Page 46 of Gamebreaker

"Not where it mattered."

The light turned green. Cam drove. I stared out the window and tried not to think about how her words made me feel seen in a way I hadn't been in a long time.

"You're not what I thought either," I said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I thought you were just this rigid, controlled, emotionally constipated robot who only cared about basketball."

"And now?"

"Now I think you're a rigid, controlled person who cares about basketball but also has the capacity for human emotion. Growth."

Cam huffed out what might've been a laugh. "That's generous."

"I'm a generous person."

She shook her head in feigned disbelief. “You call me Captain Miserable."

"That was before I knew you had feelings. Now I feel bad about it. Slightly."

"Only slightly?"

"It's a very accurate nickname. I'm not apologizing for accuracy."

The car felt smaller suddenly. Warmer. I was acutely aware of every breath Cam took, every shift of her body, the flex of her hands on the wheel.

"I'm sorry," she said suddenly.

"For what?"

"For judging you. For assuming I knew who you were based on a few minutes in a tunnel. For being an asshole at that dinner."

"I was also an asshole at that dinner."

"Yeah. But I started the whole thing."

"That's mature of you to admit."

"I have my moments."

I smiled, looking over at her. The vodka made me bold. Made me say things I probably shouldn't. "So. Truce?"

"Truce."

"Can we be civil? Not fight every time we're in the same room?"

"We can try."

"Trying is good. Trying is growth."

Cam pulled up outside my apartment building, put the car in park. Turned to look at me, and the expression on her face was unreadable.

"Harper—"

"Don't," I said, but I didn't move to leave. Didn't reach for the door handle. "Let's just... let's leave it here. Truce. Civil. Friends-ish."

"Friends-ish?"