Page 41 of Eight Count Heat
I look away, out at the lake, gathering words. "Because I recognize the signs. What it looks like when someone's hiding who they really are."
"And are you? Hiding?"
"We all are, aren't we?" I glance back at her. "Difference is, most people are hiding embarrassing shit or family drama. You're hiding something that could destroy your career before it even begins."
Her breath catches. "I don't—"
"I'm not your enemy," I cut her off. "And I'm not going to out you. Whatever you are, whatever you're hiding, it's safe with me."
She stares at me for a long moment, something vulnerable breaking through her usual control. "Why?"
"Because you're good at what you do. Because the team's better with you. Because..." I hesitate, then decide on honesty. "Because I like you. Not your designation, whatever it is. You."
The admission hangs between us, heavier than I intended.
"I like you too," she says softly. "That's the problem."
"Why is that a problem?"
She laughs, the sound strained. "Because I can't afford to like anyone. Can't afford to get close. Can't afford to let anyone see who I really am."
"Must be exhausting."
"You have no idea."
I step closer, close enough to see the moonlight reflected in her eyes. "So don't. Not here. Not tonight."
"Cameron..."
"No one's watching. No one's judging. Just us and the water and whatever truth you want to share."
She's quiet for a long time, the only sounds the gentle lapping of water and her slightly uneven breathing. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"If I tell you something, promise you won't look at me differently?"
"Promise."
Another pause. Then: "I'm not what I registered as."
"I know."
She blinks, surprised. "You know?"
"Suspected. Now I know." I step closer and reach up, pushing her hair back from her face. My fingers collect the strands and I suddenly find it hard to let go. "Doesn't change anything."
"It changes everything," she nearly whispers.
"Not between us."
Her eyes search mine, looking for judgment or revulsion or whatever reaction she's afraid of. When she doesn't find it, something in her expression softens.
"I should go back," she says, but doesn't move.
"Should you?"
"We both should. This is..." She gestures between us. "Complicated."
"Maybe I like complicated."
