The Friend Zone

by Kristen Callihan

  “You’re a cute duck.” Gray reaches out to muss my hair. His touch is warm, familiar in attitude, yet a completely new thing for me. I can’t help but stare at him, much as I’ve done since he picked me up.

  He catches my look and simply grins. “I know.”

  “What do you know?” My voice has gone oddly soft, warmth and happiness spreading through me.

  Pink washes over his cheeks as he leans forward, bracing his forearms on the table. And I notice another thing about him, his body is always moving in some fashion. “Okay, this is probably going to sound insulting,” he says, “but it isn’t meant to be.”

  “Already, I’m totally reassured,” I deadpan.

  He grimaces, but doesn’t hold back. “When I was sixteen, I bought my first car. My truck. It was a piece-of-shit 1983 Ford F100.”

  “Not liking the sound of this, but go on.”

  A smile grows on his face. “It was a junker, but I could imagine what she’d look like some day.”

  “She?”

  “Yeah, she. Would you pay attention to the story, Mac?”

  “Sorry.” I’m grinning. “Go on.”

  “So I spent the summer at Drew’s house, fixing it up with the help of Drew and his dad. John Baylor was awesome that way. He’d oversee, teach me and Drew what we needed to do, but left it up to us to learn. We rebuilt the engine, fixed the body, found a new interior for her. Day came that the truck was done.” Gray’s expression turns inward. “God, she was perfect, shiny black with a cream interior. I sat in my truck all day, just looking at her lines, running my hands over the leather bench seat. I couldn’t stop staring.” His eyes meet mine, and I find I’m holding my breath. “Because the dream was finally real.”

  My throat constricts, and I swallow hard. “Cupcake…”

  Gray flushes deeper pink, and he picks at the edge of our chicken basket. “It’s corny, I know. But I thought of that.” His gaze flicks up to mine. “You’re finally here, and I can’t seem to stop staring.”

  Suddenly it’s too much. The squiggly red lines of the retro Formica table blur as I blink down at it.

  “Shit,” Gray mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was a compliment, I swear. I’ll take it back if—”

  “Don’t you dare,” I snap, lifting my head to glare. “It was the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  His smile is lopsided and a bit unsure. “Then we’re going to have to work on improving that record.”

  I know he’s trying to lighten things up, and he probably regrets telling me that story. I kind of regret it too, because he’s turned me into a ball of mush. Staring back at this insanely gorgeous, sweetly thoughtful man who is now my friend, I feel a twinge of loss. From early on, I’d put him firmly in the friend zone, not wanting to develop deeper feelings for a guy I know is a player and treats me like his best pal. And that was okay, because I want Gray’s friendship. I cherish it.

  Only now I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. Would we have been more than friends if I hadn’t drawn that line in the sand? But what-ifs don’t matter; we’re friends now, and there is no way I’d risk ruining that by dreaming of more. Besides, in a few months I’ll be back in London with a whole ocean between us.

  Smiling back at Gray, I discreetly put a hand to my aching chest and try to press that sense of loss away.

  Three

  Ivy

  When Gray pulls into the circular drive of my dad’s home, he lets out a slow whistle. “That’s some house.”

  It’s a monstrosity. One of the new Southern mansions that attempts to look like a chateau but uses sandstone brick and terracotta tiles, and has an obvious newness about it that will never fade into gentility. I know it pisses my dad off that we refuse to live in it, but he’s rarely home and the place literally echoes when you walk inside it. Fi and I are holding out hope that he’ll give up the ghost and find himself a nice townhome more suitable to our small family.

  I stare up at the house. “Sometimes when I look at this place, I feel like the biggest asshole.”

  Gray’s laugh is startled. “Why?”

  “I know how many people would kill to live here. And I don’t want it. I hate the place. And, I don’t know… I feel like an ingrate.”

  He tilts his head to get a better view of the house. “I don’t know, Mac. There’s a house, and there’s home. That doesn’t look particularly homey to me.”

  Slowly, I shake my head. “But I shouldn’t complain about it. I’ve lived my life completely cosseted. I take the money my parents give me and never need to support myself. What kind of person does that make me?”

