Kissing the Opps (Hot Mic #3)

18. But Not Like That

But Not Like That

Romi

My arms folded so tight the bustier's mesh pinched my ribs.

Cam leaned against the cinderblock, one foot up on the opposite wall, tattooed arms hugging herself.

There was a chunk of time where neither of us said anything.

My mouth was dry, but my palms had gone slick, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out a way to say this. Or why I wanted to.

The want was the problem. It sat in my chest like a stone, heavy and undeniable, making it hard to breathe. I felt the ghost of her fingers on my back, the gentle way she'd worked the zipper.

Nobody touches me like that. Nobody's supposed to want to.

"What's up?" Because she couldn't just let the silence be.

I thought about telling the truth. That the moment we stepped into this dead hallway my whole body had gone dumb with want. That if she touched me like that again, the next time we were alone I was liable to do something reckless. Didn't know what would happen after that.

Instead, I did what I always did. I reached for the closest armor.

I turned, saw a rack of random costumes, and grabbed a white robe off a hanger that had my name on it.

It was slick as silk and, thankfully, smelled clean.

I shrugged it over the costume, cinched it at the waist, and tried to pretend it helped.

It didn't. Cam's fingerprints were still stamped on my skin, burning a trail straight up my spine.

I'd been touched by plenty of people—stylists, photographers, dates I'd picked for strategy more than want. None of them left marks.

The fabric felt foreign against my arms, too loose where the costume had been fitted, but I needed a barrier between her eyes and all the places I felt too exposed.

I peeked both ways before speaking. "I'm about to say something and I need you to not make it weird."

She straightened, gave mock salute. "Weird is literally my specialty."

It was too bright back here, the cheap lights washing out the colors and making Cam look unreal. I wished she'd stop looking at me with that wide-open face, almost as if waiting for a secret.

I swallowed. "First off, whatever's going on between you and Skye is not my business. I know y'all got history, and I'm not trying to…you know."

Cam's eyebrows shot up. "You're not trying to what?"

My face warmed. "You know, be messy," I said. Which, of course, made it worse. "I don't want to mess up anyone's situation, that's all."

She opened her mouth, then closed it, studying me. For a split second, I saw a look I hadn't seen since the lobby. Did she think I might be about to say something else entirely? Fuck.

I pressed forward, talking fast so she couldn't get a word in. "But my sister got a tip and I'm obligated to pass it on, because apparently that's what being a grown-ass woman with a career is now. And if I didn't, I'd be hearing about it for the next decade."

Cam's face shifted, hope flattening into confusion. "What kind of tip?"

I kept my eyes on the floor, counted the cracks in the tile.

"She heard Skye's been shopping stories to some of the bigger blogs.

Not blind items, either. Full play-by-play.

Personal shit. It might be nothing, but Zaniyah's never wrong about this shit.

If you're trying to catch whoever leaked your song, start there. "

Cam was quiet for a long time. I forced myself to look up, see what landed.

Her face had gone hard, jaw set like concrete. "She told you this today?"

I nodded. "Last night. Right after rehearsal. I wasn't going to say nothing, but after seeing you and Skye all over each other—"

Cam's eyes went wide, and she shifted. "That's just Skye. It doesn't—it doesn't mean anything. Anymore."

"That may be," I cleared my throat, "but the last time I didn't listen to Z about who was running their mouth, Niko Savage's talking shit about me on Drink Champs. So. Do what you want with it. I didn't want you walking back into that, y'know, blind."

I thought Cam was going to call me a liar, or worse, call me jealous. But she didn't. She studied me and then leaned back against the wall like the news had taken half the air out of her lungs.

"That's…damn." She rubbed a hand over her face, exhaled slow. "I guess I should've seen that coming."

I tried to play it off. "She's not the first to try it, and she won't be the last. Trust me. I would know."

The space felt smaller now, like the walls had shifted inward. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, mixing with the distant thump of bass from the main stage. Cam was close enough that I read the neck tattoo.

