Page 100 of We Can't Be Friends

I thought about our kiss and kissing her again. Kissing her in the kitchen or sprawled out on the dining room table. Kissing on the couch or in the shower.

Kissing her because she’s mine, my girl. And I’m hers, her boy.

I finished the day pent-up and needing a release.

At home, I took Tucker out, hoping that a walk and fresh air would clear my head. What a joke. Whenever I glanced down at her dog, my mind showed me her text.

Chloe was flying home from a work trip, and I knew if I didn’t take care of myself now, seeing her might make me come in my pants.

I dug my hand into the shower tile above my head, the other working my erection. I should earn a ribbon or a gold star for making it through the day.

Her name left my tongue. Rolling off it like it’s the only word it wants to say.

Watching her walk away, it rolls off again, a plea to not leave.

As she walks away, I can feel my heart ripping out of my chest.

Did I mess this up? Or does she not want me that way?

Never enough, once again.

I finish my shower, changing quickly before knocking on her door.

“Chloe.” My hand hits flat on the door harder than I intend. “I’m—” I’m what? Sorry she walked in on that? Sorry that she’s the one who has me slipping on all my rules for myself? “I’m sorry.”

I stand there, forehead resting on her door, when I finally try the handle.

Her room is empty.

She’s downstairs. Sitting on the piano bench, feet on the seat, legs bent into herself. Staring at the white and black keys.

I sit down in the spot next to her. Run my hand through my hair still wet from the shower.

“Hey, Dais.”

“Hi, Pretty Boy,” Chloe says quietly, gaze shifting to me. Quickly, she gives me a once-over, eyes lingering on my thigh tattoos, only the quote from my favorite book showing from my gray lounge shorts. I flex the muscle, toss her a wink, hoping she doesn’t catch me thriving under her gaze. I like being in her gaze almost as much as her orbit.

“I lied. I did get the piano fixed.”

“You fixed it?”

“You loved it.”

Chloe turns back to face the piano. Legs slip from the bench. “I wish I knew how to play.”

“I’ll teach you.” She laughs. “I mean it, Dais.”

“Right now?” Chloe asks tenderly, her body language soft.

“Sure.” Praying I remember everything, I reach my hands out, showing her a few cords. Let her test them, get a feel of them. She’s learning quickly.

We both scoot closer together. Hips bumping.

I reach an arm under hers, playing in between her hands. Show her the keys to a simple song. Sometimes, my hands on top of hers, completely swallowing them, and we’d play together.

The day fades away, but Chloe comes more alive.

A dull sparkle in her movements, her voice, her eyes. A rekindling of something deep within her.

---