39. CALLUM
39
CALLUM
“How does it feel to be back?” I ask Emerson.
“Surreal,” she stammers. “It’s the last time Chicago will be my home.” She glances up at Liam, their hands intertwined as we exit the elevator. “Legal home,” she corrects herself. The sparkle in her green eyes increases as they gaze at each other. “You’ve always been home,” she says to him as he leans down to pepper her face with kisses.
A realization that I’ll potentially be forever alone floods my system.
I’ll never find what they have. I’ll never be good enough for what they have.
“All you do is mess around. No girl is ever going to want that.”
“If you were more like your brothers, you wouldn’t be single at thirty. Pathetic.”
Pathetic.
That’s what I am: pathetic.
Desperate for someone to notice me. See me, the Callum I am underneath all the layers, as enough for them instead of how I’ve painted myself—a masterpiece crafted by other people’s impressions and expectations.
Chloe Henry glides into my mind. Her own carefully designed and composed facade, the one she wears like you wear your favorite T-shirt or reread your comfort book. The one she’s slipped out of, shedding to show me her at her core .
There are moments when we are together when I think she sees me, that she cares for me how I care for her. That I’m here first choice.
Liam unlocks and opens the door for Emerson. I trail behind them, letting them surprise her.
“Chloe!” Emerson yelps. That has me sprinting down the hallway and into the entryway.
I peek over her shoulder, catching why she shrieked. Emerson slaps her hands across Liam’s face, covering his eyes.
I have to bite my knuckle at the sight of her.
Throat dry. All words lost from my repertoire.
I step around Emerson and Liam. She’s leading him to the hallway that goes to their room.
Chloe’s body is like a baby giraffe walking for the first time as she tries to scurry off the counter. I catch her waist, assisting her. She’s mouthing, oh my gosh , over and over again.
I turn our bodies, using mine to block hers from our best friends.
Licking my lips, I lean down to her ear. “Please keep this on, but maybe go slip something over it. We’ve got company.” I slip a finger into the skinny strap of the underwear and snap it.
“I forgot they were coming,” she barely gets out. Cheeks flushed.
“Uh-huh.”
I let go, checking over my shoulder to make sure Emerson is still covering Liam’s eyes. He doesn’t need to see her like this. No one does but me.
Because she’s mine.
I know I’ve been hers for a while, my parent’s impromptu visit, maybe. Finally, it feels like she’s mine. Wants to be mine.
Spinning her around and dropping my hands, she takes off toward the stairs.
“Liam, if you want to remain in my best friend’s life, you better keep your eyes shut,” she barks out.
“Eyes are shut, Chloe. ”
“Looking hot, Chlo!” Emerson calls out to her best friend, which is an accurate statement. “That color is your color. Does wonders for your tits! I’d sleep with you.”
I grab a glass of water, chug it, and fill it up again.
Yeah, the color, the whole outfit is really doing it for me too.
Chloe rejoins us in the kitchen. A pair of long sweats and another oversized t-shirt.
She sits on the stool across from me at the island. I push the bowl of grapes toward her.
“How much did you see?” Chloe asks Liam.
“Since when do you care who sees your body?” Emerson asks her.
“Since he’s your boyfriend,” Chloe says like duh .
“Nothing,” Liam informs her reassuringly. “Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered. I’ve walked in on Cal having sex before and probably—”
I elbow him in the stomach. “Seriously?”
“We aren’t hooking up,” Chloe says, her protective tone wrapping the four words. Her eyes narrow on him.
I know what she said is true. We aren’t. But I’m struggling to decipher if this is protecting our friendship or that she doesn’t want me that way.
How do we keep teetering on this tightrope of being more than friends? How do I get her to fall with me?