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I didn't move my hand.

Neither did she.

"You looked like you needed air," Cam said.

"I needed an escape from Isla's knowing smirks. And Destiny's commentary. And Morgan filming everything like we're a reality show."

"They mean well."

"They mean pandemonium.”

We stood in silence for a minute. It should've been awkward. Somehow it wasn't.

"Can I ask you a question?" I said finally.

"You're going to regardless of how I answer that.”

"True. Why do you hate me?"

Cam was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was wary, measured. "I don't hate you."

"You attacked me in a tunnel."

"I was having the best game of my season, and you were on Instagram. It got in my head."

I turned to look at her. "Why would that matter?"

"I don't know." Cam's jaw worked, like she was trying to figure out how to say what she meant. "It shouldn't have."

"But it did."

"Yeah. It did." She finally looked at me, and there was something vulnerable in her expression that I'd never seen before. "You were courtside, and you were on your phone, and I'd just played the best fourth quarter of my career, and you didn't even notice. It bothered me."

"Why?"

"I don't know, Harper. I really don't."

The honesty in her voice did awful things to my lungs. Made it tight. Made it hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry," I said. "For not watching. For being on my phone. I know basketball matters to you."

"You don't have to apologize for not liking basketball."

"I'm not apologizing for that. I'm apologizing for dismissing what you care about." I took a sip of my vodka soda, the ice clinking against the glass. I tried to organize my thoughts through the pleasant haze of alcohol. "You were right. I was rude. I could've put my phone down, tried to engage. I just... I was scared."

"Of basketball?"

"Of caring about what the basketball players were doing. Of being interested in them. Especially you. You’re easily the most intimidating person on every court you step on. That's kind of hot.”

The words were out before I could stop them. Cam went very still beside me.

"Harper—"

"Forget it. I'm vodka drunk and saying nonsense." I pushed off the railing. "I should—"

"Don't." Her hand caught my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop me. "Don't run away."

I looked down at where her fingers circled my wrist. Her touch was warm, gentle.