Page 56 of We Can't Be Friends

“How does heknowthat?”

“Besides him texting me to check in on you—”

“He does that?” she whispers. I nod and watch as her demeanor lightens. “Okay, let’s open it.” She beams.

I watch her untie the ribbon and remove the lid. Inside is a stunning sage green dress. Floor length silk with a halter top that ties into a bow. The back, even off her body, is low.

“Where’s my phone? I have to send a picture to Beatrix and Audrey.”

“Wait! You should put it on first.”

Emerson sprints to the bathroom; the smile on her face is from ear to ear. “Will you zip me up?” she hollers.

“Yeah, come here.”

She backs up, not letting me see the front. A hand holding together the top of the zipper. I pull the zipper up, hooking the small silver hook—I’ve never understood why these are needed. They are absolutely a nuisance.

Emerson spins around. “What do you think?”

“You’re beautiful.” I grab her phone off the counter, snapping a picture. “Liam is going to lose his shit when he sees you.”

My phone pings, not even a minute later, with a new group chat.

KEEPING UP WITH THE GIRLS

EMME: *attached photo*

BEATRIX: STFU!! STATES YOU ARE A BABE

BEATRIX: my pre-baby bod didn’t even look that good

I add Audrey’s name to the unknown number, already having Beatrix’s. Emerson is typing on her phone.

EMERSON: Excuse me, future MILF

BEATRIX: I’m telling George you called me that first. He’s going to be pissed. GOOD.

AUDREY: *crying emoji*

AUDREY:Liam did good

The group text pings and the three of them go back and forth. I met Beatrix a couple of weeks ago; she’s so hot. I’m unsure why she said she didn’t look that good. She’s probably the hottest pregnant woman ever. Dark brown hair with light caramel skin, legs for days, and a hint of a baby belly with abs. Abs!

“Take it off before you get something on it, spill queen.” Emerson was making food when I arrived. Her body, now close, leaning on the counter where a cutting board is out.

“I will in a minute.” Her fingers firing away on the screen. I move around her to clean up, knowing a minute will be twenty for her. “Uh, Chloe.”

Emerson is wearing a mischievous smile when I spin to face her. The top of the second box is on the counter, a note card in her hands. “I think you’ve been on someone’s mind, too. This one's for you,” she says playfully.

“What?” I snag the note card from between her fingers. “Gimme.”

I flip it over, and in boyish scrawl, it says:

Dais, I know I could never get you out of black, but I thought maybe you should try silver again.

xx,

Pretty Boy

---