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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"So? Are you gonna ask her out? Buy her a drink or something?" Nessa teases.
I knit my eyebrows together. "Who?"
"Celia!" Nessa cocks her head forward, gesturing at the stage.
"You're kidding, right?"
"I'm serious!" she replies with a huge amount of naiveté in her eyes.
An amused laugh escapes me. Just when I thought she couldn't get any weirder.
The malty, sweet aroma wafting through the air brings my attention to the glass of scotch in my hand. Normally, I'm against spending a lot of money on something that will disappear in one gulp. But since today is my birthday, I decided to make an exception.
I hold the small glass about an inch below my nose and gently swirl it. There's a touch of cinnamon and a whiff of the sea among the spiced scent that bring a smile to my face. I close my eyes and inhale the rich scent deeply, allowing myself to be transported to a calm, serene beach.
"Why won't you ask her out, Ol?" Nessa's voice snaps me back to the packed bar.
"She's not my type." I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip.
"Oh, come on." Nessa slams her hands on the table so hard that I flinch.
My hand twitches, and droplets of scotch spill out of my glass. A growing irritation buzzes around me when I notice a small, dark-brown stain on the collar of my white T-shirt.
"You were like this"—Nessa opens her mouth, sticks her tongue out, and puts on an exaggerated awe-struck expression—"during the whole performance!"
"No, I wasn't." I frown when I realize my voice rising a semitone. I should learn how to lie better, huh?
"Yes, you were," she teases, grinning.
I place my glass on the table and grab a paper napkin to dry the damp part of my T-shirt. "I was merely admiring her voice, okay? You were right. She has a good voice."
My attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere fails, for Nessa insists, "Listen to me, Ol. If you're worried she's going to turn you down, don't."
"I'm not—"
"A couple of weeks ago, she had an AMA on TweetyGram. One of her fans asked her about her ideal guy, and she said she's searching for someone who loves to work out because she's a gym junkie, attractive because—duh—she's a goddess, and basically, she's searching for a real-life Disney prince."
"Huh? She sounds a bit—"
"And guess what?" Nessa gives a dramatic pause. "You tick all those boxes!"
I flinch at her sudden loud voice, a proud grin sliding across my face. "You think I'm a real-life Disney prince?"
She rolls her eyes and grunts. "We're not talking about me here, Ol. We're talking about Celia Adams. You know, she spent a year in Mali volunteering at orphanages, teaching those poor kids English and music. Such a saint, right?"
