Page 85 of House of Crimson Cloak and Silver Teeth

Then I push him. Hard.

He stumbles back, catching himself against a tree. His eyes are glazed, unfocused.

“Fuck,” I mutter, looking down at myself.

I’m covered in both our releases. “I have to bathe again.”

Garrett laughs, the sound echoing through the dark night. “Sorry.”

I glance down at the mess covering my stomach. “No you’re not.”

“No,” he agrees, still grinning. “I’m really not.”

I walk back down to the river, cursing under my breath the whole way. The water is even colder now. I wade in and start washing, scrubbing away the evidence.

Behind me, I hear a splash.

Garrett wades in a few feet away. He starts washing himself silently. The playfulness from before has faded into something quieter. We wash side by side. The river runs between us and around us. Neither of us speaks.

I watch him from the corner of my eye. Moonlight catches on wet skin, tracing the lines of his shoulders and collarbones. Water streams down his chest in rivulets, following the path of muscle and bone. He’s being careful not to touch me, maintaining the space between us even though minutes ago we were pressed together with no space at all.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

All my life, I’ve never been attracted to another guy. I never questioned it. In Tiamat, such relationships aren't forbidden exactly, but they aren't celebrated either. The guild doesn’t care who you fuck as long as you complete your contracts. But there’s always been an unspoken understanding that you keep certain things quiet.

I remember a story Shade told me once. I’d laughed at it then.

Two Dunethar assassins, he’d said. Deadliest pair the guild ever produced. Both guys swore up and down they had no interest in each other. Started some stupid game between them of who’d step back. They kissed, they fucked and the dare went on for years. The two ended up opening an orphanage in the valley past Tiamat. Both of them are retired, living together, raising kids, and still telling anyone who asked that they have no interest in each other, waiting to see who'd flinch first.

I thought it was funny then. I’m not laughing now.

Shit.

I wade out of the river without a word and pick up my suit by the riverbank. Garrett stays behind, giving me space I desperately need. I make my way back to camp and dig through my pack for dry clothes. The wet breeches peel off with some effort, replaced by clean ones that don’t smell like river water and Garrett.

I settle on the bedroll and lay out my weapons within easy reach. Daggers, throwing knives, the short sword. Everything positioned exactly where my hands know to find them in the dark. The familiar routine of cleaning my blades should calm me.

It doesn’t.

I hear Garrett return to camp, water still dripping from his hair and clothes. Footsteps move around the clearing, quieter than usual. The soft sound of fabric being arranged, his bedroll being laid out. Then the distinct scrape of it being dragged across the ground.

Closer and closer.

He’s moving it right next to mine.

The bastard.

I lie down with my back to him, facing the darkness beyond the fire. Behind me, the rustling stops. I feel the heat of him settling down.

“I won’t try anything,” he says quietly. “I promise.”

Relief washes through me. Good. We can pretend this never happened.

Except there’s something else underneath the relief. Something that feels uncomfortably like disappointment. A small, stupid part of me that wanted him to try.

I want him to ignore his promise and reach for me in the dark.

No. I shut that thought down hard.