Some say getting out of The Friend Zone is hard. Well, try getting out of The Sister Zone.
Vanessa Hayes-Wong has been best friends with Oliver Morrison for five years, one month, and fourteen days. Just as she starts to realize her feelings for him...
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—2 years and 27 days ago—
"Ready?"
As Nessa aims my phone's camera at me, I fold my arms across my chest. Once I'm sure my muscles are shown off in the best way possible, I give her the go-ahead nod.
"One . . ."
A glance at the lovebirds in front of the fancy apartment to my left tells me they're still too lost in their own world to notice what I'm about to do. Still, anxiety crawls across my skin as I rest my butt against the trunk of the black Lamborghini and put my white sneakers on the bumper.
Considering how the soles are wet and caked with mud, I'm sure they're going to leave some stains on the car. But a guy's gotta do anything for the gram, right?
Besides, it's not like the car is mine.
"Two . . ."
The Dwayne Johnson lookalike stops eating his lover's mouth and turns his attention toward me. "Hey, what is he doing?"
Oh, crap. This is a bad idea. Cold sweat forms on my brow as anger grows in his voice. "That's my car. What the f—"
"Three," Nessa says. "Say cheese!"
I put on my super sexy smirk and tilt my head to my right, allowing the soft rays of sunlight breaking through the gray sky to highlight my best features—and hide that stupid layer of fat under my chin.
"Get the fuck off my car, you asshole!" the bald guy roars in fury and charges toward us.
"Oh, shit." I dash toward Nessa and grab her hand. "Run, run, run!"
The bulky guy chases after us like an angry lion, shouting out a string of curses that would put the kids from South Park to shame. My heart thuds in my ears as Nessa and I head toward the smaller, less luxurious apartment building across the street: her new place.
Adrenaline—along with a sense of fear for my life—pumps through my veins, allowing me to run as fast as Usain Bolt. Taking a turn into the five-story building's back alley, we crouch beside the dumpster to hide from the bald guy's wrath.
The next few seconds feel like hours. The man's heavy footsteps slow down near the entrance of the alley, forcing me to hold my breath.
"Dammit!" He stomps his boots in a puddle of water and mutters some more curses. After a while, he finally walks away from the alley.
Letting out a relieved chuckle, I drop my butt to the ground and lean back against the dumpster. "That was close."
The lack of response from Nessa raises my concern, and for a moment, the idea that she's having a heart attack crosses my mind. My concern heightens when I discover her gaping in shock, her eyes fixed on her hand; which, to my utter surprise, is still gripped tightly in mine.
