Page 60 of We Can't Be Friends

“Good night?” I ask him.

He nods. “Insane. I’ve never made that many drinks in one night before.”

“The turnout was unreal.”

“It’s a stunning hotel. You should be proud.”

“You too, Flynn. Liam and I appreciate you taking a risk on us, moving to Chicago for this.”

“One of the best lessons I’ve learned is that every risk is worth it. We aren’t born with the answers, it’s our responsibility to find them. Stretch our horizons, expand our minds, and try new things. You can’t predict an outcome, so why be afraid of taking the shot?”

“I’m starting to believe that. Is everything put up for the night?”

“Never for you, boss.”

“Callum. Please call me Callum.” I smile. “Any bottles of champagne back there?”

He bends over, digging around the fridge. When he stands back up, he’s holding two bottles of our best, my personal favorite, imported from a small house in Champagne.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, Cal. For all of this. A great risk, a greater reward.”

We give each other the nod. Leaving him to close down, I locate Chloe and make my way to her.

“Care for a nightcap?” I say quietly in her ear. Goosebumps pebble across her arms.

“I could be persuaded.”

Circling my arms around her, I let her see the bottles in each of my hands.

“Sure. Give me a minute to drop off these glasses.”

“I’ll meet you at the lift.”

CHLOE

Cal has the strap of my silver heels hanging from one of his pinkies. I couldn’t stand another minute in the four inches. As soon as the elevator doors shut, I hastily slipped them off, a crisp moan fell from me at the feeling of being flat-footed.

He sets the bottles down on a table between two pool loungers.

I pulled them over to face the glass that overlooks the city.

“Wow.” Laying back, looking up at the cloudless night sky. Midnight blue with scattering of bright lights from skyscrapers and stars. Stars. “You can see the stars tonight.”

“The brightest one is next to me.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Couldn’t come up with a better line than that?”

“Why?” Cal shrugs, peeling off the foil around the cork. “I don’t prefer to lie.”

“I. . .” The weird pit in my stomach that I feel when I’m around Cal is digging itself deeper. His one-off comments, the way his eyes reflect the sky. It’s kindling to a fire I’m unsure I want to light.

“Growing up, we used to visit my grandparents at their farm. I loved being outside the city. Sydney, then London. You can’t see shit through the smog, but my grandparents lived in thecountryside. There were countless stars. We'd sleep out there when we were old enough after begging our parents to let us. Even on the nights they said no, I’d knock on my brothers’ door quietly, and we'd sneak out.

“We would always promise each other to be up before Mom and Dad. Back in our beds and pretend to sleep so they’d never know. Every time,”—He shakes his head at the memory, and a single silent laugh emerges—“we’d never get up in time. We’d wake to blankets covering us and Dad sitting on their back porch sipping his coffee, steam rolling off the top of it.”

“When’s the last time you did that?” I ask. Cal hands me a glass of champagne.

---