Friend Zone Series Box Set

by Blanchard, Nicole

  “It’s just one class,” Charlie reasoned. “You’re the smartest person I know. All you have to do is make it through one class.”

  I drank some more. I was going to be an alcoholic by the time the semester was over. “Let’s change the subject. I’ll survive living in the same building and being his student—somehow, but for now, I want to forget.”

  “Sure, he’s a pain in the ass, but at least he’s nice to look at,” Ember said.

  “Did you hear me?” I asked. I absolutely, positively did not to think about how nice he was to look at.

  “If I had his class, I’d sure be doing some looking.”

  My eyes rounded. “Charlie! What about Liam?”

  Charlie laughed into her sangria. “What? Just looking.”

  Slumping back in my seat, I studied my friends as they doubled over with laughter, eyes bright from the alcohol. This was exactly what I needed. So, they hadn’t been much help taking my mind off of Dash, but they’d loosened the knots in my stomach—at least until I had to see him again on Monday.

  Chapter Four

  Dash

  It didn’t escape my notice that I was teaching a class about ethics and fantasizing about one of my students. There was just something about the way she’d shoot daggers at me when she thought I wasn’t looking that did it for me.

  When other students would give me coy looks from underneath their lashes or leaned forward to expose their cleavage, Layla snarled insults under her breath and countered every argument I proposed.

  She hated me, that was clear. Maybe I loved antagonizing her so much because a part of me hated her, too. Hated she made me feel, hated she made me want. And I hated I didn’t hate her the slightest bit.

  As I gave my lecture, I attempted to focus on anyone but her. Except, the more I tried to ignore her, the more she invaded my thoughts.

  With my mind half on the discussion, my thoughts drifted to the last time I saw her before my junior year abroad. I’d gone to my younger brother’s graduation—they’d been in the same graduating class in high school—and I couldn’t resist needling her for being salutatorian instead of valedictorian.

  “What is he doing here?” Layla asked my younger brother, Brian, who was already smiling. He got off watching Layla’s hatred of me. I had to admit, so did I.

  It was so out of the ordinary to have a woman who didn’t fall at my feet. It was refreshing. Distracting. And it turned me fucking on.

  I should have been focused on my upcoming year abroad, but as I strolled over to where Layla and Brian were standing outside of the auditorium, all I could think about was her.

  She wore a snug white dress, fitted to curves she hadn’t possessed two years ago when I went off to college. Pale, milky skin filled my vision and her legs went on for miles, accentuated by heels that brought the top of her head almost to my shoulders. She was even more attractive when she turned to me and scowled. It made me grin as wide as I did the first time she didn’t fall at my feet. A scowl from Layla Tate was more enticing than a smile from any other woman.

  “Come on, Lay, you didn’t think I’d miss the big event, now did you? After all, I’ve been waiting to see you graduate as valedictorian for a long time.” Her eyes could have singed me with the force of her glare. “I guess I’ll be waiting for a while.”

  “You’re such an asshole.” She bared her teeth with the words, her cheeks reddening.

  “But you love me,” I teased, wondering what it would take to truly push her over the edge.

  “I loathe you.”

  She spun around, her dark, sleek hair fanning out behind her. A part of me was disappointed to watch her leave, but I knew she couldn’t stay away for long. Much as I seemed to annoy her, it didn’t seem to make her stop from coming back for more.

  My brother turned to me, backhanding me on the shoulder. “Dude. Why do you always have to give her such a hard time?”

  I threw an arm around his shoulder and tugged him along toward our waiting parents. “She wouldn’t put up with me if she didn’t like it,” I told him.

  At least that’s what I thought, until I came across her inside the sound booth I’d been asked to manage. She was huddled behind it crying.

  “Layla?” I asked before I could think better of it. I didn’t know jack shit about handling crying females, let alone one who practically clawed at my throat on a regular basis.

