National Bacon Day without Nessa sucks.

The usually fun road trip is dull without her cheesy jokes, her crazy choices of songs, and her annoying but beautiful singing voice.

I thought spamming her with photos of me hunting for bacon around the city would make her change her mind, but she hasn't even read any of my texts since this morning. Worse, my stomach now bloats as a result of eating twelve meals in a day.

Why am I even doing this?

I slurp my Spaghetti Carbonara and stare at the chubby dumpling figurine I just bought. Standing on top of a wooden steamer basket, the cream-colored dumpling wears a red jumpsuit with #NationalBaconDay written in white on its chest. He carries his golden chopsticks in one hand and a plate of bacon-wrapped egg cups in the other.

I can't believe I just stood in line for three hours and twenty-seven minutes to buy this.

This year, Lovejoy's offers limited edition keychains of their mascots, all of which are available at different outlets across the city, and I've spent the whole day hunting for every one of them for Nessa.

Yes, I was lying when I told her I was going to sell these on eBuy.

I was going to drop by her place tonight and give them to her as a surprise souvenir. But considering she'll spend the night in an underwear model's penthouse, I'll have to postpone that plan indefinitely.

I stab my fork into one of the octopus-shaped sausages, rip it into pieces with my bare teeth, and glance at my phone.

8:15 P.M.

No new messages.

What if TJ's right? What if Nessa replaces me with a handsome, buff underwear model?

As much as I hate to admit it, what TJ said yesterday affects me. The thought that Nessa is having the time of her life with an underwear model at a fancy wedding, while I'm sitting at a cheap fast-food restaurant eating my thirteenth Joyful Meal today irritates me to the core.

I can't believe she dumped me for a stupid underwear model—wait. That doesn't sound right. We're not dating, for crying out—

The persistent buzzing of my phone grabs my attention. I drop my fork on my plate, snatch my phone from the table, and glance at the caller ID.

Annoying Second-Best Friend

Great. What now?

There's nothing I want more than to reject TJ's phone call and block his number. But I can't. I lost the game yesterday because he kept breaking my concentration with his absurd questions. So instead of stopping him from asking more questions, I ended up promising him I'd answer all of his calls today and keep him updated—whatever that means.

I put my elbow on the table, rest my cheek in my hand, and pick up the phone. "What?"

"Yo! How's it going? Have you and Vanessa gotten back together yet?"

"We're not even—" I press my lips together in a hard line and take a deep breath, knowing it'll be a complete waste of breath to strike up an argument with him. "I'm at Lovejoy's, and no. Nessa is not with me. And no. She still hasn't texted me back either."

"Oh, come on, man. Why don't you just call her and apologize for being an idiot? Better yet, why don't you just crash the wedding?"

"Why would I do that? She's probably"—I pucker my lips and grit my teeth—"fucking a stupid underwear model right this very second anyway, so—"

The middle-aged couple sitting at the table beside mine stabs me with a pitchfork disapproving glare. I didn't think my voice could be louder than those guffawing college students behind me, but it seems I was wrong.

The air around me turns awkward, and I flash an apologetic smile at the middle-aged couple before I lower my voice down to a whisper. "I'm not crashing the wedding, okay?"

"Why not? It'll be super romantic!"

I jerk my head back and furrow my brow when I hear Nina's voice. "Dude. You're on speaker?"

"Of course, he is," Nina answers. "Now, how hard is it to go there, get on the stage, and tell Vanessa how much you love her?"

"How many times do I have to tell you it's not like that between us, huh?"

"Oh, come on, Oliver. Stop denying your feelings. You haven't even gone on a single date over the past two years, and do you know why?" She gives a short pause. "Because your subconscious mind is fully aware that you're in love with her."

"Yeah, Ol," TJ agrees. "Listen to her."

"You know what? I gotta ask." I put my fork on my spaghetti. "Why is my love life a huge interest to you two? The last time I checked, those reality monsters are still dominating the TV."

"What are you talking about?" Nina replies. "Your love story is a hundred thousand times better than any of those reality shows."

