Page 21 of We Can't Be Friends

I love tattoos. I love the stories they tell you about someone, the artistry behind them. I love how two people can have similartattoos, yet they are completely unique—position, meaning, how their skin absorbs the ink.

I find them hot and attractive on females and males. Especially a thigh tattoo.

Cal flexes his muscles, almost unconsciously. I flutter my eyes, tearing them back to his face, waves of blond framing his golden skin with a dimple in his right cheek. I’m not short, but my neck strains to meet his icy blues.

“He’s wrong for you.”

“Who is right for me?”

For a second, I wonder if he's going to respond by saying himself.

We are outside of Emerson’s building. Our little get-to-know-each-other walk over. I need it to be over. “You need to dump him before he hurts you.”

How can someone hurt you when there is nothing left of you to hurt?

“I should go inside. Can I have Emerson’s coffee?”

Cal hands the cup to me.

“I mean it,” are his parting words. Cal turns back in the direction we came from and takes off running.

6

CHLOE

Like any other week, I thought my Tuesday morning would start precisely as every other Tuesday. An iced latte, of course, my weekly check-in with my boss, followed by a bi-weekly all-marketing and events team meeting.

Strutting to my office, I greet my coworkers, some on my team, most from other departments.

My four inch black heelsclickandclackon the tile floor. I enjoy wearing heels—and lingerie. Both empower me and I always feel in touch with my feminine side.

“Tamara.”

“Morning, Chloe,” she greets, way too cheery. “Have you had caffeine yet today?”

I shake my cup next to her head, the ice rattling.

“Why are you here? You’re never in this early.”

I hang my bag, a black Neverfull I splurged for when I accepted this job, on the coat hook, pulling out my laptop, tablet, and notebook.

Her face sets in a mischievous expression as I sit on the edge of my desk, crossing my arms over my chest. We’re the same age, but you’d never guess that. She cakes on her makeup, still wears one of those bombshell push-up bras, and has frown lines.

We were hired within the same month, brought on with the expectation of being this dynamic influencer marketing duo. Turns out I can’t stand her, not that I like many people. My circle is small, and I’m okay with that—fewer people mean fewer goodbyes.

Everything is a competition with Tamara.Everything.

If I share an idea, she has to share a ‘better’ idea, or if she can’t think of anything, which is typically the case, she’ll always inform everyone why I’m wrong.

I buy a new handbag. She gets a more expensive one.

I take a Diet Coke break. She makes sure everyone knows that she doesn’t need a break from work.

Aren’t we supposed to be done with all this female vs. female workplace competition? Female power, women supporting women, sisterhood?

“Seen the photos from Live Outdoor's latest event?”

“I haven’t.”

---