Silence again. This time it was different—a new tension, cleaner, less likely to break if you touched it. I tried to focus on the faint, angry sound of a kick drum leaking from the main stage.

When I looked back, Cam was staring at her shoes.

I waited for her to say something, but she watched me.

The air felt crowded, loaded with shit neither of us was gonna say out loud.

Same energy as always, but different now.

Messier. Part of me wanted to find out what would happen if I closed the gap, or why I wanted to. The smarter part knew better.

I didn't move. Neither did she.

After a while, I said, "Anyway, that's all I had. Sorry for the PSA."

She shook her head, annoyed, but there was something darker beneath it. "Don't apologize. You probably just saved me from some dumb-ass drama down the line."

"Wouldn't want you distracted before showtime."

"Wouldn't want to give you an unfair advantage," she shot back.

We stood there in front of each other, listening to the echo of our own jokes. There was a peace in it—a truce, however temporary.

I turned to go, but she called after me, "Hey, Romi?"

I stopped, not because I wanted to, but because my legs had already betrayed me by locking up mid-stride. I turned around, the robe slouching off one shoulder, and waited. With a huff, I tugged it back up.

"Yeah?" I tried to keep it flat.

Cam rubbed her thumb across her lip. "I should've clocked it sooner, but Skye gets this look whenever she asks about you and me. Like she's hunting for something specific, you know? Always wanting the details of every interaction. So you're not. You know. Off."

Now that was unexpected. I'd expected a lot of things—a thank you, a fuck off, even a punchline. Not that.

I let that sink in. "Maybe she's mad you're not paying her enough attention," I said, aiming for a joke and missing by a mile. Instead, Cam looked away.

She rubbed the back of her neck. "I kept thinking she was jealous, you know? But hearing this, it all clicks now. Kinda wish it didn't."

My body went hot. It started in my chest and shot out to the tips of my fingers, turning my skin into a field of tiny wires.

Jealous of what, exactly? My platinum plaques?

My penthouse? That kind of jealousy I knew how to handle: I just made them madder.

But the way Cam said it, the way she was looking at me now…

this wasn't about my career at all. This had nothing to do with charts or streaming numbers, and I didn't know what the fuck to do with that.

And I damn sure wasn't ready to ask what the "jealous" was supposed to mean, so I didn't.

Cam searched my face. When I didn't give it, she let out a slow breath.

"I just thought it was weird," she said.

"Lot of weird in this building," I replied.

My pulse thumped in my throat. Cam's hands went still in her pockets. She was waiting for something. Maybe for me to ask the question we were both dancing around.

Every instinct in my body told me to turn and walk, but I felt stuck, like one of those dumb-ass insects that fly into a bug zapper and forget how to leave.

I went clinical because that's what I did best. "I know you don't like me," I said.

"And I've earned that. But I respect your hustle, and I couldn't just stand back and let you get played by some bird.

It's the same thing that happened with Niko.

Z warned me, and I didn't listen, and it cost me. I couldn't not say anything."

Cam chewed her bottom lip. She blinked a few times, the words not finding a way out.

I shrugged. "Anyway. That's it. You do what you want with that information. My conscience is clear."

"I don't hate you, Romi." She meant it. That was the issue. I could handle Cam coming for my neck; I didn't know what to do with Cam saying that with a lopsided grin.

"Could've fooled me," I said, reaching for the joke before the moment could turn into something else. "Nothing says 'I don't hate you' like a whole diss track."

Her expression softened slightly. "True. But you came for me just as hard, so I'd call it a draw."

I stared, waiting for the punchline, the walk-back, the telltale wind-up of a joke. It didn't come.

And then her face changed. Whatever she was about to say, it scared her, and she said it anyway.

She went on, voice soft but loud enough to carry.

"And I don't think you hate me, either. Block notwithstanding.

I know you said it's business, never personal, and I respect that.

But you wouldn't be here right now if you did.

You could have let me get clowned real bad, but you didn't. Not this time. Not last time, either."

The words hit different. She was clocking it.

Me. Every protective gesture, every moment I'd stepped in when I could have stepped back.