"For the millionth time, Nessa and I aren't—"

"Now, I get what she's doing," Nina says, a note of frustration in her voice. "After what you did to her, there's nothing she can do but wait for you to make the first move. But you? It's obvious that you're jealous, so why won't you just admit you're in love with her?"

I snap my head back in surprise as the sound of something being ripped into pieces comes through the phone line.

"Breathe, honey. Breathe," TJ says, and I can hear Nina's angry breathing through the phone.

Note to self: never mess with a pregnant woman.

"Look, I'm not the slightest bit jealous"—I scrunch my forehead in confusion when I hear my voice rising in pitch—"and I'm certainly not in love with my little sister, okay?"

My futile attempt to convince my two nosy friends to stop harassing me elicits loud gasps from all across the room, and sharp glares stab me from every direction. Even the college students sitting behind me halt their loud conversation and gape at me, horrified.

Don't these people have something more important to do than eavesdropping?

A flush of embarrassment heats my cheeks, and I feel the need to clarify my previous statement to a bunch of strangers. Holding my phone against my chest, I turn to face those nosy people and try to clear things up. "Best friend who's like my little sister. Not my biological sister."

While some of them shift their attention back to their food, I can still hear faint whispers from the middle-aged couple beside me. Shaking my head, I pick up my fork and twirl the last of my spaghetti before shoveling it down my throat.

"Ol? You still there?" TJ's voice resounds from my phone.

I hold the phone against my ear. "Yeah. What?"

"Come on, man. Are you really going to let her hook up with a handsome, buff underwear model looking for a good time at a wedding?"

The green monster in my mind opens his eyes, but I put him back to sleep before he can break free from his cage.

"I don't care, okay? Nessa can f—" I manage to stop myself before someone throws a knife at me. Gritting my teeth, I lower my voice into a whisper-shout. "Nessa can spend every single night with every single underwear model in this city, and I still won't care!"

I care. Of course, I care. Why do I care?

I draw a hand to rub my aching head. You're a brother to her and she's like a sister to you, okay? She doesn't like you that way, and you certainly don't—

"Ol, I hate to remind you of this." TJ's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. "But you remember what you told me about her seven years ago, right?"

"Dude. I haven't even met her seven years ago."

"Right, whatever. The bottom line is I need to stage an intervention here. You can't keep telling yourself you're a brother to her until you believe it. 'Cause deep down, you know that's not how you really feel about her."

My annoyance spikes. "Why is it so hard to believe when I say that I do feel that way about her?"

"Because it's obvious that you don't. Listen to me, you're suffering from—" TJ raises his voice into a sweet tone that makes me want to vomit. "What is it called, honey?"

"The illusory truth effect," Nina answers. "Basically, you've been hypnotizing yourself into believing what you want to believe. It's not healthy, Oliver."

I roll my eyes. "You've been reading those absurd psychology books again, haven't you?"

To prepare herself for a role as a psychologist in her Emmy-winning TV show, Nina spent months studying psychology and human behavior. She did a brilliant job portraying the character and even won her third Emmy for it. But it seems like she has trouble getting out of the character, even after the show ended a few months ago.

"It's not absurd, and it's not a book either. It's a blog, and it's super awesome. You should check it out. It's called confessions—"

"Whatever," I cut her off. "I do not suffer from illusionary—"

"Illusory, Oliver. Illusory—"

"Whatever it is you're accusing me of suffering, okay?"

"See?" Nina insists. "You're in denial. You need to—"

"Shh!" I snap. "Let's just talk again in the morning, okay? I'm really tired."

The conversation falls into silence, and for a moment, I think they've given up. Just as I'm about to hang up the phone, TJ continues, "Ol, listen to me." That playfulness in his voice vanishes, replaced by a huge amount of sympathy and concern that rings an alarm in my head. "I know you're still blaming yourself for what happened to her, but . . ."

A cold shiver runs down my spine, and I clench my jaw. A sudden force—one that is as strong as an earthquake—billows in my chest, threatening to unlock that little black box I struggle to hide in the deepest, darkest part of my mind.

