19. A Long Walk #3
She leaned back, arms crossed, mouth curved into a sly grin. "You want me to give you a lesson in not getting played?"
"Yeah," I said, my pulse tripping over itself. "Start now."
She took a deep breath, and for a second she was about to say something at me sideways. Then she caught herself, and the edge turned into something else. "First rule: Never let them see how much you care."
She'd run the clock out on us before she'd ever say it first. I knew that much from the last time we spoke. So I stopped waiting. Met her stare with mine. "What if I want you to see?"
"Cam, don't…" She said, the words barely making it out. Except her hand touched my face. I kissed it before she let it drop again.
She didn't pull back. Our faces were inches apart now, both of us caught in this private gravity we'd been fighting for months.
Romi shifted closer, closing what little distance was left between us, fighting for control. "Second rule," she said. "If you're going to get your heart broken, make sure it's by somebody who's worth the pain."
I let myself touch her knee, a small gesture, but it was crossing a border and I knew it. The question sat on my tongue for a breath too long. I knew what I was asking, knew it could send her running again. But I was tired of pretending.
"Are you?"
She tilted her head, lips parting. Something shifted in her face, finally hearing what I'd been trying to say all along. Her eyes searched mine, and for the first time, she didn't look away. She didn't shrug my hand off either.
"Maybe."
We sat like that, connected by two points of contact and a thousand unsaid things, done with pretending we weren't inevitable. She leaned in, caught. Studied my face.
"Don't say anything. Not yet."
I nodded. My body hummed at her frequency. Were we really doing this?
I wanted to joke it off. Anything but let her see me this raw.
Instead, I nodded. When I couldn't take it anymore, I spoke.
"I can't keep pretending. I—" The words tripped.
I tried again. The rest of that sentence headed somewhere big, somewhere with no revisions and no sixty takes, and for once I couldn't flinch from it.
"I want you, Romi. I want you so bad it makes me stupid. You have to know that by now."
Her eyes did a thing I'd never seen. "No one has ever read me for absolute filth and then kissed me with the same mouth," she said.
"I haven't kissed you yet."
Romi's eyes went dark. "Not yet," she said, "but that line about keeping my lips shut or tasting my future on your teeth was hella gay."
I had to laugh because it hurt to lie. "Even then, I think I wanted to. Which is wild, if you think about it."
We sat there, a breath apart, the party pulsing around us dulled by the peace of the garden maze. The scent of roses was thick in the air, overwhelming. Her breath ghosted on my lips, and I wanted to do it—I wanted to close the gap, consequences be damned.
Her hand found my chest, fingers splaying across it, beating under her palm. "If you kiss me," she said, voice the sharpest whisper, "there's no going back."
I searched her eyes one last time before I fell. "So?"
Our first kiss was me closing the distance before she could talk herself out of warning me again, and Romi trying to take it back as she let me.
Her mouth was soft, then hard, then soft again, and I tasted the mimosa and the bitterness underneath, and wanted more.
Didn't know which one of us made a noise.
Didn't care. My hand found her waist, and for a second there was no industry, no drama, no Skye, no pain. Just this. Us.
She broke away first. Her lips lingered on mine, breath shaky. Her hand against me, my heart still drumming against it. "Not now," she whispered, but she didn't move her hand.
Then she kissed me again, softer this time but just as urgent. Like she was trying to memorize the taste of me, the feel. Her fingers curled into my neck, and I felt her resolve cracking in real time. When we broke apart again, her eyes were dark and conflicted.
"Fuck," she breathed, resting her forehead against mine. "This is—we can't—"
But damn, when? My mind flickered through different configurations, each one filthier than the last. Both of us hungry, in motion, touching, grinding. Kissing.
I nodded, catching my breath. "Yeah. Okay."
She smoothed the front of her outfit. Once. Twice.
We walked back to the table a careful foot apart, which was worse.
Stacks caught our eyes instantly. She took one look at us and raised her glass, then started talking at triple speed about a podcast beef she was handling, not missing a beat as we sank into our seats, filling the air until there was no room left for anyone to ask anything.
For the rest of brunch, Romi and I were very normal. Very casual. We did not look at each other too long. We did not sit too close. When our arms brushed reaching for the same water pitcher, we both pulled back like we'd touched a hot pan and kept talking to whoever was nearest.
Perfectly normal. Nothing to see.