Page 87 of Gamebreaker

And I could see her trying. Trying to be respectful. Trying to honor my boundaries. Trying to be the person I needed her to be. Trying to get past this.

And I could see how much it was costing her.

Her jaw was tight. Her hands were still clenched into fists. There was something in her eyes that looked like agony, like she was being torn apart from the inside, and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

"We should—" I started, but my voice cracked. I gestured vaguely at myself, at my unbuttoned jeans. "I should—"

"Yeah."

I slid off the counter on shaky legs, tried to button my jeans with trembling hands. It took three tries before I managed it. I tried to smooth down my hair, knowing it was useless, knowing I looked exactly like someone who'd just been making out dementedly in a kitchen.

Cam was standing perfectly still, watching me, like she didn't trust herself to move.

"Cam."

"Don't." Her voice was rough, barely controlled. "Don't say it. Don't say we can't do this again. I know. I know we can't. I know this is killing both of us. I know I can't give you what you need. I know all of it. So please just—don't."

The pain in her voice crushed me.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm sorry I started this when I knew—when we both knew—"

"Don't apologize." Her voice was flat and nearly controlled, but I could hear the anguish underneath from the way it was cracking at the edges. "You didn't do anything wrong. We both wanted this. We both let it happen. This is on both of us."

"But I—"

"Harper." She finally looked at me, really looked at me, and the raw pain in her eyes nearly brought me to my knees. "Please don't apologize for wanting me. Don't apologize for kissing me. Don't apologize for any of it. Because I'm not sorry. I can't be sorry for finally touching you, for finally knowing what you taste like, for finally—" Her voice cracked. "I can't be sorry even though I should be."

"Neither can I," I whispered.

We stood there in the wreckage of what we'd just done, both of us trying to figure out how to be the people we needed to be instead of the people we wanted to be.

Both of us failing.

"I should go," I said finally.

"Yeah."

"We need to… we need to go back to boundaries. To being friends. To not doing this."

"I know."

"Can you do that?" I asked, and I hated how my voice shook. "Can you go back to just being friends after—after this?"

Cam was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "No. But I'm going to try. Because you need me to. Because this is what's right, even if it feels completely wrong."

"It does feel wrong," I agreed. "It feels wrong to stop. It feels wrong to pretend I don't want you when I want you so much I can barely breathe."

"So why are we doing it?"

"Because wanting each other isn't enough. You're not ready to be public, and I can't go back to hiding, and we both deserve more than stolen moments in kitchens where we have to stop before anyone finds out."

Cam winced. "You're right. You deserve someone who can claim you publicly. Who can take you on actual dates instead of group hangouts and can post photos with you and not care who sees. I can't give you that. Not yet… maybe not ever."

"It's not about what I deserve. It's about what we both need. And right now, we need different things."

"I know."

A heavy silence stretched between us.