemed to be touching her hair. It was like candlelight, the way the reds and golds flickered and blended. “Maybe,” I answered—when I remembered she’d asked me a question.

  Keep your hands to yourself, Wilder.

  Easier said than done.

  Chapter Nine

  Ember

  Tripp’s hands on me after spending the night twisted up with him made me want to shiver, but I locked my muscles and ignored the urge. I had to ignore a lot of urges these days where he was concerned. I knew he was interested, or at least he used to be a couple of years ago, but we were friends now—or so I thought.

  I’d specifically told him when we first met that we couldn’t be together. I had had too much on my plate. School, work, the kids. My parents. I had told him it would be better if we could just be friends.