Page 57 of We Can't Be Friends

My jaw drops, eyes searching around the room for I don’t know what. Emerson rests her chin on my shoulder, reading the card aloud.

“Wanna tell me again that nothing is happening between you two?”

“I swear. Nothing is happening between us.”

Is that true anymore?

Lately, it’s as if everything is happening between us. That Callum Sullivan is the sun in my life. The more I’m around him, the more I’m pulled into his orbit.

There’s curiosity. A need to know more about him, who he is underneath all the clothes and work.

There’s attraction. I can’t deny that. He is handsome, hot, but it is more than that. I’m attracted to the layers he’s revealing, the silent kindness and listening.

There’s a foundation of a friendship. I’ve never been friends with a boy before—not outside of my brothers. Never wanted to be.

“I’ll let you tell me that for now. Now go try this dress on.”

***

“Iknew I’d be right,” his familiar accent rings in my ears.

We didn’t arrive together. We planned to, and I looked forward to those minutes with him, but something hotel came up.

I joked that wasn’t very boyfriend-y of him on the phone. Cal didn’t laugh. Instead there was an awkward pause followed by an apology.

Showing up separately ended up being for the better. I was able to do a load of laundry that I didn’t fold and help Emerson prep her camera equipment.

I take a breath, bite my lip, and try to compose myself before turning around. Slowly, I look over my shoulder, ensuring Callum is watching, and roll my eyes.

He smirks, twirling his pointer finger, asking for me to do a spin.

Intentionally, I turn, letting the fabric that’s already hugging my figure move and glide over my curves more.

“I lied. I was wrong.” He drags a hand over his mouth, clasping his chiseled jaw. “You are even more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.”

“I better not be ugly when you dream about me.”

He laughs, sauntering up to me from where he was leaning against the entryway to the lobby bar. “Who says I dream about you?”

“We both know you do.”

Cal’s tall figure towers over me. When we breathe, our chests brush. He leans down, gently kissing my cheek before his mouth finds my ears. With lips against the sensitive skin, he says, “I will be dreaming about you in this dress and about what’s not underneath it.”

My throat becomes the Sahara. Shifting one ankle over the other to squeeze my legs shut.

“How do you know I’m not wearing anything under?”

“I didn’t, but thank you for confirming it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Dais.”

There’s that nickname again. Daisy or Dais. He started using it a few weeks ago, and whenever he says the endearment, it digs at my heart. He’s inching his way in, and I hate it but love it almost as much.

Cal steps away from me. His mouth is bent into a stupidly handsome crooked smile, with both dimples. His eyes roam down andback up my body. They darken alongside a sharp inhale causing my stomach to do a loopty-loop.

He’s walking away when I call out to him—needing to remain in his proximity.

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