Friend Zone to End Zone - Judy Corry Page 0,2

I was totally about to twist her words into making it seem like she’d just said it was impossible for me to look worse than I already did. “With your bone structure, big brown eyes, and jawline, showing more of your face would not be a bad thing. In fact, I think you just keep the hair to spite me.“

“Not to spite you exactly…” I said.

She sighed.

“How about this,” I said. “You agree to give me those special dating lessons like you promised and I will let you cut my hair.”

“Really?” Her deep brown eyes lit up.

And even though I was probably going to regret letting her do it, I nodded. “I’m sure it will take a lot of work to turn me into Prince Charming, so I guess allowing you to cut my hair is probably a fair payment for your professional services.”

“Oh, you’re going to pay me for the haircut, too.”

I laughed. “Okay, fine.”

She took a sip of her champagne then scooted her chair away from the table. “And since I’m going to be the best dating coach you’ve ever seen, we’re going to start with dancing lessons right now.”

I groaned. Because even though I didn’t really suck at dating—I simply sucked at trying to date for reasons I couldn’t tell her—I really did need a lot of help on the dance floor.

But when she grabbed my hand and started pulling me toward the wedding guests who were currently slow dancing to Vincent and Emerson’s song, “Return to Love” by Andrea Boccelli, I let her—it was probably my one chance to dance with my gorgeous best friend without her boyfriend glaring at me from across the room.

2

Arianna

I was just about to teach Cole the basic slow-dance position when my phone’s ringtone sounded from the pocket he had slipped my phone into when I’d asked him to keep it safe for me.

Cole hurried to silence the call, since I’d apparently forgotten to put my phone on vibrate mode for the reception tonight.

“Do you need to answer it?” he asked.

“I probably should.” I sighed. “That’s Chad’s ringtone.”

And sure enough, when Cole handed me my phone, a photo of Chad wearing one of his designer business suits showed on the screen.

Dang, that man certainly knew how to wear a suit. His clean-cut, professional vibe was what had attracted me to him when I first met him at a club three years ago.

The way we met was kind of a great story, actually. I was brand new in town, having relocated to Denver from Alabama with my mom after my dad suddenly died of a brain aneurism. We’d moved here to be closer to my big brother, Vincent, needing to be together as a family during that difficult time.

I had just gotten a job at the salon where I still worked when, on my first weekend there, the girls invited me to go clubbing with them so they could get to know me better. When I walked into the room and saw Chad sitting at the bar, something had hit me.

I didn’t necessarily believe in love at first sight, but what happened between us had to be something close to it because we ended up dancing all night.

Over the years, Cole had joked several times that if it had been him at the club that night instead of Chad, I probably wouldn’t have been able to resist him and we would have dated—instead of becoming the best friends that we were today since our personalities just vibed so perfectly.

But I doubted that would have happened. Because while Cole and I were instant best friends when we met at a birthday party for my nephew a week later, we had never had the kind of sparks Chad and I had that first night.

“Let me just answer this real quick, and then I’ll be back for your dancing lesson,” I said to Cole, giving him an apologetic look before swiping my thumb across the screen.

“Hello?” I said once I stepped into Vincent and Emerson’s house where the music from the reception was muffled.

“Hey,” Chad’s deep voice sounded on the other line, a little more gruff-sounding than I expected. “Where are you? I’ve been walking around the pickup area for fifteen minutes and haven’t seen your car. Did you get stuck in traffic?”

Stuck in traffic?

I pulled my head back and frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m at the airport. Aren’t you here?”

“I’m at Vincent and Emerson’s reception,” I said, feeling so confused. “Why are you