  “My friend.” He crosses his big arms over his chest, and gives me a hard look. “So don’t go beating up on her. Hell, Mac, you worked your butt off and graduated a year early. It isn’t as if you’re going around partying and blowing through money. You want to know what pisses me off?”

  “What?” I ask with a small smile, because he’s cute when he’s irate and his brows are inching toward his hairline.

  “All our lives, we’re told work hard, strive for more, do all you can to live that life less ordinary. Money, power, fame, everyone wants it. But you get there and suddenly you’re supposed to be ashamed, be humble?” He shakes his head. “Fuck that noise. I say live your life on your terms. If someone judges you about material things, that’s their problem.”

  My smile grows, and I set my hand on his arm where the muscles are thick and bulging beneath his warm skin. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

  “Damn straight,” he mutters, still worked up. “And no more feeling shitty for things given to you by people who love you.”

  “Okay.”

  He huffs, not looking at me but drumming his fingers on the pink steering wheel. “Where am I taking you, then?”

  “Head toward the portico next to the garage. We’re back there.”

  Gray drives to the rear of the property and the little guesthouse appears.

  “This is home,” I say. “Or as close to it as we have in the area.”

  It looks like a gamekeeper’s cottage, with mullioned windows and a peaked roof. The house is raised from the ground, and a set of stairs leads up to the front door.

  “Now that looks like a home,” Gray says, sounding pleased.

  As soon as we step out of the car, Fi’s opening the front door. Her skin has a greenish tinge but she’s smiling wide. “Well, well, well. Look at what the cat dragged in.”

  Petite and lithe, with short pale blonde hair and big green eyes, my sister is like a big-mouthed Tinker Bell. And I’ve missed the hell out of her.

  “Hey there, Fi-Fi,” I call up with a grin.

  “Ivy Weed.” She shifts from foot to foot, as if she wants to race down the stairs and launch herself at me. Which would be our customary greeting, complete with hugs and kisses. But clearly she’s too ill to do that now. Her gaze leaves me and settles on Gray. I almost laugh at the way her mouth falls open and she stands straighter.

  “Fiona, this is Gray Grayson.”

  Gray, who has been hauling my luggage out of the trunk, turns and gives her a smile. “Hey. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Fi clears her throat. “Likewise. Although it looks like my sister left out some pertinent parts. I’d come say hello properly but you should probably stay well away from me at the moment.” Fi grimaces as if she’s just realized that she’s standing in the doorway wearing her fuzzy pink robe and slippers that look like SpongeBob’s head. “In fact,” she says faintly, “I’m going to lie down now. I’ll see you in a few, Ivy.”

  I get a nice, hard glare before Fi practically runs away.

  “She’s mortified,” I tell Gray as we head toward the house. “Fi never wants any guy to see her in anything other than full-on makeup.”

  “She’s cute as a button,” Gray says happily.

  I’d be worried, but he doesn’t look interested in Fi, which is a relief. I’ve been friends with guys who have panted over Fi. It neve
r ends well.

  The house is open concept with a living room in the center and a dining nook and an L-shaped kitchen to one side. Fi’s redecorated since I’d last been here. Now the walls are chocolate brown, the couches big and covered in cream-colored microfiber. A distressed-wood coffee table sits between them, and sepia photographs of cityscapes hang in a grid pattern along one wall.

  “Fi’s majoring in interior design,” I tell Gray, as I set my purse on the hall console that looks like it was once a pharmacist’s cabinet. “I’m thinking she charmed my dad out of a few dollars.”

  “It’s nice.” His blue eyes scan the room. “Kind of reminds me of Drew’s place. But, you know, more professionally done.”

  “I’d give you a tour,” I tell him, “but I want to scrub down the area first.”

  Gray sets my bags to the side. “Yeah, I’m not going to stress your sister any more than I’ve already done. I’ll just leave you here.”

  For a moment, we stare at each other. I don’t want him to leave. Maybe he doesn’t want to go. It’s a strange feeling, as though I’ll lose him if he walks out the door. Which is ridiculous. Perhaps that’s why I launch myself at him and wrap my arms around his neck in a fierce hug.

