1. The Most Clichéd Way to Shut a Girl Up

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—Present Day—

"On the first day of Christmas, my true love sent to me, Mr. Dumpy in a Chevy."

As I wrap a golden ribbon around the 12-foot-tall Christmas tree, the divine aroma of sweet razzleberry pie drifts from the kitchen into the vast living room. I close my eyes and breathe in the enticing smell of my favorite Christmas dessert.

Hmm. I love Christmas.

Climbing up the ladder, I continue singing my rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas. "On the second day of Christmas, my true love sent to—"

The loud slam of the front door makes me flinch. My foot slips off the rung, but I cling to the ladder in time.

"I hate Christmas." Oliver Morrison—my best friend slash horror buddy—stomps from the foyer into the living room, a scowl marring his handsome face. "There. I said it." He drops the grocery bags on the coffee table, plops on the white cashmere sofa next to the tree, and folds his arms across his chest, his impressive muscles bulging under his well-fitted Henley. "I fucking hate Christmas."

Tonight, it's Ollie's turn to host the office Christmas party. Being the miser that he is, Ollie has been complaining about having to provide dinner for a bunch of—and I quote—free-food-hunting strangers. As if he isn't one.

"Calm down, Uncle Scrooge," I joke. "What happened? The store rejected your coupons?"

The corners of his mouth curl downward. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," I reply with a shrug, biting back a grin.

Having been friends with Ollie for a little over five years, I know him like the back of my hand. A lot of things irritate him, but there's only one thing that can make him angry, stressed, and depressed at the same time: money.

As Ollie keeps complaining about how the grocery store has scammed him, Kiki—the three-legged cat we share custody of—jumps onto the sofa and curls on his lap. Ollie's expression softens as he strokes Kiki's shiny black fur, and she purrs loud enough I can hear her from atop the ladder.

"Sorry. I'm ruining your Christmas, aren't I?"

"Nah. I've told you about what Christmas is like in my family." I climb down the ladder and take a few steps back to see if the tree needs another retouch. "Every family gathering, really. It's never complete without curses, grumbles, and sometimes even a fight."

Growing up with two older brothers who constantly try to kill each other, profanities are like lullabies to my ears. I suppose that's why being around Ollie, who swears more than a baby cries, always feels like home.

"I . . ." A questionable grin spreads across Ollie's face. "Was actually talking to Kiki."

My smile drops into a frown, and I toss a shiny red garland to his face. "Get your butt off that chair and start helping me, will ya? This is your home and your party. Not mine. Why am I the only one trying to turn this place into a winter wonderland, huh?"

"Sorry, hon." He picks Kiki up from his lap, lays her on the sofa, and pats her head. "Daddy has to help Mommy with the party or else she'll breathe fire. We don't want that, do we?"

Trying to suppress the smile twitching at the corners of my lips, I pluck the mistletoe from my Christmas decoration box on the floor and hold it up for Ollie to see. "Where do you want this?"

He glances at the doorway between the kitchen and the living room before stretching out a hand. "Gimme that."

I'm about to hand over the mistletoe to him when a faint smell of something burning wafts from the kitchen.

"Ol?" I sniff like a police dog who has detected a bag of cocaine. "At what temperature did you set the oven?"

"Two-hundred-and-fifty degrees. Why?"

My eyes almost pop out of my head. "Two-hundred-and-fifty degrees?"

"Yeah. The box said the pie should be baked at three-hundred-and-seventy-five degrees, but the oven's maximum temperature—"

"Ol, you're supposed to bake the pie at three-hundred-and-seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit. Your oven uses a Celsius scale!"

When Ollie bought the oven for his new home last week, I told him he should've bought an American-made one. But he insisted on buying the cheapest one, which was made in China. The oven itself worked wonders, but I knew something like this would happen.

"Oh, crap." Ollie bolts straight to the kitchen and opens the oven with his bare hands. I open my mouth to tell him to put the oven mitt on, but he already touches the metal tray. "Dammit!"

Releasing a stream of curses, he yanks his hand away from the hot tray before rushing to the sink and flicking the tap on.

I drop the mistletoe back in my Christmas decoration box, put the oven mitt on, and pull the burnt pie out of the oven. "See this? This is why I should've been the one in charge of the food."

Ollie shoots me a sharp glare, but I give him my most annoying grin instead. While he goes to the bathroom in search of some Aloe Vera gel, I throw the burnt-beyond-repair pie into the trash, open another box of frozen razzleberry pie, and bake it in the oven—properly, this time.

I'm about to head back to the living room when Chucky, Ollie's ten-year-old Chihuahua, yaps his throat off from behind the gate that divides the living room from the stairs. Soon, the doorbell rings, and I dash to answer it.

When I open the door, TJ Hawkins—Ollie's second-best friend—and his wife, Nina, greet me with matching smiles that show off their pearly white teeth. The gorgeous couple is dressed to the nines, their emerald-green outfits accentuating their dark complexion, whereas I am still in my oversized T-shirt and track pants without any makeup on.