No, no, no. Don't go back there, Oliver. Do—

"Haven't you been punishing yourself long enough? What happened to her wasn't your fault. It—"

"Of course, it was, Teej." I squeeze my eyes shut as the box cracks open. "It was and it will always be my fault, okay? You have no idea what it was like to just stand there and do nothing, while she was punished for the stupid decisions that I made."

The memory of what happened one year, ten months, and sixteen days ago awakens Smaug—my guilty conscience—from his hibernation. As more and more memories seep out of the black box in my mind, the burning-red dragon wraps his long tail around my neck and squeezes it, cutting off my air supply.

"Can we just not talk about it?" I rub my throbbing forehead. "Please? It's been a long day."

After a moment, TJ gives a defeated sigh. "Alright. Night, brother."

"Wait, what?" Nina protests. "You're just gonna—"

As the phone ends abruptly, I drop my head into my hands. This is going to be a long night.

The burning-red dragon has been torturing me for two straight hours, yet he doesn't show any signs of stopping. I try to go to sleep to silence him, but he won't let me either. After fifty-three minutes and forty-seven seconds of counting sheep, I kick my blanket off me, get out of my bed, and head downstairs to the living room.

Every time I can't sleep, it has always been my habit to play the piano—or listen to my mom playing one when I was younger. It always works like a charm, and I hope this time is no different.

Within minutes, the tune of All by Myself bounces off the walls. Wait. Why am I playing this song?

The buzzing of my phone startles me. While I wonder who the heck is calling me at this time of the night, I glance at my phone and find that it's a call from Nessa. As quick as lightning, I press the accept button.

I fake a yawn. "What?"

"Hey, Ol! Glad you're still awake. I'm outside your house right now. Can you come out for a sec?"

What? She's outside of my house? Why—holy shit. Is she drunk?

A mixture of dread and concern rushes through me. Nessa does the craziest things whenever she's drunk, and I can't even begin to imagine what she wants to drag me into this time. She's not thinking of borrowing one of my bedrooms to have—

"Hellooo? Ol? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. Just dozed off for a sec." My voice rises a semitone, and I try to cover it by faking another yawn.

"So can you come out? It's freezing out here."

"Yeah. Hold on." Confused and curious, I dash to the front door and open it.

Nessa's appearance takes me aback. With a few graceful strands framing her face, her wavy locks are tied up in an elegant low bun behind her head. Her eyebrows—which have grown thinner over these past few years most probably due to stress—are groomed to perfection, her usually pale cheeks are more radiant, and her chapped lips are tinted a glossy pink.

The fact that Nessa has dolled herself up for the first time in five years, one month, and thirty days leads me to believe that TJ was right: she was looking for a hookup at the wedding.

The thought that she has failed to hook up with anyone and ended up standing at my doorstep brings a strange sense of relief to me. But as my eyes drift down to her dark-green dress, another—crazier—feeling rises in my chest.

The dress is simple, but it makes her look as elegant as a duchess. Its skirt falls loosely just below her knees, yet the slit on its side offers a glimpse of the toned legs that I've never noticed before. When I see how the dress hugs her curves so perfectly, as weird as it sounds, a trickle of jealousy seeps into me.

Yes, I'm jealous of a fucking dress.

Ugh. I need a trip to the shrink.

I run a hand through my hair and feign annoyance. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to bring you your souvenir."

"My souvenir?" My eyes drop to the paper bag she's holding. It's not a used candy wrapper, is it?

"Yeah. You're going to love it. They served this as the midnight snack at the wedding earlier." She dips her hand into her paper bag and pulls out a burger box with Lovejoy's logo on it. The smoky smell of bacon makes me scrunch my nose. "Ta-da! Happy National Bacon Day!"

I fight back a smile. "You got me a bacon burger?"

"It's not just any bacon burger. It's called the Ultimate Bacon Cheeseburger. It's so good you'll fly to heaven after you eat it."

I snort out a laugh. "So you're telling me the burger is poisoned?"

