Page 46 of We Can't Be Friends

Everything after dancing with her last night is fuzzy. Parts are there in full color, others grayscale if not completely blacked out.

My last memory is watching Chloe’s jaw tighten as I talked to a fit blonde at the bar. I was turning her pass down, but from where Chloe was swirling her soda water with tense shoulders, I know she was envious. At the bar, a guy settled up next to the blondie, switching out her cups, then walking away. She was oblivious, attention hyper fixated on my mouth and grazing my collar with her fingertips. I hated it, but I hated the idea that someone was trying to mess with her drink. I switched our cups, pushing the tainted one away. Then I forgot and took a sip.

Small enough to know my mistake, but enough to have residual effects.

“No,” she assures me.

“Okay, good.”

“Trust me, if we did, you wouldn’t forget it.”

“Memorable?”

“The best you’d ever have.”

Idon’t doubt that.

I’m already straining against my zipper, thoughts of Chloe under or over me aren’t helping.

“I need to walk Tucker. Are you okay? If you aren’t, I can wait.”

“I’m okay. A little nauseous.”

“I’ll grab you some more water. Do you want any ibuprofen? You probably threw up the ones you took last night.”

Chloe climbs off the bed and pulls on a pair of black sweatpants.

Before she exits her room, I call out to her. “Henry.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for taking care of me last night. Dealing with whatever I was saying or doing. Cleaning up after me. Letting me stay.”

“It’s no biggie.” She shrugs off my gratitude, the faucet running telling me she’s in the kitchen.

It might not be a big deal to her, but to me it is. I’ve never been cared for like this.

Chloe returns with a glass of water, three pills, and toast.

“I didn’t know if this would help. Thought getting something in your stomach would be good, but I don’t really cook.” She’s rambling. This side of her—the sensitive, protective one—I like. I’ve watched how she’s protective over Emerson—anyone in her tight circle, really. And somehow I managed to worm my way in and I don’t ever want to leave. “If the bread is bad, I can try to find something else in the kitchen, but there isn’t much.”

I take a bite. It’s shit. The bread is terrible, absolute garbage. Dry. Crumbly. Sad.

Swallowing it down, I think sandpaper would feel better. I try to smile.

“It’s bad?” Chloe groans. “Truthfully, I don’t like it either, but I spent way too much money on it to let it go to waste.”

“How much was it? I will give you the money to throw this away.”

She snorts, dragging a hand over her face. “You are not doing that, Sullivan.”

“You aren’t eating this.”

“Some of us don’t have a choice. I don’t have the luxury of enjoying whatever carb I want.” Chloe grabs a pair of socks and trainers. “Tucker, you ready? Let’s go outside.”

“I’ll come with you.” I pull back the corner of her covers.

“No.” Chloe glances over her shoulder at me. “You should head home and rest.”

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