  Her red-rimmed eyes shot to mine and her face crumpled when she realized it was me. “What are you doing here? Go away!” Except she could barely speak between sobs.

  I knelt down beside her. It was a bad idea, but part of me was concerned I’d made her cry. “Hey,” I said, as I scooted closer on my knees. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  Her tears undid me. It was one thing to see her riled up and angry, and quite another to see her hurt and vulnerable.

  Even though she was crying, she laughed. “As if I’d care enough to cry over you. Not everything revolves around you. Idiot.” She wiped at her nose and kept her eyes downcast.

  Bumping shoulders with her, I sat next to her on the floor of the booth. We had some time yet before the ceremony was going to start. I couldn’t seem to make myself leave without knowing what had made her cry.

  “Then why are you?”

  She sniffled, wiping her face with her sleeve again. Her mascara had begun to run, and her porcelain skin was blotchy. “What do you care?”

  It hurt me, more than it should, to have her think so terribly of me. For a moment, I wanted to console her. “C’mon, Lay. I should be the only person who gets to pick on you. If someone is infringing on my territory, I want to know so I can kick their ass.”

  “Oh, please. You’re probably loving this.” For some reason, that made her cry harder and I panicked.

  “Hey, hey. No, I don’t. I may be a dick sometimes, but I’m not a monster,” I said, except, seeing her cry, it made me sort of feel like one.

  “It doesn’t matter.” She sniffled again, wiped her eyes, then pulled out her phone. At the sight of the time, she squeaked, then opened up the selfie view on her camera to check her face. With a low moan, she began to repair the damage. “You can go now, I’m fine.”

  My first thought was no, no she’s not, but I didn’t comment on it. Instead, I said, “Actually, I can’t. They needed me to help out with the sound system, the music.” When she got up to leave, I blocked her way.

  “Don’t start,” she warned.

  “I’m not letting you leave until you tell me why you’re so upset.”

  “It’s really none of your business.”

  “So I’m making it my business.”

  “Let’s not do this right now, Dash. I have to go or I’m going to miss my own graduation.”

  “Then you’d better get talking, because I’m not letting you out of here until you do.”

  Her sky-blue eyes lifted and met mine. “If you must know, if you just have to humiliate me one more time on what’s supposed to be one of the best days of my life, it’s my mother. I didn’t make valedictorian like my sister, so she’s very embarrassed to be seen with me today. There? Does that make you happy?” She laughed, but it was hollow. “Maybe you should go find her, you can make fun of me together.”

  Knowing if I sympathized with her it’d only make her angrier, I got to my feet and helped her up. The wary look in her eyes told me she didn’t trust me for a second. I didn’t blame her. She shouldn’t.

  It may have been the tears, maybe she was right, and I was a twisted prick. It may have been the warning in her eyes. It was certainly the dress and her go-fuck-yourself sneer.

  I think she knew what I was planning before I did, because an instant before my lips touched hers, she opened her mouth to protest. Bad choice on her part, because it gave me the perfect opportunity to see if her feisty mouth tasted as good as it looked.

  It didn’t. It tasted better.

  Later, I’d tell myself it was a one-time thing. Something to distract her
from her pain, but it’d be a lie.

  She went as still as granite in my arms for a couple long, tension-filled heartbeats and then she melted and gripped my shirt with both fists. I could taste the salt of tears on her full lips, warring with the sweetness of her mouth.

  It was so Layla I nearly smiled. The contradiction of soft and steel gripped me so hard I lost my hold on sanity.

  Turning, I pinned her against the wall of the sound booth. It was dark enough my other senses were heightened. All I could see, smell, taste, or hear was Layla.

  She made a sound of pleasure against my lips that shocked me back to reality. I pulled away, and gave myself a moment to savor the look of pure bliss on her face, before I untwined myself.

  “Now you’ve got something to remember me by,” I told her.