Shoot. I quickly untie my short ponytail and smooth out my espresso-brown hair with my hand.

"Vanessa, long time no see." The willowy woman leans forward to hug me, and I return the gesture, careful not to squeeze her large baby bump.

I open the door wider and gesture for the two to come in. "What brings you here so early?"

"Well," TJ replies, "we know how you two can't cook even if it saves your life, so—"

"Honey." Nina slaps TJ's arm. "Don't be rude."

The buff man gives his wife an exaggerated pout, drawing a chuckle from me.

As we step into the living room, Ollie's curses and the sound of stuff being thrown around inside the bathroom cause the couple to glance at each other.

"The grocery store rejected his coupons," I explain, and the couple nod to themselves.

I grab an adhesive-backed hook and the mistletoe from my Christmas decoration box before dragging the ladder to the kitchen doorway. A trickle of suspicion slithers into my brain when I see the flicker of tease in Nina's dark eyes.

"So, how are things between you and Oliver?" she asks as I climb the ladder.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you two hooked up yet?"

I choke on air, almost slipping off the ladder. "What?"

"Relax. I'm just joking." Nina giggles. "But seriously though, you two would make a perfect couple."

Just like numerous times before, a tiny candle of hope lights up in the darkest corner of my soul. But I blow it out before I get sucked into my imaginary world. No, no, no. Stop it, Vanessa. You and Ollie are just friends. Just—

The sudden absence of Chucky's annoying yaps triggers my suspicion. Hmm?

"Wait, wait, Teej, don't—"

The panic in Ollie's voice prompts me to peek at the living room. An alarm set off in my head when I see Chucky's gate has been opened.

As I suspected, Chucky bolts toward Kiki, who seeks help by running toward me. Despite having only three legs, Kiki can still win a gold medal in sprinting. Limping around and around the kitchen island, the domestic shorthaired furball manages to outrun the demon dog by a few inches.

"Chucky, stop!" Ollie tries to catch his dog, but he's way, way, behind the two.

What's the point of all that cardio if he can't even run after a tiny dog?

I shake my head and step down a rung to help my cat. But to my horror, Kiki and Chucky bump into the ladder one after another. A wave of panic shoots through me as the bottom of the ladder begins wobbling. I try to keep my balance and hang on tight to the braces, but gravity keeps dragging us down.

No, no, no—

What happens next is somewhat of a blur. I hear Ollie yelling out my name, Nina screaming out loud, and the ladder crashing onto the floor. Then, I land face-first with a loud thud.

"Ouch . . ."

My vision is blurry and the room spins around me, yet I notice something odd. I expected the floor to be much colder, but . . . why is it—

The floor beneath me moves, and I hear a soft whimper. What the heck?

As my eyes come into focus and the dizziness recedes, I realize that I'm lying on top of a man, who's wincing in pain. Pressing my palms flat against his rock-hard chest, I pull my upper body up. My eyes lock with Ollie's steel-blue ones, and to my utter shock, my heart skips a beat.

Shoot!

I try to avert my eyes, but my gaze is drawn to his oh-so-luscious lips instead. I've always thought Ollie has one of the most perfect, plump lips I've ever seen in my entire life. Yet I never noticed how . . . kissable they are.

No, no, no. Stop it, Vanessa. Stop it, stop it, stop—

"Ness?" Ollie waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my trance. "Are you alright?"

I jump to my feet and flash him an awkward grin. "Y-yeah. Of course."

"Are you sure?" He stands up and keeps his gaze fixed on me, concern shining from the depths of his hypnotic eyes.

The sound of my pounding heart reverberates in my ears, and heat sweeps up my cheeks. I stagger backward, but I can't seem to escape him. If any, his stare becomes more and more intense with every step I take.

"You look a bit . . ." He tilts his head to the side, three curious lines forming on his broad forehead. "Flushed."

"Well, I did just fall six feet, Ol." I try my best to keep my voice under control, but a quiver betrays me.

"Right." He nods, yet worry lingers in his eyes. "You should go to the hospital, Ness. Just to be safe."

"No, no, no. I'm—"

"Wait here. I'll go get my—"

"Oh my God!" Nina squeals, pointing directly above us.

Ollie and I drag our gazes up, and our eyes go wide at the mistletoe hanging right above us.

"You two have got to kiss," Nina cheers, her voice brimming with excitement.

"Yep," TJ agrees. "Or else you'll have seven years of bad luck."

I'm not one to believe superstitions. But somehow, I find the idea of kissing Ollie to be . . . fascinating.

As I steal a glance at Ollie's mouth, I swear he does the same. Hmm. Should I kiss him? It's just a mistletoe kiss. It doesn't mean any—

"Don't be ridiculous," Ollie says to TJ and strides out of the kitchen.

