Page 138 of We Can't Be Friends

An hour later the four of us are gathered around the coffee table. Emerson and Liam are on the couch, her legs draped over his. Cal and I are on the floor, cross-legged on a pallet of pillows.

“You two have sleepovers? After graduating from college?” The boys glance between us.

“Yeah!” Emerson cheers as I arch a brow.

“It’s not weird,”comes out of my mouth. Cal covers his mouth, hand moving to pull at his chin. I push a finger into his shoulder. “Uh, no. Get the picture out of your head. This was not a take our clothes off and hit each other with a pillow type of sleepover.”

He’s trying to conceal his chuckle. “That’s not what I’m thinking.”

“Don’t lie.”

“It started as birthday sleepovers,” Emerson says. “We thought it was weird that you were supposed to grow up and stop having sleepovers with your best friends. We’d have one for each other on our birthdays and then it sort of spiraled from there. After nights out, random weekdays.” Emerson tilts her head looking at me. “I think at one point I had more clean clothes of Chloe's here than she did at her place.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve never claimed to be an organized girl.”

“We know,” Cal says. I give him a little head bobbing glare.

“What did you thre—two do at your sleepovers?”

“Make voodoo dolls of boys.”

“She’s kidding,” Emerson says. “There was this period where the three of us would make up dances to songs. We tried TikTok dances but agreed we are all creative enough to do our own.”

“Wait.” Liam leans forward, shuffling through Emerson’s phone that is hooked up to the Bluetooth speaker. “Was it a sleepover where you learned a dance to a One Direction song?” he asks Emerson.

“Maybe.”

“I have to see this.” Cal claps, then reaches for another slice of pepperoni pizza.

Emerson shrugs and I groan. “Fine. Put it on DJ.”

Cal gets out of the way, taking Emerson’s spot on the couch. “I can’t believe they remember it.”

“Perfection is never forgotten, Pretty Boy.”

The routine is built for three—all of our dances were and the moves were usually decided on by Natalie—but we can make it work with two. The music starts playing as I line up behind Emerson, my hands on her shoulder.

We complete our dance, slightly out of breath, definitely tipsy.

By ten, pizza cold and wine empty, Cal and I leave. Liam and Emerson wanted to stay at her place. They alleged it will help them get an early start finishing packing in the morning.

41

CALLUM

The elevator doors ding in symphony with the email app on my phone. A red circle with the number one appearing on the little icon.

I open the application as I walk through the lobby of our office. Without looking, I open the email lacking a subject, but marked urgent, whilst greeting our receptionists. I reach over the desk and set the bag of bagels I picked up on my in.

“What do we owe a thank you for?” one of them asks, the other already sifting through them to find the cinnamon raisin that is her favorite.

“Nothing,” I say with a cheeky smile. “Cream cheese, napkins, and knives are at the bottom. Save the blueberry for Liam if you feel like it, but hide it first.”

When I glance down at my phone a photo of a jet is reflecting back at me.

“Holy shit. He did it,” I mumble to myself.

I retrace my steps backward to the desk.

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