31. Aggressive Romantic Poetry #2
She smiled, finally, but it was small. "All I wanted today was, I don't know, to just see your face. I kinda miss trying not to get caught staring at you in rehearsal."
I didn't have a comeback for that. So I kissed her again.
The second kiss was gentler, almost shy. Cam's fingers traced my cheek, slow and careful, drawing the shape of my face. When she pulled back, she looked lighter, as if some of the weight had shifted off her chest.
After dinner, Cam put on a playlist. Mostly old R&B, some SZA, Jill Scott, the occasional Frank Ocean. She flopped back on the couch, pulling me in until my shoulder locked against hers. The room dimmed to blue, window shades half-drawn against the rising haze of city lights.
It felt…possible, for a second, that everything outside this apartment was background noise.
Then Cam said, "Can we talk about today?"
I braced, like someone had pressed a gun to the back of my skull. I heard the words before she said them: This isn't working. I can't do this. Sorry, but—
But she didn't go there. She twisted sideways, cross-legged, facing me dead-on.
"I've been thinking about it all day," she started, voice scratchy with something close to fear. "How easy it is when it's just us. But then the second we walk outside, it's like—" She stopped, searching for the word.
"Like we're not people anymore," I supplied, and she nodded, grateful.
"Exactly. The second someone sees us, it's a story, or a headline, or whatever the fuck their managers think will sell the most units. And I know you've been doing this longer than me, but…"
She trailed off. I watched her pick at the drawstring of her shorts, twisting it around her pinky until the tip went white. I wanted to untangle it for her, but I kept my hands to myself.
She went on. "When my first single blew up, I didn't know how to handle it.
The memes, the DMs, the way every show started to feel like a test. Going through all that mess with Skye didn't make any of that any easier.
Then you came along and made me feel like I could actually win at this.
Not the charts, but the—" Another break.
"The other shit. Like, be a real person and not a product. "
I made myself listen, not just to the words but to the tension between them.
"But now," she said, "I feel like I'm right back where I started.
Every time I refresh my mentions, it's full of people fighting about whether we're dating or if it's all a PR stunt.
And the labels—" She rolled her eyes. "They want to scrutinize every second we spend together.
They're already offering magazine covers.
Joint interviews. Rolling Stone called twice.
It's like we can't just be, we have to be capital-B Branding. "
She finally looked at me. "I like what we're doing. I don't want them to ruin it. I don't want to ruin it."
I said, "You won't," but even I didn't believe it.
She ran a hand through her hair. "I'm not asking you to hold my hand on Rodeo Drive or make out for TMZ.
I get the privacy thing. I do. But this?
It's not a secret anymore. It's just unconfirmed.
Like, there's a difference between private and hidden, and I feel like I'm finding out which one I am.
Because you haven't said a word either way, and that reads like hidden. "
I stared at my hands, at the neat half-moons of gloss on my nails. "Cam, do you know how many times I've had to kill a story about who I'm sleeping with? Every time I got close to somebody, it blew up in my face. Sometimes literally. You think I'm scared to go public? It's not fear. It's survival."
She listened. Really listened. I watched her face run the math.
"Okay," she said slowly. "But see, that's the part that's messing me up." She pressed her lips together. "Because now my publicist won't stop calling. Everyone keeps saying 'strike while the iron is hot,' like us is a marketing window that closes."
"My team's doing the same thing. Joint interviews. They want me to lean into the whole enemies-to-lovers thing for streams. There's people on Fizzr reading between our bars like it's scripture."
Cam huffed a laugh despite herself. "I mean. We have been writing each other aggressive poetry for months."
"Very romantic, aggressive poetry," I said. "Emphasis on aggressive."
"Who knew, right?" She shook her head, but the smile faded as fast as it came.
"Right. So if I say I want this to be real—out loud, on the record—how is that any different from the other people you dated?
" Her voice tightened. "How do you tell the difference between someone who wants you and someone who wants the moment? "
There it was, almost. Cam was circling something.
"And I don't want any of it if it turns us into content," she went on, faster now, not looking at me. "But that's not—" She stopped. Started touching the hem of my shirt instead of finishing.
"That's not what's scaring you," I said. "Say the rest."
She looked down. "I'm scared you're going to look at all these offers, all this noise, and decide I'm just like everyone who's ever used you.
That you'll figure shit out and I'll come out looking like clout.
And then one morning I'll call you and the call won't go through.
" The words tumbled out. "You've cut off people for less. "
There it was.
I swung my leg across hers and straddled her lap, cutting off the spiral. Her eyes went wide as I cupped her face so she had no choice but to look at me.
"Cam. I've been paid to show up at basketball games and play someone's girlfriend for the cameras. I know exactly what it looks like when someone wants the moment instead of the person." I stroked her cheek with a thumb. "You're not that. I'd have clocked it months ago."
"But what if the blogs turn on us? What if our teams force us into something we don't—"
I didn't answer right away. Held her gaze and let the question sit, because rushing to soothe it would've been its own lie.
"I mean—" She stopped. Looked at me different, like she'd been chasing the wrong fear all night and caught the right one.
"It's not even the blogs. You told me I was your first. First woman, first time any of this applied to you.
" Quieter. "I've been out since before anybody knew me.
I know the difference between somebody being private and somebody scared to say it out loud and find out it's true.
I'm not gonna rush you on the word. But don't make me into nothing while you figure it out.
I've been somebody's thing-that-didn't-happen before. Not doing it again. Not even for you."
She'd named the line I'd been pretending wasn't there. For a second, I couldn't find my voice.
"Cam."
She stopped. Blinked up at me.
"You think after all this time trying to get rid of you, I'm gonna let some publicist finish the job? I'm not going to mistake you for them. Because you're trying to ruin me for other people. Mostly through sheer obnoxiousness and menace, but here we are—"
Her mouth twitched. She blinked too fast. "That's not funny."