  “Sorry,” I tell his shoulder, because I don’t want to let go. “I’m just so happy to finally be with you.”

  And then I realize that he’s hugging me back. His arms are tight bands around my waist, his body pressed to mine. He kisses the top of my head. “Me too, Ivy Mac.”

  I force myself to let go and make a production out of smoothing his rumpled shirt before stepping back entirely. “I better go and see to Fi.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle as he brushes my chin with his knuckle. “Call you later, okay?” He hesitates for just a moment more. And then he’s gone, leaving the house in utter silence.

  That is until Fi lets out a pitiful moan. “Can I come out now?”

  I laugh. “No. Stay put. I’ll come find you.”

  “I’m in your room. Puking on your bed because you didn’t warn me that you were bringing a hot guy home, you fuckface.”

  Our rooms flank each side of the living space, mine closer to the kitchen. I head that way with a grin. “I’m sorry! Really, I am.”

  “Sure, sure.” Fi’s voice grows clearer as I enter my room.

  But I stop and take it in with shocked awe. Because she’s redecorated in here too. “Fi… Wow.”

  “Surprise,” she says feebly from her slump on my bed.

  The entire room is done in shades of cream—the walls, the simple-lined but plush furniture, the plush carpet over pine floorboards. I never would have thought of it, but it’s so restful and serene, I’m in instant love. The bed is the showstopper, an enormous white canopy. Because Fi knows my style, she didn’t go for girly but chose a classic, wood frame so that the bed resembles a structured cube. White linens and a mass of plump pillows make it soft and inviting.

  “It’s beautiful,” I tell her.

  “Well, I figured we could add some splashes of color here and there, if you like.”

  I kick off my shoes and plop down on the bed beside her. The cool feather duvet swallows me up with a sigh. “It’s perfect. I feel like I’ve walked into a cloud.”

  Fi gives a weak laugh and closes her eyes. “Good. Cloud is what I was going for.”

  “How are you doing?” I touch her forehead and find it clammy.

  “I feel like shit on a shoe. Not the welcome home I was planning.”

  “We’ll make up for it when you’re better.” Because she’s sick, I kiss her shoulder instead of her cheek. “Missed you, Fi-Fi.”

  At this, she turns and grins. “Missed you too, Ivy Weed.” But her grin fades and her pale brows knit. “And what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me that Grayson was gorgeous? Hell, I might have to reconsider my ban on football players.” Fi has channeled her resentment of my dad’s job into a dislike of all things sports.

  “Honestly? I didn’t know. We hadn’t exchanged pictures or anything.”

  She snorts. “Only you would befriend a guy and have no clue what he looks like.”

  “I didn’t want to know,” I admit. “I can’t really explain, but if I knew what he looked like, it would make our separation more real, make it harder on me that we were three thousand miles apart.” The confession has me feeling oddly exposed, and I curl up tighter on the bed.

  “I’m pretty sure finding out he was a babe would make it worse,” Fi agrees with a leer. “I mean, tell me you didn’t see him for the first time and think, ‘Holy hotness, Batman!’”

  “I was…surprised.” I’d been floored. “But it’s not like I expected him to be ugly or anything.” And even if Gray had been less than attractive, it wouldn’t have mattered. He has charisma in spades.

  “I nearly wet myself when I saw him,” Fi prattles on. “Jay-sus, he’s hot. And freaking huge. A veritable mountain of sexy.” She fans her face with exaggerated movements. “Seriously, Iv…You could climb him like Everest, make base camp at his cock, and tackle the rest in the morning.”

  “Fi! Would you stop?” My cheeks burn at the image she put in my head.

  “Why? It’s true. And I bet you agree.” She narrows her bloodshot eyes. “Don’t you.” It isn’t a question.

  I hug a white, fuzzy throw pillow to my chest. “He’s my friend. I’m not thinking about him in that way.”

  “Friend I’d like to fuck.”

  I lurch up and turn to glare at her. “Don’t you even think about it.”

  Fi’s expression is placid. “I was kidding. But it looks like someone’s already territorial.”

  “Of course I am. He’s awesome. One of the few people I’ve instantly clicked with. And I’m not going to have that mucked up with…with…emotions.” I wave my hand in irritation, nearly bopping Fi in the head in the process.