I stiffen, disappointment coursing through me. Huh? Why am I disappointed about it?

"Oh, come on. Even your pets are doing it." TJ gestures at our furry friends who are now smooching each other.

Contrary to popular belief, dogs and cats—ours, at least—aren't mortal enemies. Ever since they first met, Chucky has had a bizarre infatuation with Kiki, which is the reason why Kiki lives in my apartment even though Ollie and I adopted her together.

"Dude." Ollie returns to the kitchen with his car key in his hand and glowers at the man with the spiffy buzz cut. "You realize you just compared us to a pair of animals, right?"

"I'm just saying," TJ insists. "Why risk having seven years of bad luck when you can easily avoid it with a simple kiss?"

As TJ saunters back into the living room, a trickle of dread oozes up my spine. He has a good point. In seven years, I'll be thirty-four, producing Ariadne Venti's new album, and living in a house that wasn't once a murder scene like my current apartment. I don't want to get stuck in seven years of bad luck!

"What?" Ollie teases. "You don't believe what TJ said, do you?"

"No," I say, yet the faintest trace of anxiety lingers in my mind. "But think about it, Ol. If it's true, then you'll be thirty-nine . . . homeless . . ." As a shadow of dread flits across his brow, I drop the bomb. "And be a super-duper-chubby dumpling."

He gasps in horror, his eyes wide and his mouth forming a huge O.

If there's anything Ollie fears more than going back to being homeless, it's losing his perfect abs and turning into a real-life Mr. Dumpy—my favorite fast-food chain's adorable pork dumpling mascot that happens to bear a striking resemblance to him.

Ollie chews his cheek for a moment before clicking his tongue. "Forget it. I'm not gonna kiss you."

Disappointment swells in my chest once more, and a slice of pain stabs my heart. What was I thinking? He'll never kiss me even if it would save his life. Why would he kiss a woman with mochi-like cheeks and a tiny bunny nose?

Within seconds, the awful insults my haters threw at me two years ago flood my mind, twisting my chest into a tight knot. An unexpected prick of tears stings the back of my eyes, but I quickly blink them away. As I try to get myself under control, my eyes catch a glimpse of my far-from-perfect body.

Although I'm a size two—okay, four—I don't have huge breasts, super-flat tummy, and long, slender legs like most women in Hollywood. Instead, I resemble Miss Mochi, Mr. Dumpy's plumpy bunny-mochi girlfriend.

Yeah. I'm not sexy enough for him, aren't—

"Hey." Ollie nudges my shoulder. "The mistletoe thing is just a myth. You shouldn't take it seriously."

"Yeah, yeah." I scurry into the living room to prevent him from seeing my vulnerability.

Calm down, Vanessa. So he doesn't want to kiss you. Big deal. He must have a good reason for it. Such as not wanting to ruin your friend—oh my God.

As much as I try to fight it, one awful thought forces its way into my head. Is it because I'm half-As—

"Ness, are you okay?" Ollie chases after me, but I speed up my steps, guilt washing over me for even thinking that Ollie might be one of those awful people. "Listen to me. It's not that I don't want to k—"

"I-it's fine, Ol." It's not your fault that I'm a big-headed, bunny-mochi hybrid. It's fine. It's perfectly fine. "There's absolutely no need for you to ex—"

Ollie catches my wrist and spins me around to face him. Putting a hand on the back of my neck and another around my waist, he yanks me toward him and crashes his lips onto mine.

Yes. He silences me with the most clichéd way to shut a girl up.

Strange sparks of electricity rush through my veins, and contrary to what my brain is telling me, I close my eyes and kiss him back. As I snake my fingers into his tousled, dark-chocolate hair, he nuzzles my nose with his. His super-soft lips caress my chapped ones, and somehow, I feel like the most beautiful woman in the entire universe.

Stupid, I know.

As I'm beginning to get lost in the taste of him, he suddenly sucks my lower lip. Surprised, I let out a small gasp, and he uses the chance to snake his tongue into my mouth. In a blink of an eye, our kiss turns from sweet and innocent to scorching hot. There's something in the way he kisses me that ignites a raging fire within my soul, melting my body into lava.

I'm not sure how long we spend devouring each other's mouths before we pull away due to the lack of oxygen. But when we do, my heart bangs in my chest so hard I swear the squealing woman behind me can hear it from across the room.

As my eyes catch a glimpse of Ollie's mesmerizing ones, my pulse races so fast I'm afraid I'll get a heart attack. Panicked, I spin on my heels and dash into the bathroom.

"Wait, Ness—"

I slam the door closed and lean back against the door, trying to slow my racing pulse to no avail. At that moment, I realize things between Ollie and me are about to change—and I have a bad feeling about this.


Author's Note:

Here you go, guys! The first chapter of The Sister Zone~!

What do you think of Vanessa and Oliver?

Hope you like this chapter and don't forget to tap that little star button! Thanks for reading!


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