Page 171 of We Can't Be Friends

I roll my eyes playfully, then repeat my comment. “I’ve been trying to give you space, but I keep thinking about it. I keep trying to decipher why those texts would upset you if you know I’m not talking to him or have zero intention to get back together.”

Cal drags a hand down his face. He’s leaning against the frame, body still only in a towel.

“Why did they upset you?”

I sit up, butt on the edge of the bed.

He shuts his eyes. “I don’t want to be second place when it comes to you.”

“You aren’t?”

“It might not appear that way to you, but from my perspective, I am. You won’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Walking over to the bathroom door, I lean against the opposite frame and try to hold his hand. He shakes me off.

“Cal, we’re friends.” Probably my best friend if we are admitting truths. “If I did something, you can—”

“We aren’t friends.” He cuts me off. “We can’t be friends.” He raises his voice, not to yell at me, but passionately, frustratedly. His chest rises and falls, eye flipping from mine to my lips.

Stupidity smacks me across the face.

I’m so confused.

“We. Can’t. Be. Friends.” He enunciates each word, teeth grinding, jaw tight. Highlighter blue eyes are wild, pupils dilated.

“Why?” It’s breathy. Scared. Anticipation laced, but it feels like I’m screaming. Trying to hold on tighter to the lifeboat that I’ve found our relationship to be—if that’s even what this was—to be.

There’s a pause. The surrounding space slowly closing in.

“Because we’ve never been friends, Chloe.” He pauses again. “I’ve only ever been yours.”

“Mine?” I can barely ask as his words root themselves inside of me.

“Yours.”

“What about me, Callum?”

“God, I want you to be mine.” He runs his hand through his hair again. “But that’s up to you. I can’t force you to be mine. I can’t force you to see me the way I see you, Dais. I can hope, wish, beg, but it’s your choice.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrug my shoulders as if this is the easiest decision. As easy as breathing. Which it is. Being his, it’s never been a question I realize. I think I’ve always known since we met. The way he saw right through me. It might have taken me some time to fully grasp it, but I’ve always felt it.

My heart has been sitting in a lost and found box, waiting for someone to want it. He does. It’s been his. Is his. He’s found it, stitched it back together, and I know will take care of it.

“That settles it. I’m yours,” I add.

His body hunches back in surprise, eyes widen, and roam over my face. I don’t think Cal suspected me to feel the same way about him, but I do.

Pushing off the frame, I stalk toward him. Granted, it’s barely three steps, but I take my time, dragging each one out like a runway.

“I’m not a quick sell, Pretty Boy, but you’re an excellent salesman. Sold me on a friendship when I was reluctant. Sold me on how terrible my ex was. Sold me on becoming your roommate. Sold me on you along the way. Sold me a while ago. I think Istopped pretending and avoiding my feelings for you those weeks before Christmas.

“You make me happy. You make me feel seen. There hasn’t been a day since last summer that I haven’t thought about you, Callum. I know every girl wants their man to fall at their feet for them, worship them—”

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