  She ducks and snuggles further down into my bed. “Something tells me emotions are going to be involved regardless. But you don’t have to worry about me. I have a boyfriend. Jake. He’s a senior and he’s beautiful.”

  “Does he wear plaid shirts and drive a red Porsche?”

  “Har. Although he does bear a passing resemblance to Jake Ryan. Hmm…I wonder if I could get him to rent a Porsche and wait for me in front of a church.” Fi nibbles her bottom lip as if picturing this Sixteen Candles reenactment.

  “You’d actually have to attend church,” I say. “Which would put you at risk of being struck by lightning.”

  “As if you can talk.” She pins me with her stare. “I give it one month before you jump Gray’s bones. And that long only because I know you’re stubborn.”

  “Shouldn’t you be napping?”

  “I’ve napped enough. I may puke sometime in the near future, but I’ll be sure to let you know when.”

  Making a gagging face, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Brilliant. I’m going to shower this airplane funk off me.”

  Fi’s voice follows me as I escape to the sanctity of my bathroom. “Glad you’re home, Iv!”

  “Glad to be home, Fi,” I call back.

  “I dare you not to think of that sexy mountain of man while you wash your lady bits!”

  I slam the door on her evil cackle.

  * * *

  Gray

  “So.” Drew’s voice comes at me from beyond the loud pounding of my heart in my ears. “Tell me about this Ivy.”

  I glance at my best friend. I’m at his house because I’m finally getting my truck back. Anna borrowed her mom’s car, which is automatic, and he no longer needs mine. I made a half-hearted protest that he could keep the truck longer, but truth is I’ve missed the old girl. Drew, on the other hand…

  The fucker is kicking back on a sun chair, drinking some fruity drink Anna made for him while I bust my ass sprinting back and forth between two cones set ten yards apart. Fucking shuttle drills. My thighs burn, my lungs are on fire. And still I go faster. I grunt as I crouch down to touch a con
e before launching back up to book it to the next.

  “She’s not…‘this’ Ivy,” I pant out. Dip, touch, turn, sprint. “And what’s to tell? She’s…” I touch the next cone. “My friend.”

  “Hmmm…” Drew takes a pull on his straw—Jesus, the drink has an umbrella. I swear he put one in it to fuck with me. It’s forty degrees out here, and he’s acting like he’s on a beach somewhere. “And yet you’re attached to your phone like it’s become your second dick.”

  “Don’t see a problem with that.” I grunt. “Two dicks, twice the fun.” One. More. Set. Fuck.

  Drew watches me with that stare of his that always sees more than it should. There’s an evil light in his eyes that looks way too pleased for comfort. “Yeah, as much as I’d love to discuss your disturbing, multi-dick fantasies—and believe me, we really ought to discuss that issue—I’d rather talk about your new girlfriend.”

  I race through my final drill, panting as I grab my bottle of Gatorade then guzzle it with enough zeal that sticky rivulets of drink run down my chin and drip on to my bare chest. Sweat stings my eyes and I ache all over, a hum of sensation that causes me to shake. Is it sick that I love the feeling, love pushing my body to the brink? It’s as close as I can get to the aftermath of hot sex without the awkwardness of “thanks babe, see ya” getting in the way.

  Drew tosses me a towel while the bottle is still at my lips. I pluck the towel from the air without looking then use it to wipe my face. When I chuck the damp towel back at him, Drew lurches to his feet, the long cast encasing his left leg making the move awkward.

  Though I’d never admit to it, the sight hurts me. Until a brutal sack broke his leg, Drew was our starting quarterback and the team’s undisputed commander. The injury ended his season. And as much as I hate to think it, I’m afraid our team will be lost without him. We were a well-oiled machine, a fucking brilliant team. Now what? The conference championship game is next, and our mojo is all off.

  Worse, I hate seeing Drew hobbled because I know how much it tortures him. But Drew seems to be getting on all right lately. Much of it having to do with his girlfriend, Anna. According to Drew, being in love does that for some guys. Personally, I think it’s the steady diet of sex with a hot girl, but what do I know?