Page 39

"Oh, we're doing personality assessments now? Okay. You're repressed, emotionally constipated, and you hide behind basketball because actual human connection terrifies you."

The room went quiet. I realized, too late, that I'd gone too far.

Cam's face went blank. That terrible, controlled blank that meant I'd hit a nerve.

"Cam—" I started.

"My turn to draw," she said, cutting me off and taking the marker from my hand.

She drew a perfect, recognizable house in approximately three seconds.

"House," I said quietly.

"Correct."

We glared at each other. The tension was so thick you could spread it on toast, and I hated every second of it.

Destiny cleared her throat. "Okay, that was intense. Should we... take a break? Get more drinks?"

"I need more vodka," I announced, heading for the kitchen.

Cam followed me. Of course she did.

"Harper."

"I need a drink first." I grabbed the vodka bottle, made my drink stronger than medically advisable. "I'm sorry. That was out of line."

"Was it?"

I turned to face her. She was close. Too close. I could see a warm golden glow in her amber eyes, could count her eyelashes if I wanted to. I didn’t want to.

"I don't know why I said that," I admitted.

"Don't you?"

"Are we doing the thing where you answer all my statements with questions? Because that's very annoying."

"Is it?"

"See? You're doing it again."

"Am I?"

"I will throw this vodka at you."

"No, you won't."

"You're right. It's good vodka. I respect it too much." I took a long sip. "But I might throw something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something nearby. Something painful."

"You wouldn't."

"Test me."

We stood there, staring at each other, and I was acutely aware of how close she was, how her chest was rising and falling with each breath, how her eyes kept flicking down to my mouth and then back up.