Page 109 of We Can't Be Friends

She cuts me off. “Wanna bet?” Her eyes glimmer with mischievousness. Audrey calls over a random guy—attractive, definitely—and then snaps a picture. “I’m sending this to Cal.”

“Audrey, seriously?”

“Yeah.” She shoos away the guy, thanking him for his service. “Get over it and finish your drink. We are going somewhere else. I love a game of cat and mouse.”

I pluck her phone out of her hands. Dangling it above her with my thumb and forefinger. “Absolutely not. Do not send this to your brother.”

“Fine,” she groans, lifting her butt out of the seat and snatching her phone back. I raise a brow. “Okay, okay. I’m putting my phone away.” She dramatically drops her phone into her purse.

Dragged down the street, Audrey’s arm is looped through mine. We stop at another crowded downtown bar that is standing room only.

The next is the same, but with perfect timing, we snag an empty high-top bar table.

Audrey is adventuring around the bar, collecting free drinks from whatever poor soul she can bat her eyes at before breaking their heart by walking away.

I like her. A lot. Her confidence and attitude remind me of my own, except hers isn't a facade. It’s pure, she was born with it. Mine is a mask I put on daily. I’ve worn it for so long that I don’t think there’s a difference anymore.

Across from me, the chair is pulled back, a guy with a notable smile with floppy red hair sits down.

“Are you a campfire?” He finds my eyes, waiting for a response. My RBF doesn’t falter. “Because you’re hot, and I want s’more.”

It’s a shame that not all hot men are intelligent.

I put my hand over my mouth to laugh, trying my damndest to be considerate.

He must enjoy the sound of his voice because he doesn’t shut up. After a momentary pause, he resumes word vomiting and reaches across the table; my brows raise at his forwardness, eyes hyper-focused on his hand curling around the stem of my glass.

There’s athudon the table.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a masculine voice I recognize commands. It sends a shiver across my body, goosebumps form under my top, and my spine straightens.

Callum unfurls the intruder’s fingers from around my wine glass. Then takes his arm and places it a safe distance away from me. My eyes follow his movements before flicking to his face, slowly moving up his forearm.

I note how his long sleeve fits and stretches across each of his taunt and flexed muscles. His jaw is tight, teeth clenched behind his lips. Lips I need to kiss again. Cal’s eyes are blue flame-tipped daggers.

“Who are you?” he stupidly asks.

“Her boyfriend,” Cal immediately responds. I almost choke at the sound of the sentence, the definitive and protectiveness of his words.

I take a drink of my wine, attempting to wash away my entirely unnecessary feelings about Cal.

“Don’t listen to him. He isn’t.” I flip a quick glare toward Cal before returning my attention to the redhead, softening my features slightly.

Cal shifts his tight jaw. “Henry,” it comes out like a growl. He moves to stand next to the guy, pulling the chair out swiftly.

I cross my legs, tightly squeezing them together. I wonder how those hands could manhandle me. Maybe he’d throw me over his shoulder? Or push me up against a wall, my complete body weight off the ground?

Stop.

I’m one thought away from blowing through this stop sign I’ve been sitting at for months.

“Your time is up. This seat is warm enough.”

He gets up, his eyes wide in terror. Holy shit, he’s scared of Cal.

That’s hot. So hot.

Cal takes his place. The chair moves across the floor, the residual sound louder than the music playing from the speakers in each corner of the room.

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