Page 74 of Gamebreaker

"Let me finish. Please." She looked down at her wine glass. "I've done the hiding thing. Pretending to be something I'm not, living a lie to make other people comfortable. It nearly destroyed me. And dating someone who's not out—that's me going back into the closet. Just a different version of it."

"I wouldn't ask you to hide."

"I know. But I'd be hiding anyway. Going to events alone while you go solo to protect your image. Being the person you see in private but can't acknowledge in public. That's still hiding, Cam. That's still me pretending parts of myself don't exist because someone else is scared."

The honesty in her voice made me ache.

"But here's the thing," she continued, meeting my eyes again. "I also won't ask you to come out for me. I won't be the reason you lose your endorsements or your privacy or your sense of safety. I won't pressure you to be ready before you're ready. That wouldn't be fair either."

“So, what does that mean?"

"It means we're in incompatible places right now." Her smile was sad. "You need to be closeted. I need to be out. Those two things can't coexist in a relationship. Not without one of us sacrificing something fundamental."

"There has to be a middle ground."

"There isn't. Not really." She finished her wine. "I've thought about it. Believe me, I've thought about nothing else for the past five days. But any middle ground means one of us compromising on something we can't compromise on. Either you come out before you're ready, or I go back to hiding. Both options hurt someone."

"So we just... don't?"

"We can be friends." She said it gently, hopefully. "I know that sounds like a terrible consolation prize, given what I just admitted about wanting you. But I'd rather have you as a friend than not have you at all."

I stared at her, trying to process what she was saying. "Friends. Friends who are very attracted to each other."

"Friends who are very attracted to each other but have incompatible life circumstances," she corrected. "It's very modern. Very emotionally evolved. We can pioneer a whole new genre of friendship."

"That sounds terrible."

"It probably will be." She reached across the table, squeezed my hand once, before pulling back. "But Cam, look. I can't go back in the closet. And I won't ask you to come out. So friendship is what we have. And I think... I think that could be worth something. Don't you?"

The sincerity in her voice, the clear boundary she was setting while still offering connection… it hurt, but I understood it. More than understood it. I respected it.

"You're right," I said quietly. "About all of it. You're completely right."

"I hate being right about this."

"Me too."

"So." She took a shaky breath. "Can we do this? Can we be friends who want each other but can't have each other?"

"I don't know. But I want to try." I met her eyes. "I'd rather have you in my life as a friend than lose you completely because the timing's wrong."

"Okay." Her smile was genuine this time, if a little sad. "Friends, it is. Friends who desperately want to jump each other’s bones but have decided to be mature and emotionally healthy instead."

"That's a very specific friendship genre."

"We're trailblazers. Future generations will study us."

"Future generations will think we're idiots."

"Probably both." She glanced at her phone. "I should probably go. It's getting late, and this conversation is getting too honest for public consumption."

She was right, but I hated it.

We slid out of the booth. I left cash on the table for our drinks, probably too much, but I couldn't make my brain calculate correctly. Harper said goodbye to Mia and Laine. I nodded to Trish, who was watching us with knowing eyes that I absolutely did not want to interpret.

Outside, the cool night air hit my flushed face like a freight train. Harper wrapped her arms around herself against the chill, and I didn't stop myself this time.

I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over her shoulders before I could overthink it.