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"That's called paying attention. It's not revolutionary."

"It's captivating." The words came out before I could stop them. "Watching you care about what's happening on the court. Watching you figure out the game in real-time. Your whole face changes when you understand a play."

"That's not captivating; that's called learning."

"On you, it's captivating."

Harper's cheeks flushed darker. "Are you drunk?"

"Getting there."

"You don't seem drunk."

"I have excellent alcohol tolerance. Years of team bonding." I took another sip of whiskey, felt the burn all the way down. "But I mean it. You're incredible. Just—you live out loud. You're brave in ways I've never been."

"We've established this."

"Have we established that I think about you constantly? That I replay our conversations when I should be sleeping? That you're the first person I look for when I walk into a room?"

Harper's pupils dilated. She swallowed hard, and I watched the movement of her throat.

Fucked. I was so fucked.

"Cam, you're—you're definitely drunk."

"Probably. But I'm also honest,” I said. "Is that okay? That I think about you?"

She was quiet for a long moment, studying me with those dark eyes that saw too much. When she spoke, her voice was measured.

"Can I be honest too?"

"Please."

"I think about you too." She stared back at me, and I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone so pretty in my entire life. "More than I should. More than is probably smart. I think about your hands. How they'd feel on my skin. Where you'd touch me first."

My breath stopped entirely.

"I think about kissing you," she continued, her voice lower now, rough with want. "About whether you'd be gentle or demanding. Whether you'd take your time or if you'd be as intense about kissing as you are about everything else. I think about your mouth on mine, your hands in my hair, the weight of you pressing me into a mattress."

"Harper—"

"I think about the sounds you'd make. How you'd look with your control finally gone. I think about making you lose that control." Her eyes were dark, honest, devastating. "I think about a lot of things I definitely shouldn't think about."

The booth felt very small, the air between us charged with electricity that made my skin feel too tight for my body.

"So yeah," she said, taking a shaky breath. "I'm very, very attracted to you. In case that wasn't clear."

"It's clear." My voice came out coarse as sandpaper. "Trust me, it's extremely clear now.”

"But." She pulled back slightly, creating distance. "I also can't do this."

The words landed like cold water, sobering me instantly.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…” She took a breath, seeming to gather her thoughts. "I'm attracted to you. Obviously. Hopelessly, even. But I can't be with someone who's closeted publicly."

“I see. But—”