Page 115 of We Can't Be Friends

I can see the sunrise, letting me know that it’s about seven. The sky is painted in colors that remind me of Chloe. Ebbing and flowing seamlessly. Shades of pink like her lips or when she blushes. Peachy-orange like the way she smells. The purple reminds me of wildflowers—an aster daisy—the ones that can grow, thrive, and adapt in the roughest environments as she has.

I know she has. I’ve seen the signs, even if she hasn’t come out and said it.

Her shoulders shift, eyes flutter with a big yawn.

“Mm. Good morning,” she says against my chest, over the tattoo on my ribcage.

“Morning, Dais.” I kiss the top of her head.

“I love this bed.”

“I can trade you.”

“Only if it comes with this body pillow.” Chloe squeezes her arms around me. “Even though it was like sleeping on rocks.”

I smile, looking down at her.

My door flies open.

“Callum,” Audrey says and then I hear her.

“Callum Jasper.”

Mom.

Audrey leans on the door, hazel eyes silently screamingI’m sorry, I tried to warn you.

My mother follows her in, arms crossed in front of her chest.

31

CHLOE

Instantly, I cannot stand her. My dislike for her tickles up my spine as her sharp hazel eyes land on me. Roaming the skin touching her son’s and my undone hair spilling on his pillow.

We are mostly covered by the comforter, so she can’t see our bodies clinging to each other or read my shirt. I picked a tame one in case this happened—hoped it wouldn’t, but alas, it did.

Who shows up unannounced and walks into someone’s bedroom?

The scowl on her face, the lines of her mouth permanently imprinted downward, is nothing like Cal’s. Even when he isn’t smiling, he’s nothing like this woman.

“Callum Jasper, sleeping in? Hm.” I swear she tsks. Tsks her grown son, what the heck?

Also, it’s barely—I tap Cal’s phone to check the time—seven.

“Mom. . . I-I didn’t know you would be here right now,” Cal stutters. I can feel his heart crash against his chest like waves on a beach during a storm under my cheek resting on his chest.

Audrey stands there, licking her lips, moving her mouth around, crossing and uncrossing her hands in front of her stomach. She’s nervous. For herself or Cal?

“And this is?” Her attention narrows on me.

Lights, camera, showtime.

When I agreed to be his fake girlfriend, I didn’t think I’d actually have to do anything girlfriend-y. We’d date for the duration that I live here, break up, and go our separate ways. A few months of reprieve and if he wanted, he could play the heartbroken card.

Did I think I’d ever have to meet the woman? No.

Did I think I’d actually have to pretend with him? No.

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