Page 125 of We Can't Be Friends

I realize my excitement got the best of me and I don’t know where the present is. His bed is empty of a gift box or bag. There isn’t anything on his dresser or nightstands. The chair in the corner of the room is bare, and I check underneath it. Nothing.

Plopping down on his bed, his minty, leather, and old book smell hits my nose. I lay down for a minute, bathing in it. I love his smell.

I tug my phone out from under my butt and FaceTime Cal.

Within seconds, his face fills the screen, and I think this might be the best present. Him. Living here.

I think the best things in life are the things (people) we didn’t see coming. As if the universe knew what we needed. The universe knew I needed him.

And some days, I allow myself to believe Cal needs me too.

“Where is it?” I ask way too eagerly.

He chuckles. “Bottom drawer of the nightstand.” I reach for the one closest to me. “Other one,” Cal tells me.

I army roll across the bed, taking the phone with me. Propping my cell up against the lamp, I tug open the drawer.

Inside are two wrapped gifts. The first is around the size of a book, and I internally groan, should’ve known better. The other is a larger box, but light when I pick it up.

“Is there one I should open first?” I ask him, holding a gift in each hand.

“The one in the left hand.”

Shaking it playfully, I pretend to listen for what’s inside. “Let me guess. . . a book!”

He hikes his shoulders, not answering.

Now, if there is one thing about me and wrapped gifts—honestly, any package, but this should be no surprise to anyone—it’s that I have zero patience. I am not delicate when I open them. Paper, irrelevant. Extra sealing, useless. Bows, don’t even get me started. Just show me what the goods are.

Like a kid in a candy store, I shred the paper, revealing a book.

“I was right.” I flip through the pages, noticing a few chapters tagged, highlighted, and notes made. “You pulled a Liam. Didn’t you?” I cock my head to the side.

“No. I’m not that desperate.” He scratches the back of his neck, leaving his hand there. His cheeks are as red as a candy cane. “That book is a romcom about a couple meeting on a reality TV show. While I read it to make sure you liked it. . . I may have tabbed a few. . . uh. . .”

“A few what?”

“Quotes. Scenes.”

My brows arch. “And why did you do that?”

“Theymademethinkofyou.” If I hadn’t listened closely, I would have missed it. Then he changes the subject. “We are having Christmas lunch with my grandparents. I should go get ready soon.”

“Nope. Rewind.” I pretend to have a remote in my hand. Flipping through the pages, I read a few snippets. “You got me smut.”

“What? Men enjoy those books too.”

“Is that what fills your shelves in here?”

“Only a couple. The others are memoirs and business books.”

“Of course.” I open the other gift. Two new graphic T-shirts are folded perfectly to fit in the box. “I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Dais.”

I roll onto my stomach. “I didn’t get you anything,” I admit sadly.

“You already did.”

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