Work | Mysitershotfriend

Of course, nothing happened. Nothing could. She was my sister’s best friend, temporarily living under my parents’ roof, and I was a scrawny kid with a learner’s permit and a disastrous crush. But for eight weeks, I became an expert at accidentally walking through the living room when she was watching New Girl , at offering to grill burgers just to hear her say “Thanks, you’re a lifesaver,” at memorizing the exact shade of her nail polish (coral, not red).

The worst part? She was genuinely nice.

The Summer My Sister’s Hot Friend Moved In Next Door mysitershotfriend

Looking back, it wasn’t about Chloe being “hot.” It was about her treating me like a person, not just a kid. She showed up, she was kind, and she confused every teenage hormone I had into something almost tender. Of course, nothing happened

I was seventeen. Chloe was twenty, wore ripped band tees like they were couture, and laughed with her whole body. She also had this habit of making coffee in the morning while leaning against the counter in nothing but an oversized hoodie and socks. The kitchen became my personal obstacle course of trying not to stare. But for eight weeks, I became an expert

We all have that one summer we never quite forget. Mine has a face, a name, and an uncomfortable amount of borrowed lip gloss.

And yeah. You also learn to make a mean cup of coffee.