The Friend Zone by Abby Jimenez Read Online (FREE)
The Friend Zone by Abby Jimenez
Originally published: June 11, 2019
Author: Abby Jimenez
Genre: Contemporary romance
ONE : Josh
I glanced down at the text while the light was red.
Celeste: I’m not giving you a dime, Josh. Go screw yourself.
“Goddamn it,” I muttered, tossing the phone on the passenger seat. I knew she was gonna do this. Leave me with my finger in the dam. Shit.
I’d left her the contents of the whole house, and all I asked was for her to pay half of the Lowe’s bill. Half of three thousand dollars’ worth of appliances I’d generously given her instead of selling them, despite the card and payments being in my name. And of course, I was somehow the asshole in all this for leaving the state for a new job three months after we’d broken up.
I had it on the highest authority she was now hooking up with some guy named Brad.
I hoped Brad enjoyed my Samsung stainless gas range with the double oven.
Asphalt-scented heat drifted in through my open windows as I sat in Burbank’s slow-moving morning gridlock. Even on a Sunday, there was traffic. I needed to get my AC fixed if I was going to survive in California— another expense I couldn’t afford. I should have walked to the grocery store. Probably would have gotten there faster at this rate, and I wouldn’t have wasted gas—another thing that cost twice as much as it did in South Dakota.
Maybe this move was a bad idea.
This place would bankrupt me. I had to host my best friend’s bachelor party, there were moving expenses, the higher cost of living…and now this bullshit.
The light turned green and I pulled forward. Then the truck in front of me slammed on the brakes and I hit its bumper with a lurch.
Fuck. You’ve gotta be kidding me.
My day had been officially ruined twice in less than thirty seconds. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m. yet.
The other driver turned into a Vons parking lot, waving out the window for me to follow. A woman—bracelet on her wrist. The wave somehow managed to be sarcastic. Nice truck though. A Ford F-150. It still had dealer plates. Kind of a shame I’d hit it.
She parked and I pulled up behind her, turned off the engine, and rummaged in my glove box for my insurance information as the woman jumped from her vehicle and ran to look at her bumper.
“Hey,” I said, getting out. “Sorry about that.”
She turned from her inspection and glared up at me. “Yeah, you know you have one job, right? Not to hit the car in front of you?” She cocked her head.
She was small. Maybe five foot two. Petite. A dark wet spot cascaded down the front of her shirt. Shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes. Cute. Impressive scowl.