Page 210 of We Can't Be Friends

“Already did.” Adler’s sunshine personality can be felt through the phone. “Epp! I’ve got to go, I just got to my physical therapy appointment. Call me if you have questions, but Chlo, you're a shoe in.”

“Thanks, Adler.”

“You’re welcome. Bye, babe. Love you!”

I tell her I love her back and end our call. Attaching Tucker to his leash we head back to the apartment leisurely, only stopping once for an iced coffee and to smell flowers.

***

“Chloe, you home?” Cal’s voice crescendos as he gets closer to the room.

“Bathroom,” I holler back.

Twisting the towel around my hair, I flip my head back over. Tucking one of the corners in the bottom, I secure it.

He leans against the bathroom counter in a far more casual attire than his typical suit. His thigh tattoos peek out from the bottom of his shorts. The long sleeves of his black linen shirt are rolled up, and far too many buttons are undone. Cal is out of contacts, and I sort of love it. He’s forced to wear his glasses, and right now, looking at him like this, all the air is sucked out of the room.

“Hi.” He smiles at me. “How was your day?”

“I think I found a job.”

“Yeah?”

“A skating academy here is in need of a new director for their high school and competitive teams.” I squeeze a dollop of lotion onto a few fingers and rub it on my face. “I know it’s not my own program, but—”

“It’s a start.”

“Yeah, I think so. I emailed them my resume and sent a highlight reel of my old competitions. Plus, Adler is on their board and said she put a good word in for me.”

“You’re excited.”

I shake my head, yes, sucking in my cheek and biting it. “I am, and not because I could potentially avoid a tireless job hunt. How was your day?”

“I also have good news. Wanna meet me downstairs? I brought home takeout.”

I brush by Cal, walking to the dresser we split. Split is a highly loose term. Cal might have more clothing than me, so while yes we share a bedroom, we do not share a closet. Eighty percent of my clothing remains in my old bedroom across the hall.

The towel around my body pools on the floor and I can feel his gaze burning into my backside.

There’s a cough. Then footsteps.

“Chloe.” Cal levels his mouth with my ear.

“Yes?” I wonder if he can see the smirk on my face.

Besides taking Tucker to the park and my surprise phone call with Adler, I had a tattoo appointment with my artist. I added two new fine line tattoos to my left arm—a bundle of wildflowers and an outline of Tucker’s head. When she finished up, we were catching up, and I asked if she had extra time for one more.

“How many tattoos did you get today?”

“Three.”

I stick out my left arm. You can see them through the Saniderm bandage.

“And?” He runs his hand up my backside, over the curve of my butt.

“Your name.”

The artist didn’t have another appointment for an hour. I wrote out Callum while she changed needles. Twenty minutes later, I was branded. But I’ve been branded a lot longer. My heart marked and healed by him.

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