The Friend Zone Fiasco Read Online Crystal Kaswell

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 92070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)

That awkward moment when your best friend asks for a cucumber based demonstration…

Dear Dare,

After all these years, you’re still my best friend. The only guy I trust. Really, who else would respond to my questions about rounding third with a cucumber based demonstration?
That’s what I need now.
Another lesson plan.
But, I want more than a vegetable this time.
I want you.
Think about it.


P.S. If you’re not into the idea, please disregard this letter. We’re going to be trapped in a hotel room, in Europe, for two weeks, and I don’t want to make things weird.

From the author: The Friend Zone Fiasco is a steamy friends to lovers romance with the perfect mix of witty banter and emotional depth. Plus well developed characters, a curvy heroine with a love of learning, and the brooding best friend who is right under her nose.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter One


Tenth Grade

"How many girls have you kissed?"

What? I ignore the Friends episode flickering on the TV and turn to Val.

She's sitting on the leather couch, right next to me, in her usual after-school outfit—glasses, jeans, loose t-shirt. She has the same dark eyes, the same curvy figure, the same don't be stupid stare.

But something else is different.

"Why?" I ask.

"We've been going out for two weeks."

Not me and Val. Of course, not me and Val. We've been best friends since my dad moved in next door. We hang on his weekends. We text on weeknights. She helps with my math homework, and I, well—

I do things like this. I give her advice on guys.

"Dare?" She taps my shoulder.


"He's going to want to kiss."


"So!" she huffs. "I've never kissed anyone."

She hasn't? My heart thuds against my chest. But that's ridiculous. Of course, Val hasn't kissed anyone. She hasn't told me she's kissed anyone. And she tells me everything.

Doesn't she?

It's not like I send her play-by-plays of my liaisons (one of the American Lit vocab words for the week). I didn't even tell her when I punched my v-card.

It's just… weird talking about this with her.

"Will you help?" she asks.


"How do you think?" She shoots me an are you dense look. Classic Val.

"Don't you want to kiss him first?"

"Why would I want that?" Surprise streaks over her dark eyes. To her, it's a totally absurd question.

"'Cause you like him," I say.

"And all those girls you kissed… you liked them?"

"Enough to kiss them."

"Name three," she says.

I can name thirty. That's not my point. "If you like him, you should kiss him."

"Dare!" She folds her arms. "Don't be stupid."

"You don't want to kiss the guy you're dating and I'm stupid?" I'm the type to kiss and tell. She isn't. She knows that. She knows we’re different.

"What if I do it wrong?"

"There isn't a wrong," I say.

"Oh, yeah, none of those eight million girls were bad kissers?"

"Guys don't think about that kinda stuff."

"None of them were bad kissers?" She raises a brow.

"A few." Some used too much tongue. One had epic dry mouth. And there was the one girl who used so much teeth she made me bleed.

Not that I judged. See, my other friends, the ones at my school, call me Dare 'cause "you have to dare a girl to kiss me." The a-holes think they're hilarious, so they dare girls to kiss me at every opportunity.

Of course, the joke is on them 'cause I've kissed a lot of hot girls this way.

Or maybe that's why they do it. Maybe they're the world's best wingmen.

"I don't want him to think I'm a bad kisser," she says.

"You only learn with practice."



"I need practice." She undoes the band holding her ponytail, and dark locks fall all over her face.

She looks good. Feminine. Sexy even.

But that's beyond weird. Thinking about Val as sexy? Uh-uh. No way. I don't care how ample her chest is. I'm not going there.

"Why do you want to kiss me?" I ask. We're just friends. We're always only just friends.

"I trust you."

Warmth fills my body. Val trusts me. It means something. It means everything.

She doesn't stop to reflect. She stays on her mission. "If you don't want to, I'll ask Brian."

Hell no. She's not asking my kid brother to show her how to kiss. She's not asking anyone else. "I can do it."

"Really?" Relief spreads over her expression.

"Yeah, sure." My heart thuds against my chest.

"If you don't want to—"

I don't wait for her to finish. I slide my arm around her waist; I pull her body into mine; I bring my lips to hers.


Valeria Diaz.

She tastes like mint ChapStick and Diet Coke and promise.

It isn't like kissing other girls.

It's like the fireworks on the Fourth of July. Loud and colorful and awe-inspiring.

Then she pulls back and looks at me with her usual you're a great friend smile, and the entire world rearranges.

What the fuck am I doing?

"Thanks, Dare. You're the best." She jumps to her feet. "I'm going to call him now."

"That was enough practice?"

"Do you think I need more?"

No. She's perfect. "You're a natural."

She beams.

My heart skips.

She leaves and the feeling lingers.

I ignore it. She's my best friend. She's the only person I trust. I'm not risking that. Ever.

So I force myself to forget.


Until we kiss again.


Then I do something very stupid.

Chapter Two



Thirteen Days Before the Very Stupid Thing

Houston, we've landed.

My cell flashes with Val's text. My lips curl involuntarily.

After four months in Barcelona, she's home.

I miss her.

I miss her like I miss—

There's really no comparison. Val is my best friend, my partner in crime, my other half.

If I skip coffee, I crave caffeine. If I skip whiskey, I crave a buzz. But I have options: tea, soda, beer, wine, whatever.

If I miss Val?

The guys here are barely a consolation prize.

"I see a smile." From his spot at the counter, Patrick shoots me a knowing glance. A you want her in every way glance.