Page 187 of We Can't Be Friends

“I know,” she whispers. “I feel the same way, Callum.”

Chloe has been using my full first name a lot lately, and I’m not mad about it. Having been called every rendition of my name by everyone else, her saying my full name is intimate and it feels like it belongs to her.

As if I belong to her. I do.

She continues her confession, warming my body. “I didn’t realize how alone I felt till I met you. How unseen, unappreciated, andguarded. Then you walked into my life and literally saw me in my rawest form.”

“Was a fancy lil meet cute—”

“Stop ruining the moment, Pretty Boy.” She nudges me.

“Okay, I’m listening. Keep telling me how much you love me,” I joke.

“I do love you.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” she bites her lip. “I love you, Callum.”

For months, I’ve felt myself unlacing. The strings that have been holding me together coming undone. Hearing her say she loves me finishes me off.

Loving Chloe has been the undoing of my heart.

In every brilliant and marvelous way you could imagine.

I take her face in my hands, cupping her cheek. “I love you, too, Dais. I think I have for quite a long time now, just didn’t know what the feeling was.”

I’ve fought off telling her those three words, nervous that they’d scare her off. Or that my love for her wouldn’t be enough.

But it’s quite the opposite.

I’ve searched for love my entire life and when I finally stopped, it’s when I found her. Maybe we needed to go through what we’ve been through to find each other. And I think—no, Iknow— I’d do it all over again if it meant finding her. She’s the one my soul will always long for, a love I’d cross the universe to find, the one I’m meant for in every life.

There’s no trying with Chloe. There’s only being.

“Me too.” She’s bashful, looking like the innocent girl she isn’t. “Can you say it again?”

“I love you, Chloe.” I kiss her, pulling away to stare at the moon and stars outlining her.

“Again.”

“I love you. I love your laugh. I love the tattoos that tell your story. I love your fierce protectiveness. I love how creative andthoughtful you are. I love that your bedroom is chaotic, but you try to keep it clean for me. I love that you aren’t afraid to speak your mind. I love how you are my light in the dark.” I confess to her everything I love about her. . . which is everything.

To most, she is the fine print. The small details that others would overlook—a quick glance or once-over—which is their loss. Because Chloe Henry could never be just the fine print to me.

She’s the chapter header. The dedication. The parts of the books you love so deeply you annotate them and tattoo them on your body one day.

Chloe Henry is a permanent fixture, inked into my skin forever.

I must have spoken those words aloud. Tears speckle her cheeks.

“Are you going to tattoo my name on your body, Pretty Boy?”

“Nope, going to get ‘mine’ on my hand. So when you wear a necklace, you know exactly who you belong to.”

She gulps. Eyes heating, cheeks flushing. “I could never forget.”

I move her body beneath mine, kissing her senselessly. Chloe rotates her head, pushing it against the cushioned floor when I kiss her kryptonite—the spot between her jaw and neck. I kiss down the exposed skin. Her small cries do nothing for the erection that’s eager to get out of my pants and into her.

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