Page 133 of We Can't Be Friends

“I forgot they were coming,” she barely gets out. Cheeks flushed.

“Uh-huh.”

I let go, checking over my shoulder to make sure Emerson is still covering Liam’s eyes. He doesn’t need to see her like this. No one does but me.

Because she’s mine.

I know I’ve been hers for a while, my parent’s impromptu visit, maybe. Finally, it feels like she’s mine. Wants to be mine.

Spinning her around and dropping my hands, she takes off toward the stairs.

“Liam, if you want to remain in my best friend’s life, you better keep your eyes shut,” she barks out.

“Eyes are shut, Chloe.”

“Looking hot, Chlo!” Emerson calls out to her best friend, which is an accurate statement. “That color is your color. Does wonders for your tits! I’d sleep with you.”

I grab a glass of water, chug it, and fill it up again.

Yeah, the color, the whole outfit is really doing it for me too.

Chloe rejoins us in the kitchen. A pair of long sweats and another oversized t-shirt.

She sits on the stool across from me at the island. I push the bowl of grapes toward her.

“How much did you see?” Chloe asks Liam.

“Since when do you care who sees your body?” Emerson asks her.

“Since he’s your boyfriend,” Chloe says likeduh.

“Nothing,” Liam informs her reassuringly. “Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve walked in on Cal having sex before and probably—”

I elbow him in the stomach. “Seriously?”

“We aren’t hooking up,” Chloe says, her protective tone wrapping the four words. Her eyes narrow on him.

I know what she said is true. We aren’t. But I’m struggling to decipher if this is protecting our friendship or that she doesn’t want me that way.

How do we keep teetering on this tightrope of being more than friends? How do I get her to fall with me?

40

CHLOE

Everything falls into place. That’s what the philosophers say, right? That somewhere in the universe, written in the stars, is precisely how my life is supposed to play out. Once I connect the dots, I can see the picture.

I don’t know if I’m on dot four or four hundred, but I don’t see the picture. I barely have an idea.

But this moment? I can.

Curled on the couch with my best friend, the guys in the kitchen making bowls of ice cream, per Emerson’s request. This moment is a warm kiss of the sun after a long, cold winter.

If this is the picture, I’ll take it.

After I changed, the lace still imprinted on my skin underneath the looser-fitting clothes, the four of us fell into an evening so natural and fluid.

Liam and Callum left to pick up the takeout they had ordered on their way in from the airport. We ate around the dining room table—which everyone admitted was their first time ever doing—like one big family. George, Beatrix, and Audrey’s absence was apparent, and for a split second, I wish Miller and Riley were here, too. Even Adler.

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