Page 146 of We Can't Be Friends

“Funny?”

“Yeah.” One shoulder hikes up. “Some girls I knew in college decided to get ass tats. A few of them got their boyfriend’s names. I thought that was stupid. Why would you ever get a boy’s name on your body? I spitefully tattooed‘S.It’s not as if I’ll ever be anyone's, but who knows?” I shrug, thinking I’m being cute or something. “Maybe your name will end up there.”

“You are something else, Chloe Henry.” His gaze roams over my face like he’s memorizing me. . . or just mesmerized.

“Hey, now. You said you wouldn’t ever judge me.”

“I’m not judging you. I’m adoring you.” Then quietly, his mouth barely moving he adds, “And if you’d let me, I’d worship you too.”

43

CALLUM

Chloe bites her lips, her hips barely gliding over me, but I can feel the dampness she’s leaving on my sweats.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“I didn’t expect living with you to be like this,” she says gently.

“What did you expect?” I ask curiously.

Her shoulders rise and fall in sync with her breathing. There’s a steadiness to her—and myself, if I’m honest—that I don’t recognize. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Not this. I’ve never been friends with a boy before.”

Friends.

The word is sharp. That’s what we are. Friends. I have to remind myself of it daily. Multiple times a day. I’ll be at work, evaluating spreadsheets one minute, and I’m wondering what Chloe is doing the next. How is her day? Are her coworkers annoying her? What can I make for dinner tonight to impress her? What is the saying on her shirt tonight? Will she be wearing a bra under it? She usually doesn’t. Am I the person she wants and needs?

I’ve lost focus, only to find it on her.

I’ve lost focus, only to befriends.

“I’ve never lived with one except my brothers.”

“I’ve never lived with a girl before.” I push a curl behind her ear. “Except for Audrey.”

“But you’ve had plenty of sleepovers with them.”

“I thought we didn’t talk about our exes? You didn’t want totalk about S—”

She places a hand over my mouth. “Shhhh.” Her body stops moving—which I don’t know if she realized she was even doing. “Don’t.”

“Okay,” I say against her hand.

“I mean it.”

“I’m sorry.” It comes out muffled against the soft skin of her palm, but the guilt of letting her down is present.

I fall to temptations and nip at her palm, wanting to see the validity of her calling us friends. Chloe’s cheeks flush, eyes go heavy.

My hands haven’t left her hips. I pull her against me in encouragement.

She takes over, hand falling from my mouth and running down the front of my shirt.

Chloe stills. I can watch the change in demeanor roll over her like she’s putting on a different shirt. She jumps off me in a rush. Tripping over the coffee table, the popcorn bowl goes flying. Buttery pieces hit the couch, the rest of the bowl pours onto Tucker’s head.

“Chloe,” I call and go after her. “Chloe, stop.”

“I need to stop,” she talks to herself. She whirls on me and we almost collide. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. This isn’t me, well it is, but I don’t want to be that girl. I’m not her anymore.” Her head is tilted toward the floor, shaking back and forth.

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