  It took her a moment for her eyes to refocus. When they did, the anguished glaze was gone. Instead, they lit with fire. That I knew how to handle.

  “You son of a bitch,” she growled.

  I couldn’t help the smile. “You don’t have to be upset, you liked it.”

  “Liked it?” Her voice was nearly a screech. “You disgust me,” she said through clenched teeth and stalked off.

  “You and me both,” I said to her retreating back. But she didn’t hear me.

  At least she wasn’t crying anymore.

  * * *

  I made it through the lecture, barely, but I made it a point not to draw Layla’s attention. Not when the memories of her mouth were so close to the surface. Antagonizing her was one thing, but going down memory lane was another.

  That didn’t stop me from watching her as she gathered up her books and strode out the door. I was going to hell for loving it was still warm enough for her to wear her go-to sundresses. All I could think about through my next class and lunch was how much I wanted to see what she had on under them.

  Thursdays were reserved for dinner with my grandfather and the memory of Layla in that formfitting white dress was all that was going to get me through it.

  Edward Hampton was an exacting man with expensive tastes and impossible standards. His expectations of me had been drilled into my every waking moment since I was six. It was a wonder my dad turned out okay, considering who raised him. Dad liked to say it was my mother’s softening influence that kept him from turning out like his father.

  “You’re late,” he said, without looking up from the papers on his desk.

  “Class ran over,” I answered. It hadn’t, but we both knew that. I didn’t want to spend more time with him than necessary. Sad, when you considered he was family. He and my grandmother had been married forty-three years, but you wouldn’t know that by looking at them.

  I kissed my grandmother on the head, causing her to frown. Physical affection was rarely tolerated. “Sit down, Dashiel.”

  “Dash,” I corrected because I knew it irritated her. They didn’t pull this kind of crap with my younger brother, Brian. He wasn’t required to attend meals or check in. He flitted around the world under the guise of finding himself and no one batted an eye. No, I was the first born, the legacy for the Hampton name.

  Her mouth puckered and she indicated the food already laid out on the table. “Dinner’s already cold. If you’d called to say you were going to be late, I could have held it, but you’ll have to make do.”

  “That’s fine,” I answered and spooned up roast with potatoes, peas, and carrots. Thursdays were practically the only day I got a well-cooked meal, so it didn’t matter to me if it was cold. “So, what was so important?” I asked. Grandmother had called that morning to mention no less than three times I couldn’t skip.

  “Since this is your last year of graduate school, and you’ve sown your oats and procrastinated long enough, it’s time you accepted your responsibilities as a Hampton.”

  It’s the same speech I’d gotten every year since I was a child. “I’m not ready,” I answered as I had every year.

  I was going to elaborate, but grandfather didn’t give me the chance. Underneath his fake tan and cosmetic surgery, by a confidential and well-paid plastic surgeon, his color heightened. “Elections begin year after next. You’ll participate in your father’s campaign, network, get your name out there. By the time your thirty-five you’ll be the next Hampton in office. Your grandmother and I financed your education. You’ll follow the Hampton line just as your father did.”

  Scoffing inwardly, I stuffed my face with beef and vegetables to keep from saying all the things I wanted to say out loud. Out of respect for my father, I deferred to his parents, but not by choice.

  Sensing the growing hostility, grandmother leaned forward, her watery blue eyes bright with excitement. Shit.

  “We have the most wonderful girl for you to meet. There’s a charity function at the end of the month, an auction for the needy we’re supporting. You’ll meet her there. Her family is very nice. The Martins. Good people. You’ll like her.”

  I nodded because it was easier than arguing. The only person in my life who didn’t see me for the stepping-stone, or the legacy, or the pretty face was Layla.

  She hated me, but at least it was honest.

  I was already looking forward to our next class with renewed enthusiasm.

