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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I put on my biggest, fakest smile and turn around to face my old friend. "Jack! What are you doing—"
A shocked gasp escapes me when I see him, or rather, his clothes.
The navy-blue uniform wraps his tall, muscular body perfectly, the color accentuating his tanned skin. His side bangs and long, disheveled hair are traded with a short, neat cut that makes him seem 1,000 times more decent than he was.
I blink, wondering if I'm hallucinating. "You're a cop?"
Wait. Was he arrested for impersonating a cop?
"Yeah." The brown-haired man glances at the badge worn over his left chest, a gleam of pride lighting up his rugged features. "Kinda ironic, huh? The town's number one bad boy became a cop?" He switches his attention back to me and grins. "I can't believe this. I heard you moved to LA, but I didn't think I'd meet—"
A loud alarm rings in my head when Jack flicks his eyes to Ollie.
"Oh, how rude of me. Jack Johnson." He stretches out a hand to Ollie for a handshake, mischief twinkling in his sharp hazel eyes. "Me and this baddie right here"—he tilts his head in my direction—"go way, way, back."
"Oliver Morrison. Nice to meet you." Ollie keeps his tone polite, yet his voice trembles with suppressed laughter.
The throbbing in my head worsens. This cannot get any worse.
"So," Jack continues, "how long have you two been together?"
"We're not," Ollie and I answer in unison.
As I fight back a frown, Ollie says, "We're just friends."
Yeah. Just friends. Those two simple words make me want to bolt out of this place and jump into the nearest river. But I choose to look at the bright side. At least he doesn't say he's my brother.
"Riiiight," Jack teases. His eyes brightened with a familiar, mischievous sparkle as he shifts his attention to Ollie. Here we go. "You know, this girl"—Jack waggles a finger up and down at me—"tried to bite my ear off and beat the shit out of me ten years ago. Got her dragged into the principal's office and suspended for one week!"
Why does he sound like he's proud of it? He got beaten up by a girl, for crying out loud.
"Five days, Jack," I correct him. "It was only five days. No need to exaggerate everything."
After Jack made that ridiculous who-to-fuck list, I did beat the shit out of him. No, not because I was ranked thirteen out of five hundred and rated a seven out of ten, but because that list made a lot of my friends doubt their beauty. A lot of them considered getting plastic surgery because of that, and one of them even tried to starve herself to death.
So yeah, I beat the shit out of him.
It wasn't the proudest moment of my life, and if I got a do-over, I probably wouldn't do it again.
