Page 84 of We Can't Be Friends

“No, he’s not here. It’s Cal.”

“Cal?” the rasp in her voice I’ve come to crave is weak. “Is that you?”

“It’s me.” I rub my hand down her jaw. “I’ve got you.”

“Oh.” She takes in a shaky inhale. “Was I dreaming?”

“You were.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Chloe starts repeating an apology to me. She leans her head into my shoulder, clinging to my touch.

“You don’t need to apologize to me.”

Her eyes bolt open. It’s almost as if she forgot where she is and who I am for a minute.

Her breathing picks back up. I drop an arm from around her and stroke my thumb across her cheek, clearing a tear. The clammy skin of her palms finds my chest.

My bare chest.

This is the first time she’s ever touched me like this. I hate the situation we're in, seeing her this way, but I can’t neglect how good it feels to have her hands on me. To have had her in my arms, even if it was only a minute.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I-I-h-he. . .” Chloe stutters, with no words or sentences forming. “No.”

“Okay. If you change your mind—”

“You’re good at listening, I know.”

I sit up in her bed, never letting my eyes leave hers. They are the softest I’ve ever seen them—color and stare. They are pools of water on the pavement after it rains, and I swearI could see my reflection in them. Swirls of pain and anger and grief take over as she blinks.

“Do you want to change? Your shirt is soaked with sweat and you’re shivering.”

Chloe nods, and I move to help her before she can get out of bed. Pulling back the covers and offering her a hand. She accepts it, this soft side of her slowly becoming one of my favorites, as we walk to her dresser.

A shirt hangs half out of the drawer. Chloe coughs gently as her fingers curl around the hem of her current attire.

“Stop watching me.”

I hadn’t realized my focus was still on her—heavy, heated eyes tracking every movement.

“I’ve seen you naked before,” I remind her.

“It’s different now. We’re roommates.”

Would I go back to not being roommates if it meant getting to see her naked?

Maybe. Probably not. Even in the three weeks Chloe’s been here, I’ve become quite drawn to her presence. The little mundane parts. The noise from her music, TV shows, or full-blown conversations with Tucker. Even her messiness.

Respecting her wishes, I turn around and walk into the ensuite bathroom. Dampening a washcloth, I return to the room and sit beside her on the bed.

Chloe tries to take the cloth from me.

“Let me.”

Her shoulders bob, but she relaxes into the bed, letting me wipe the rag across her glistening skin.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

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