Page 70 of We Can't Be Friends

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you letting me stay with you?”

“Because we are friends.”

“We aren’t friends.” Her eyes dip to the left and I know she’s lying.

“Sure, Henry. If you want to play that game, we can. You’ll lose, though,” I warn.

“Liam said I can stay here.”

“And I said you can stay with me.”

She huffs. Stomping her foot. Turning my back to her, I smirk, heading toward the employee exit-entrance to go to my car.

Behind me, I can hear her stomping after me.

“Sullivan.”

I keep walking. Keep smirking, loving the sound of my name hot on her tongue, the rasp in her voice curls over each syllable.

“Sullivan.” She huffs.

“What?” I look over my shoulder. “My car is this way. We’ll put Tucker in the car and then I’ll come back and get the rest of your stuff.”

She whines, “If you think this means I’ll finally give you that kiss, you are mistaken.”

“Keep telling yourself that. While your little tantrum is cute, it’s not going to change my mind. You are going to stay with me and that’s that.”

The hand not holding Tucker’s leash, balls but her cheeks and tip of her ears are tinged pink. She knows she’s lost.

“Fine,” she curses between gritted teeth.

***

It takes two trips and one game of Tetris to get her bags into the back of my car.

Chloe’s quiet in the passenger seat, back flat against it and staring at the window.

I reach over, hesitantly hovering my hand over her thigh. Pulling it back across the dashboard, I decide not to.

Without looking at me, she pulls my hand back over, putting it on her denim clad thigh, right above her knee. She rests her hand on mine, I snake my thumb over top to rub light circles on her soft skin.

I keep my attention on the road but every so often let it roam over to her.

The drive to my place from the hotel isn’t far, honestly there’s no need to drive, I should walk. I enjoy driving though, always have.

Chloe’s silhouette against the golden hour settling in is burning into my mind. Her eyelids fall shut as she takes a slow breath.

Reaching for the dial to turn up the music, she speaks softly. “No.”

I drop my hand back to the wheel.

Taking the long way home, slowing down at yellow lights, I give her the space I’m inferring she needs. A quiet drive to process whatever happened, whatever roller-coaster her emotions are taking her on.

My right hand never leaves her thigh, secured by hers.

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