Page 22 of The Friend Zone
“Omar?” she said tentatively.
“I’ll text you as soon as I get off the phone. Good night, Dana.”
“Good ni—”
He was already gone.
When the audiobook automatically came back on, Dana hitPause. An odd burning sensation lay buried in her chest. Biting her lip, she closed her eyes and tried to understand what happened. Half the conversation had been strange. Something just happened between them, right? She wanted to reach for it but was terrified, because what if her feelings were one-sided? What if she imagined the tension, the awkwardness, the peculiar sound of his voice?
She and Omar had been friends for six years and crossed the line only once, but every now and again their interactions became weighted with tension and unspoken words, as if they were each waiting for the other to say—ordo—something. Ask a question, make the first move.
Maybe those awkward moments were all in her head. She wasn’t his type. She wasn’t a model or an actress. She wore flats, not heels, and slacks and blouses, not halter tops and mini-skirts.
Mr. Casanova frequently switched sexual partners and was known for having lovers who only said good things about him. Former lovers frequently described him as a gentleman and romantic, and of course there were rumors of his sexual prowess in bed. One source claimed to have passed out from the intensity of an orgasm he gave her. Another claimed he was hung like a horse with the stamina of a bull.
Whatever the truth, Omar had a reputation with the ladies, but no one said a bad word about him, and without a doubt the female population of Atlanta silently thanked his ex for cheating and setting him free. Why would any man, especially an eligible bachelor like Omar, settle for one woman when he could have dozens?
Hesitantly, Dana parted her thighs and slid a hand between her legs. Closing her eyes, she released the soft moan that climbed up her throat as her fingers encountered her hypersensitive flesh. She might not be what he wanted, but her swollen clit betrayed thathewas exactly what she wanted.
She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do. She’d masturbated plenty of times but always resisted the urge to let Omar star in her fantasies. This time she held no such reservations. She touched herself, imagining his deep voice, his green eyes, and his sinfully sexy lips touching the slippery, hot flesh between her legs. She imagined caressing his broad, naked shoulders and having his thick thighs slide between hers right before he thrust into her.
Dana lifted a hand to her breasts and finished herself off with a small cry, trembling through the climax—gasping and moaning so loudly the sound echoed against the bathroom walls.
When she finally settled down, her tense muscles relaxed, and she slowly opened her eyes.
“Shit,” she whispered on a pant.
Good as the release was, she suspected nothing could compare to the real thing. She couldn’t continue like this, longing for more and remaining unsatisfied.
She thought about Sheldon and their easy conversation. He didn’t excite her like Omar did, whose six-year head start gave him an advantage, but given enough time, her feelings for Sheldoncouldgrow.
Lifting her glass to her lips, she drained the remnants of wine in one gulp. Then she picked up the phone and dialed Sheldon’s number to invite him to the Friday night concert.
11
“Wait, one more!” Tamika said, lifting her shot glass in the air.
Everyone around the low table groaned. Tamika had already completed two toasts to celebrate the May first test launch of her cosmetic line in stores. She showed them photos of her visiting different stores and posing in selfies next to her products on the shelves.
Her walnut-brown skin glowed with bronzer, and she wore her short pixie brushed into a faux hawk—high on top and tight on the sides—and sat atop her fiancé’s lap. Anton was more subdued than her outgoing personality, making them an interesting study in opposites, but they worked.
“Hurry up!” Dana shouted above the noise, holding up a shot of rum.
The crowd at Hot Vinyl Playhouse was loud as they waited for the main act, T-Murder to take the stage. The drinks were flowing and the animated crowd of mostly twenty- and thirty-somethings grooved to the sounds of the opening act, a cover band playing everything from rap to nineties R&B.
Dana and her friends sat in the balcony in one of two roped off sections with a great view and a dedicated waitress serving their group of eight. Next to Dana on the sofa were Layla and her fiancé Rashad. Beside them in a chair was Tamika on her fiancé’s lap. Jay from Omar’s foundation came with his wife, and they were seated to Dana’s right, with Omar at the end.
She rode to the venue with him, and Sheldon was supposed to meet her there, but he hadn’t arrived yet, and her last text went unanswered.
“Okay, damn, I’ll hurry up.” Tamika grinned, eyes alight with laughter. “I just want to say, work hard, believe in your dreams, and don’t let anyone dull your shine!” She screamed the last part.
“Here, here!” they all hollered, and tossed back the shots.
Dana slammed her glass on the table and shivered as the smooth rum coursed down her throat. “Where’s our waitress?” she asked, looking around.
“You want another drink? Long Island iced tea?” Omar asked, standing. The perfect host all night, he made sure everyone was comfortable and having a good time.
“I can wait.”
