Page 142 of We Can't Be Friends

Chloe could have said that she wanted to rob a bank with me, and I would have the same reaction. I’d give anything to have her say she wants me. Any part of me.

“Do you miss me, Dais?”

“Don’t read into it,” she adds, but I am. “Finish your chapter.” She heads to the stairs. “But for the love of snacks, please do not be Emerson. I’ll know if this chapter turns into finishing the book.”

***

Ifinish the chapter. And only that chapter.

Chloe is dancing around the kitchen. She opens a bag of popcorn, dumping it into a bowl, not paying attention to her surroundings.

She continues to hum while plating snacks. Opening the cabinet we use as a pantry, Chloe stands on her toes, an arm stretched above her head failing to reach a container of M&M’s.

I get up from the couch after enjoying a minute of her struggling. Her effort was cute. Walking up behind her, my chest brushes her back. She’s too short to grab the container, but I can easily.

Chloe spins. Her chest, brushing against mine. One hand on the counter, the other on the container of candy, I’m bracketing her in.

My eyes dip to her shirt. “Does your shirt say ‘Your Boyfriend Sucks’?”

Chloe pulls the hem of her shirt out. “Oh, yeah. Emerson bought it for me after Seth and I broke up. I thought it was a little late for the message. She said it’ll be a reminder for the future.”

“He did suck.”

“Thank you for the observation.”

“Not every guy will. I promise you.” I don’t, I hope. I glance at the candy, then the popcorn. “M&Ms and popcorn?”

Chloe nods, eyes locked straight ahead at my chest. I breathe, and our chests brush again. Chloe lets a small whimper, smokey grays flicking up through her dark lashes. My blues drop to her mouth.

A pink tongue darts out between her lips, wetting them. I take in the remaining air in the kitchen, purposely to feel her chest against mine. Through the material of the shirt, I can see the outline of her nipples.

“Cal,” she swallows, lips parting.

My hand fumbles with the top of the container, pulling out an orange chocolate candy.

“Open.” Lips part, mouth falling open. I place the candy in her mouth, her tongue brushing the pads of my fingers. Her pupils dilate and are burning with need.

Chloe doesn’t say anything before Tucker barks to go out. She pulls away, sneaking under my arm to grab his leash.

“You aren’t taking him out in that.” Eyes drop to her bare legs.

Chloe passes me the leash. “Thank you.”

When I get back, the bowl of popcorn is scattered with M&M’s in her lap on the couch.

Without communicating, we’ve establishedourspots on the couch. Mine is the one I’ve always sat in when living in Chicago—the corner, closest to the window. Chloe sits in the opposite corner but throws her legs up in my direction.

Tucker curls up on the floor between the couch and coffee table, his snout resting on the edge of the mahogany. He knows I’ll sneak him a snack or two.

“What are we watching tonight?”

“My favorite,Survivor.”

42

CHLOE

My obsession withSurvivorisn’t new.

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