Page 96 of We Can't Be Friends

When I exit a minute later, needing to adjust and give myself a minute, I spot her back to me, clutching the strip in her hands. Eyes locked on the last photo.

“How’d they turn out?” I ask her, standing behind her and resting my chin on her shoulder.

She turns her head, our mouths almost touching. “Perfect.”

Yeah, I could learn to love Chicago.

27

CHLOE

The curtains in my room are open for a reason.

Even when traveling for work, I keep them pulled to opposite sides. I accidentally let it slip to my mom once and she lectured me on how dangerous that could be. Following it up with what if my hotel opened up to an office building where people could see in. That never bugged me.

Sleeping with them closed did.

What if I didn’t wake up? What if I missed an alarm?

I used to be terrible about setting an alarm, accidentally swiping it to p.m. instead of a.m. Keeping the curtains open automatically lets in the sunlight—at least it does in my bedroom at home. It’s why I selected an apartment with east-facing windows and positioned my bed where rays can wake me every morning. I let nature become my trusted alarm.

I don’t exactly need an alarm or the sun anymore. My body does a good job of waking me up.

Twisting in the sheets, my skin tingles. The friction against my bare legs isn’t relieving the tension between them. A sunflower haze is painted across the hotel room, illuminating the other side of the king-sized bed—the cold, empty side.

Kicking at the sheets and bunching them at the foot of the bed, I rest on my side. Scottsdale has been warm the past three days, the sun trickling in through the large window cradles me in warmth.

I’ve woken this way every day since that kiss with Cal. With the sun, sleepless, restless, and needy.

We didn’t speak when we got home that night. I’m not sure either of us knew what to say.

I know I didn’t.

What are you supposed to say when one short kiss was the best kiss of your life?

Or when that kiss replayed like a broken record all night?

His lips. His hold on my chin. His weight beneath me. His warmth.His everything.

Kissing Callum was like jumping into an ice bath. Every inch of my skin, nerves, and thoughts were stimulated and seized into a kiss that shattered all other kisses.

Shattering me and putting me back together all within one brush of his lips.

Making me feel alive. And I haven’t felt that alive in years.

I was so wound up by the simple touch of him that sleep evaded me. No remedy worked till I slipped my fingers in my cotton sleep shorts to release the ache between my legs. Even then, I craved for it to be his hand—I wished for it every night since then.

We didn’t speak that morning. I hate that I snuck out the front door, avoiding him. I still didn’t know what to say. I don’t even know what to feel.

Sure, my feelings for Cal are surpassing friendly, but he’s going to leave and I can’t let myself fall for someone only for another goodbye. He has to go back to London; it’s inevitable. It won’t matter how I feel about him or how much I may want him. He’ll be gone.

Just like everyone else.

I bailed on Emerson and I’s weekly coffee. She called me three times, and I silenced each of them. Heading straight to the office before I left that afternoon for a work trip.

Throwing myself into the events worked as a distraction till I ended up back here, wishing that I wasn’t so alone. Wishing thatit was Cal beside me.

For the first time in years, I hadn’t felt alone. Living with him, whether we hang out or not, he’s there. It’s nice. I wish I had better words to articulate it, but nice is the only one that makes it through the mess inside my head.

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