The photoshoot silence. Not kicking her out of Magma.

The industry advice. Today. She'd been keeping score, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything we'd ever said to each other.

"That's the problem, isn't it? I don't hate you. You frustrate me. But I don't actually hate you." I felt my face go hard, the last defense I had left. "And…I was looking out for the show. For the industry."

I let out a heavy breath, air suddenly scarce. She was dismantling me, piece by piece, calling out every wall I'd built. The worst part was how gentle she was being about taking down the bricks.

She shook her head, eyes clear as glass. "You're a terrible liar, Romi. You don't have to say it, but I know. You're not as hard as you pretend to be."

I didn't move. Couldn't. She was beneath me in every way that should matter—followers, sales, industry pull—but standing here, I felt small and hungry for something that wasn't on any chart I knew how to read.

Her voice caught on the last word, like a splinter under the skin.

Cam took a breath and swallowed hard. "Is that the only reason you don't want me with her?"

My mouth went dry.

"I don't—" I started, but the words died. Because what was I supposed to say? That I didn't want her with Skye? That would mean admitting I wanted her somewhere else. With somebody else.

"I was looking out for you," I managed finally. "Deadass. If it was me, I'd want to know."

"Right." Her mouth tightened. Disappointment, resignation, I couldn't tell which. "Professional courtesy."

"Yeah."

The lie went down like chewed glass.

The white fabric had gone loose again, sliding down to bare my shoulder. Cam's gaze followed the movement for a heartbeat before she turned her head as if the wall had suddenly sprouted hieroglyphs. Face went pink. She bit her lip, real hard.

"You act like you don't care, but you do. You care more than most people in this industry."

The statement landed like a verdict. I wanted to deny it, to laugh it off, to do anything but stand there letting her see straight through me. But my throat had closed up, and all I could do was stare at her while she unraveled every lie I'd told myself about what this was.

She let the silence stretch until it was thin as ice.

"Just wanted you to know I'm onto you." she finished, softer now. Then her mouth quirked up. "Don't worry, I'll go back to subliminal shots on the timeline tomorrow. Gotta keep up appearances."

I stared at her, every nerve ending screaming. I wanted to break something, or scream, or maybe grab her face and deal with whatever the fuck happened next.

Easier than admitting I didn't want the space she was giving me that I had asked for, because who does that?

I forced myself to speak, though the words felt like chewing rocks. "You don't know me." I fought a smile. Lost.

She smiled back. "If you say so, Queen. Thanks again for the heads up."

The nickname hit different this time. Not mocking, not challenging. Almost…fond. Letting me hold the lie if I needed to.

She moved to pass me. Close enough that I sucked in a breath for half a second.

Her eyes dropped to my mouth, then came back up slower than they went down, just long enough for my face to go warm. Then she kept walking, shoulder almost brushing mine.

My pulse thumped in an annoying way. My breath came quicker.

The wanting I could file away. Physical, temporary, whatever. But the split-second disappointment when her lips didn't follow her eyes? Brutal.

I needed her to take what we both needed. Because I couldn't. Wouldn't.

That was the fucking problem.

I turned away, robe half open, my whole body humming with something deep and terrifying.

The hall felt longer on the way back, stretching to give me time to think.

Which was a problem because thinking was the last thing I needed to do right now.

I had a show to prep for, an image to maintain, a whole fucking empire that depended on me being who I'd always been.

Not the woman Cam Wolfe thought she saw.

The robe floated behind me as I walked, too long for my stride, and I had to gather it up in one fist to keep from tripping.

My reflection caught in the mirror ahead—hair still perfect, flawless face beat, the picture of someone who had never not had their shit together.

But I could see it now, the thing Cam had seen.

Something softer around the edges that gave me away.

That she wanted to see more of. Don't know how to process that yet.

I paused, listening to the chaos backstage. Voices calling cues, the screech of feedback from a hot mic, the director arguing about lighting angles. My world. The place where I made sense, where every gesture had a purpose and every word had a price.

I straightened my shoulders and walked down the hall.