Page 164 of We Can't Be Friends

The last thing I remember before I must have fallen asleep was shutting off my Saturday alarms, not wanting to wake her, but also wanting to keep her in my arms for as long as possible—who knows what morning might bring. I set a reminder to cancel my Saturday obligations. Nothing is more important than Chloe. Nothing.

I kick my legs over the side of the bed. Opening the door, my body relaxes. The sound of the Goo Goo Dolls softly floats up the stairs.

Chloe’s bare legs swing off the counter when I get to the bottom of the stairs. Eyes closed, head tilted back.

“Morning, Dais.” I settle up next to her, giving her knee a light squeeze.

“Morning, Pretty Boy.” Chloe levels her head with mine. Her gray eyes aren’t as cloudy, the glassy appearance more of a haze. A quarter smile pulls on her lips; it’s a smile that could be easily missed—and I think a lot of people do. I’m starting to think it’s her signature, just enough of a smile to prove she doesn’t hate the world—but I would never. “You were asleep when I woke. I didn’t want to wake you. I was unsure when you fell asleep last night.”

“I appreciate it, but you could have.” Chloe rests a hand on top of mine on the counter. “What time did you get up?”

She bites her lip. “Four.”

“You’ve been up for—” I still don’t know what time it is.

“Five hours.”

“D—” I am about to reprimand her, but stop. “How did you sleep?”

“In the quiet, finally.” Her lips tick up a little bit more. “You must have some sleeping superpower. I haven’t slept like that in years.” She sigh-laughs. “Being in your arms was magic.”

I flip my hand over, thumb hugging hers.

Being in your arms was magic.

If she only realized that being around her is as magical.

There’s nothing special about me, never has been, but Chloe makes me feel as if every cell that makes up my body is extraordinary. That I matter.

“How did you sleep?” she asks.

“Yeah, good.”

“Good. So I—I uh.” Chloe removes her hand from mine, jumping off the counter. My Imperial College rugby shirt falls to her knees, more of a dress than a tee. “I made you tea.”

“Tea?” My body spins in her direction.

“It could be cold. . . probably is. And we can heat it up, but you’ll probably hate it.” Chloe opens the microwave door, picking up a cuppa. I take it from her outstretched hand, the mug still warm, barely.

“Thank you.” I inhale the aroma.

Then, take a sip. She’s staring at me, eyes wide on the edge of her seat, nervously awaiting my reaction. It’s Goldilocks perfect. I take another sip, larger this time.

Not too hot or cold—I prefer a lukewarm tea.

Not too sweet or bitter.

I take a third sip. Chloe twiddles with the hem of my shirt.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would think you’ve memorized how I take my tea.”

She swallows slowly. “I did.” Chloe tilts her head to the side. “Two sugars and a splash of milk.”

“Mhmm,” I say over my cuppa.

“That’s if it’s breakfast tea. You take a decaffeinated tea around three with one spoonful of honey—sometimes two.” She pauses, the tip of her tongue peeking past her lips. I want to kiss her, for remembering my tea, for wearing my shirt, for being everything I didn’t know I was searching for, and for being cute—I hate using the word cute for anyone above the age of twenty-five, but with her, right now, cute is the equivalent to being devastatingly perfect. “You like peppermint tea with nothing in it.”

“Peppermint tea with nothing in it,” I say simultaneously.

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