Her face twists into a scowl. "Alright. Since you don't want it, then I'll—"

"Wait, wait, wait." I take the box from her and flash her an apologetic grin. "Thanks."

As I observe the box, my minds remind me of the souvenir I bought for her. I'm about to dash to the garage to get it when Nessa says, "Oh, and you don't need to pick me up tomorrow for TJ's New Year's Eve party. I'm gonna be a bit late since I'm going out with Ryan in the afternoon. But don't worry. I'll have Mac and Sophia drop me off at TJ's. So you can come to the party on time to clear out the buffet as usual."

The green-eyed monster peeks from inside his cage. "Who's Ryan?"

"He's a friend of Sophia's. She introduced me to him earlier, and we just . . ." She lets out a delighted sigh, her eyes wandering off to the roof. "We clicked."

I scrunch my forehead, confused. She's drunk, isn't she?

As I stretch my neck and sniff her breath, she draws her head back and frowns. "Are you sniffing me?"

Although I don't smell any alcohol on her, I ask, "Are you drunk?"

"What? No, of course not. You know I haven't drunk any alcohol since your twenty-ninth birthday."

"Actually, you got drunk at the studio's anniversary party last—"

She clears her throat. "Anyway, Ryan invited me to the New Year's Eve party he's throwing at his house tomorrow, but I told him my office is throwing a party too. So we agree to go on a date in the afternoon. I have to go home to get changed after that, so that's why I'm gonna be late for TJ's party."

I blink, trying to process the new information. "You're going on a date?"

"Yeah."

"With someone you just met at a wedding?"

"Yeah." She nods, showing her large teeth in a huge grin.

Shock renders me as frozen as Jack Torrance at the end of the Shining. As the realization sets in, the green-eyed monster in me awakens with a roar. Whoa, whoa, whoa. This is ridiculous. Why am I getting jealous? She's free to date whoever she wants. I mean, she's just a little sister to me . . . right?

"Ol? Are you okay?" She waves a hand in front of my eyes. "You look pale. Should I call an ambulance?"

Horror shoots down my spine when I hear the word ambulance. "No, no. I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

She chuckles. "Don't worry, Ol. He's not like my douchebag ex. If things go well today, I'll introduce you to him. I'm sure you'll love him."

I give a derisive laugh. "I highly doubt that."

"Oh, you will." She allows a dramatic pause. "He owns Lovejoy's."

My jaw drops wide open, and my eyes almost pop out of my head. A wave of nausea threatens to spill everything out of my gut, strong pressure surrounds my head as if it's in a vise, and my pulse reverberates like a drum in my ears. It was as if a bomb had just exploded in my head.

"N-N-Ness, he's gotta be like a hundred years old, right? Are you going out with him for free meals? 'Cause I can get you any free meal you . . ." My voice trails away as she purses her lips together and glares at me, her nostrils flaring with rage. "Want."

"Oliver Lauren Morrison," she growls. "What did you just say?"

It's times like these that I curse my mom's bad writing the most. If only she'd written just a little bit clearer, then the town's clerk wouldn't have missed that small but very, very, important t at the end of my middle name and messed up my birth certificate.

Nessa knows how much I hate my middle name, and after she peeked at my driver's license two years ago, she couldn't stop laughing at me for a few months. But these days, she only calls me by my full name whenever she's furious at me.

"I-I'm—"

"For your information," she spits, punctuating each word with a jab to my chest, "he's only a year older than you. And he looks like Brad Pitt."

I flinch and avert my gaze. "Sorry."

She blows out a huff of breath. "Enjoy your bacon cheeseburger, Mr. Dumpy."

She spins around and stomps toward her car. As she slides into the driver's seat, I swear I can see a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. But I don't have the energy to think much about it, for the green-eyed monster in my head is out for blood—and he's not going to stop until he gets what he wants.

Author's Note:

What do you think about Ollie's reaction?

Also, what do you think happened at Ollie's 29th birthday party? We'll find out in the next flashback chapter!

As always, if you like what you're reading, please show some support by voting and/or leaving comments. Thanks for reading! :)