Page 62 of We Can't Be Friends

“I. . .” Every day. The words get caught in my throat. The shame and guilt that comes with admitting the truth claws at them, dragging them back down. “Yeah, I do.” I inch up the lounger. “What about you?”

“No,” he says blankly.

We return to silence, the stars keeping us company.

“I like this. Up here. Talking with you. It’s quiet.”

“Me too,” he says, barely above the whisper.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“Anything, Dais.”

Don’t ruin this, Chloe.The question I want to ask, fades away.

“Did you always want to go into finance?” I ask instead.

“Sure.”

“Don’t go tight-lipped on me now.”

“It was the plan. I needed to go into finance.”

“You mean want?”

“Needed.”

“What did you want?”

“I don’t regret it.” His tone is stern and commanding. “I wouldn’t be able to work with Liam as I do, and I love getting to be involved with all this.” He gestures to the rooftop, the pool, the bar, and the view of the Chicago skyline. “It’s brought me opportunities and taken me places I never imagined. I have difficulty looking back and knowing what I wanted then because it wouldn’t have given me this.”

He rolls over, head propped on his fist.

“What about right now? What do you want?”

Cal doesn’t skip a beat with his answer. It catches me off guard, but it’s the same thing I want. And it’s not because of the alcohol pouring through my veins. I wouldn’t need liquid courage for this. Warmth spreads throughout my body, from head to toe.

“I want to kiss you.”

Sure, he’s observant, but even in the darkness illuminated by the stars, I know he can see how still my body goes. Through me to my pattering heart.

“What do you want,Chloe?”

There’s the ding of the elevator, and a group of people stumble out laughing.

“Oh, sorry, boss,” one of them says when they spot Callum and then me.

“I should go.” I pull away, taking off his jacket. “Have a good night, Pretty Boy.”

17

CHLOE

Callum and Emerson are running the Chicago marathon today, and I’m reminded why the only thing I run from is my past.

I’m bored. I’m cold.

They are getting bananas, pretzels, and who knows how much alcohol while running, and I’m packed like a sardine against the metal barrier, waiting for them to run by.

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