Page 63 of Can We Just Be Happy Now?

“We can work through this, though. Now that we both want to be together.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t want that. Not right now. We can’t have a relationship when we’re hardly even friends.”

I nod, conceding for now. “You’re my person, Coop. I’ll be whatever you need. And for what it’s worth . . . I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” he whispers, pulling me to his chest. He holds me there until my tears stop, until the sun is well into the sky, until I believe we might actually be capable of being just friends.

Chapter thirty-eight

COOPER

NOW

Memories from last night and this morning play like a movie on the back of my eyelids. I open my eyes, hoping to blink away the visions, but she’s in front of me. Sophie’s head is inches from my face, her hair splayed over my pillowcase as she sleeps, and my hand is flat against the soft skin of her stomach under my T-shirt she’s wearing. Rolling my eyes at myself, I take a breath and slip out of contact with the girl that drives me fucking mad in every sense of the word. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to kick her out after finding out she slept with another guy before she came over. I wanted her here even though I’m frustrated as fuck. Hurt. Devastated. When I saw that text . . . I didn’t want to believe it. Part of me hoped Sophie would deny it when I confronted her–whether it was true or not–but she didn’t. The second guilt splashed across her face, her teeth sinking into her lip, her eyes shifting around the room, landing on everything but me, I was sick.

I don’t know if I’m just in my own head about this, but I can’t help from feeling like she keeps choosing someone else, anyone else besides me. The words she says aren’t enough to prove otherwise. If there’s any chance of us being in a relationship again, I need to figure out how the fuck to brush off the idea of her being with other guys, and we need to get to a place where I’ll be confident her words and actions will align. The entire time between our breakup over the summer and when I met Kylie, no part of me even wanted another girl, thinking that Sophie could be mine again. Hell, I assumed it was inevitable that she would be until I saw her with JT. But even then, I didn’t touch anyone else until my faith flew out the damn window I watched Sophie kiss JT through.

Staying just friends feels like the only solution for now, until we can clean up this mess we’ve made. And friends do not cuddle all fucking night. I need to get us both out of this bed. I gently pull back the covers and slide off the mattress to get dressed.

Crouching next to Sophie, I run my thumb across her cheek. Okay, fine. That’s probably not a friendly motion, but I don’t want to scare her awake. Her eyes flutter open, the sweetest sleepy smile appearing at the sight of me before it drops.

“Morning,” I say quietly, forcing my hand from her. “Well, afternoon. It’s almost two. Do you want to go to the diner?”

Her eyes flicker back and forth across my face, full of uncertainty. “As friends?”

“As friends.” The words hurt coming out.

The smallest sigh leaves her lips, but she nods. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“I’ll find you some.” With that, I leave her bedside and shuffle through my dresser, pulling out the football sweatshirt from my freshman year of high school. It’s the smallest one I have. I tell her I’ll be right back and walk to the laundry room. The aftermath of our sex is blatant. Her leggings rolled inside themselves on the ground next to a hot pink thong. My hoodie has been thrown haphazardly, half hanging off the washing machine. The end of cycle dryer light flashes at me.

Refusing to let myself replay the memory, I snatch her bottoms off the floor, turning them right side out as I return to her.

“Here.” I lay her leggings on the bed next to my sweatshirt. “You can wear these? Or we can swing by your house first. Whichever.”

“These are fine. Thanks, Coop.”

I stand there, feeling awkward, waiting for her to get out of bed.

“Uhh, Coop?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you leave so I can change? I don’t have underwear on.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t . . . yeah. I’ll be out in the kitchen when you’re ready to go.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Two minutes later, Sophie joins me where I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, key fob in hand. “Ready?”

She nods and follows me to the driveway.

The entire drive to the diner is uncomfortable. Sophie sits with her fists curled into the sleeves of my sweatshirt and propped against the passenger door. She doesn’t make a move to turn on our playlist like she usually would, but my thoughts are too loud to hear or process music anyway.

Holding the door open for her at the diner, she leads me inside, scanning the room for an empty booth. Her gaze stops on our booth in the corner, coincidentally the only one available. We each slide into either side of the cherry covered tablecloth table, both fidgeting in awkwardness–Sophie finger brushes the tips of her hair and I tug on the strings of my hoodie, bunching the fabric around my neck.

A wave of relief rushes through me at the sight of our waitress, Shirley.

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