  Chapter Five

  Layla

  As I waited for the ancient elevator to creak its way down, I scrolled through Instagram looking for inspiration and stopped when I came to the feed of an artist I’d heard of before, but hadn’t paid a whole lot of attention to. Peyton Rhodes. They’re portraits, stunning portraits. She painted them in black and white so the only aspect you can see is the pure emotion captured from her subjects.

  God, what I wouldn’t give to paint like that. I spent more time than I should have looking through her past work. She’d only recently gotten into doing portraits. Her parents had died a couple years ago, and she understandably stuck to landscapes while she worked through her grief. According to an interview, it was love that brought her the wave of inspiration to dive back into portraiture.

  I wanted to scoff, but it was undeniable how beautiful her work was. I didn’t not believe in love, but I also believed in evidence. The only example I had for what a relationship was supposed to be like were my parents. My mother ran roughshod over my father my whole life. Was that love? I didn’t think so. I wasn’t so sure I wanted to take the leap to figure it out.

  It was the perfect time for Tequila Tuesday. I needed the break from work, classes, and the carefully plotted game of chess Dash and I had been playing three days a week. It was exhausting trying to keep up with him all of the time. Exhausting, but I’d started to look forward to it.

  Hence the need for tequila. Lots and lots of tequila.

  Only three months left.

  I climbed into the elevator heading to Ember’s apartment, where we decided to host the get-together this week. Ember’s twin sisters also stayed with her because instead of overbearing parents like mine, she had a pair who couldn’t care less. I wasn’t sure which was worse. Her siblings had an afterschool thing, and then a sleepover at her aunt’s so we’d have the place all to ourselves.

  Ember threw open the door at my knock, her cheeks already red against her Irish-white skin. “Hola! I’m so glad you’re here,” she squealed.

  “Someone’s already been in the tequila,” I commented with a grin.

  “I lost one last night. I figured I needed it.”

  Ember was an EMT part time while she studied to become a paramedic. I didn’t know how she and Charlie worked in healthcare. Charlie was an R.N. having recently graduated and landed her first full-time job. They spent their days saving lives, while I drew pictures. Sometimes it felt like my dreams weren’t valuable enough compared to theirs. Their jobs mattered. They made a difference. But maybe that was my mom’s voice in my head. She’d certainly recited the same spiel time and time again.

  “Well, let’s not disappoint,” I said, as I followed her to the kitchen. “You okay?”

 
She lifted a shoulder. “It comes and it goes. In the moment, it’s just about doing what needs to be done next. It’s the hours after, when I’m home doing random, ordinary things where it hits me. Sometimes it’s not bad. Like if it’s an elderly person who has passed due to relatively natural causes. But it’s the kids or the parents that get to me.”

  I saw her eyes flit to the pictures on the wall of her siblings. “Double for you then,” I announced to distract her and set my supplies on the counter. Crossing to the tequila station, I whipped up a quick round. “When is Charlie going to get here?”

  “You rang?” Charlie said, as she and her best friend and boyfriend, Liam, walked through the door after knocking. “Time to get this party started.” She was still in her scrubs, her dirty blonde hair in a messy topknot, but her eyes were bright and full of life.

  Smiling, I lined up four shot glasses for all of us and opened a new bottle—Ember had apparently finished off the rest from our last Tequila Tuesday. With an efficiency that spoke to exceptional competence at her job, Ember sliced limes and salted rims.

  Liam automatically went for the TV remote and put on some football game. As we readied our shots, he settled into the couch.

  “What’s Chris doing this weekend?” I asked.

  It was a touchy subject. Their on-again-off-again relationship was full of more drama than I could keep up with. But what did I know? I’d barely ever had a boyfriend. Even the thought of bringing someone around made me cringe. Not only would my mother have gone ballistic, I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I had one.

  Ember rolled her eyes. “No talking about that either. Just drinking.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, but I made a mental note to bring it up later when she wasn’t heading toward sloshed and so obviously emotionally raw. I held up my shot glass full to the rim. “What are we toasting?” I asked.