Page 124 of We Can't Be Friends

“Sorry. You do?” he says in a much more appropriate volume.

“I like-like her very much. Your Aunt is the most beautiful, most exquisite person I know. Want to know another secret?” Riley nods eagerly. “I have the biggest crush on her.”

“Wow!”

“Do you like her?”

“Uh-huh. I love the drawings on her arms.”

“Me too.”

“Does. . . does she like-like you?”

Dropping my gaze to my lap, I didn’t realize I was grasping the railing. Knuckles white. I lift my head, and the oven goes off again.

Staring back at me, through me, are the ocean eyes that I find myself swimming in daily. The eyes that are drowning and saving me all at once.

We both inhale. Chests rising and falling in symphony.

“I don’t know.” Cal’s gaze never leaves me. His next words leave his mouth like bullets. “At least not that way.”

My heart is colliding with my chest.

“I bet she does.”

Riley is distracted, messing with something on the counter and rambling, but it's white noise. His words are going in one ear and straight out the other. All I can hear is Cal’s words stuck between my ears.

I enter the kitchen, pick up an oven mitt, and remove the tray of cookies. Riley jumps off the chair at my request to go wash up. Cal leans against the counter, following my movements. Picking up a cookie, the burning of my fingertips nothing compared to the inferno within my body, taking a giant bite out of it.

They made Miller and I’s favorite ones.

36

CHLOE

PRETTY BOY: Happy Christmas, Dais

Waking up to Cal’s Christmas morning text was a surprise. I thought—okay, leading up to seeing the alert, I was hoping, maybe begging Santa for it—but didn’t expect it.

Tucker jumps into my bed, burrowing himself beneath my warm sheets. The heated blanket toasting the bed to the perfect temperature that I know will make neither of us ever want to leave.

I roll over with a stupid smile and respond to him.

Merry Christmas, Pretty Boy

Were you on the nice or naughty list this year?

PRETTY BOY: With the thoughts I have about you?

You thinkabout me?

PRETTY BOY: When am I not?

PRETTY BOY: There’s something for you in my bedroom.

I immediately jump from my bed. Slipping my fuzzy sock clad feet into a pair of slippers, I sprint across the hall.

Throwing open Cal’s bedroom door, his room is pristine as always. He’s too clean and organized. Not a single article of clothing or a loose book anywhere.

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