‘Stop fidgeting.’
‘This dress is a nightmare.’ I gave the offending thing another tug. ‘How do women wear these? It’s like being shrink-wrapped or something.’
‘Stop touching it; you’re not giving it a chance to be comfortable. You keep yanking at the hem.’
‘That’s because there is no hem. This isn’t even a dress. It’s a single piece of fabric cosplaying as a dress. I’ve seen napkins that are more dress-like than this.’
Cam smirked, but before he could respond, my heel caught on an uneven stone and I stumbled. I barely caught myself in time.
‘You need to practise walking in those things too,’ he said, looking down at my feet.
‘I’m afraid there isn’t a course that teaches you how to walk on tiny pointy sticks without breaking your ankle. And also, don’t tell me how to do my job. In fact, do that again and this little arrangement between us is over and you can figure out how to get Victor all on your own. Remember, I’m doing you a favour, so don’t—’
‘A favour?’ Cam cut me off and then smiled slowly. ‘So is that what all that was about earlier, doing me some favours?’
‘I’m talking about a professional favour, not a personal one.’
‘Isn’t that what Captain Sisko said inDeep Space Nine? “PaleMoonlight” was the episode, I think. Called it a professional favour for the Federation, but really it was all driven by personal reasons.’
‘Don’t you dare bring my favouriteTVshow into this,’ I said, pointing an accusatory finger at him but also wondering how the hell he knew that.
‘How do you knowStar Trekisn’t my favouriteTVshow too?’
I folded my arms. ‘Because you once told me you hated it.’
‘I got into it.’
‘You got intoStar Trek?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. ‘After that night, when we stopped talking, I missed you and I figured . . .’ He hesitated and gave a little shrug. ‘I figured I’d get to know you a little better.’
‘By watchingStar Trek?’
‘Exactly.’
‘How did watchingStar Trekhelp you get to know me?’ I asked.
‘I think you can tell a lot about a person by their favouriteTVshow, book or movie.’
‘And what didStar Trektell you about me?’ I crossed my arms defiantly, waiting for the no doubt ridiculous analogy that Cam was going to present me with.
‘I realised that you’re very Vulcan.’
‘More like a Klingon,’ I corrected him.
‘No, you’re Vulcan,’ he insisted. ‘They come across as cold and distant, totally emotionless. They push people away with their logic and control, but deep down, they feel everything.’ He stepped closer to me. ‘They just don’t know how to show it, and also, they think showing it will make them look weak. But it doesn’t.’
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Something about his assessment of me left me feeling uneasy. A cold, prickly feeling started rising on the back of my neck, making me itchy. I reached around and tried to scratch it, but it wasn’t that kind of feeling.
‘You’re wrong,’ I finally managed to say. I pulled at the hem of my dress one last time, then turned with a flourish and set off towardsthe restaurant, swaying my hips as I walked. I’d decided to embrace the ridiculous outfit. So what if it didn’t have a hem, who needs a hem anyway? And so what if with each step it crept higher and higher? So what if it pulled so tightly across my breasts and ass that I might as well consider it an outer layer of skin? It was not going to own me. I was going to own it, even if that meant beating it into submission.
‘Very impressive,’ Cam said from behind me.
I tossed my hair. ‘I know.’ And then, because the universe hated me, and the dress knew what I was thinking, my heel caught again. My foot twisted, my ankle wobbled, and before I knew it, I was toppling sideways into a bush. My arms flapped about uselessly and I fell with a very undignifiedoomph.
Cam looked down at me for a moment before extending his hand. ‘Need help?’
I glared up at him. ‘Nope.’
