Page 147 of We Can't Be Friends

“What do you mean?” Chloe shakes her head again. “Look at me, Chloe.” I slip her chin into my fingers. “Eyes on me,please. What do you mean?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Her throat moves slowly around a swallow. “I used people. Sex. It sounds stupid admitting it aloud. I used it to feel anything, to fill this void within me.”

“Is that it?”

“No,” she sighs. “I remembered you don’t want a girlfriend. Don’t want a distraction. Don’t want this. Don’t want me. I’m not going to use you, Callum.”

I’m unbearably hard. Obviously, I want her. This isn’t because I haven’t been with anyone in a year. It’s because of her.

It’s always because of her.

“Don’t want you?” It comes out stunned, hurt that she would ever think that.

There lies my problem.

She blows out a breath. “You don’t need to lie to me, Cal.”

“Lie to you?” Sure, dating might be a lie, but our friendship—everything between us—that’s not a lie. “Do you. . . do you want me to want you?”

“No.” Her eyes drop to the left.

“Now who is the liar?”

Her body rumbles with a silent laugh and a shake of her downward head.

“You aren’t very good at lying to me, Dais.”

“Well, that’s weird because I’m not. I’m not lying. You don’t need to want me.” She changes her pitch. Flustered. Her mouth opens and closes. Chloe’s cheeks are as red as the lipstick she wears, her gray eyes as alive as a cloudless night sky.

Her losing control has me teetering on the edge of mine.

I need control, but my need for her is uncontrollable.

“This is ridiculous. Forget this ever happened. Forget what I said.” Chloe goes upstairs.

I give her a minute, waiting for the sound of her door to close before heading up there. I’d let her use me if that meant I got to have her.

Standing in front of her door, I raise my hand to knock—the door flies open.

“I don’t care if you don’t want me, but I want you.” A slow, lazy smirk makes its way up my face. “No. No smirking. No dimples.” Chloe points at me. “You are making—”

“Are you going to shut up so I can kiss you?”

Chloe pauses, mouth open, and we both give each other a second to make up our minds before we pounce. She jumps me. Mouth sealing over mine. Our lips interlocking in a desperate kiss. Searing. Sizzling. Her lips move across mine how I imagine writers' fingers move across a keyboard when writing. A rehearsed dance between us.

Chloe opens her mouth, and our tongues meet. She tastes like popcorn and melted chocolate, but more than that, she tastes like everything I’ve ever wanted.

My hands snake behind her thighs, and I pick her up. Legs, bare and silky, wrap around my waist. I back her up against the wall, raising one hand to protect the back of her head.

Chloe pulls at my bottom lip, dragging it between hers. Her hands twine through my hair as she tugs on the sandy strands.

Planting kisses to the sides of her mouth, I kiss her jaw, working my way down her neck. The neckline of her oversized shirt is loose against her collarbone. I sneak my lips under the worn fabric. I bite down on the skin, and Chloe lets out a whimper. I suck on the skin, trying to taste her peach scent on my tongue. I reverse my path, planting a kiss over the mark I left on her tan skin. Claiming her lips again, I could write a sonnet about how this feels.

“Don’t stop,” she says against me. “Don’t stop, Callum.”

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