Camouflage and Confessions

The tent flap fell shut behind me, sealing in the heat and the smell of nylon and damp earth. Lexi was already on her knees, unrolling her sleeping bag on the far side of the tiny space, and I tried not to stare at the way the camo crop top rode up just above the waistband of those black shorts.

Four feet tall. Same as me. I’d known that for a year now, ever since she’d moved into the apartment next door and I’d started finding excuses to be in the hallway at the same time she was coming home from her shift at the tattoo shop. But knowing it in the hallway and knowing it in a tent barely big enough for one person were two very different things.

“Cozy,” she said, not looking up.

Her voice had that rasp to it, like she’d just woken up or like she’d been smoking, even though I’d never seen her touch a cigarette. The strawberries and cream lip gloss caught the light from the lantern hanging off the center pole, and I watched her tongue dart out to wet her bottom lip.

I needed to get a grip.

“Riley’s a comedian,” I said, dropping my duffel bag by the entrance. “Pairing us up in the smallest one. Real funny.”

Lexi finally looked at me, and those dark brown eyes hit me like a punch to the chest. “You don’t want to share with me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t not say it.”

She had a point. A dimple flickered at the corner of her mouth, and I realized she was messing with me. That lethal little dent in her cheek was going to be the death of me, I could already tell.

“I’m fine sharing with you,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I meant it to. “Just wasn’t expecting the clown car accommodations.”

Lexi laughed, a low sound that vibrated through the thin walls. “Riley said the big tent was for her and Sarah. Something about Sarah needing space.”

I grimaced. Sarah. Of course. Riley’s other friend, the one who’d been orbiting me all afternoon like a satellite with no sense of personal boundaries. I’d caught her staring at me while I was setting up the fire pit, and she’d smiled like she knew something I didn’t. Made my skin crawl.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You don’t like her.”

It wasn’t a question. Lexi had that way of stating things, flat and certain, like she’d already read the whole chapter and was just checking to see if I’d caught up.

“She’s fine,” I said, because it was the polite thing to say and because I wasn’t about to dump my baggage on someone I’d only ever exchanged hallway nods with. “She’s just… a lot.”

Lexi snorted. “She’s been watching you all day. Thought you knew.”

I felt my face heat. “I knew.”

“And you’re not into it.”

“Not even a little.”

She tilted her head, studying me with those dark eyes, and I felt like a specimen under glass. “What are you into, Matty?”

The question landed somewhere in my chest and stayed there. She said it casual, like she was asking what kind of music I liked or if I preferred coffee over tea, but there was an edge to it. A challenge.

I could have deflected. Made a joke about sleeping bags and warm bodies and let her think I was just being crude. But something about the way she was looking at me, the way the lantern light caught the silver in her eyebrow piercing and turned her eyes to pools of dark honey, made me want to tell her the truth.

“I’m into women,” I said. “Specifically the kind who don’t play games.”

Lexi’s smile spread slow, like she was savoring something sweet. “Good to know.”

She went back to unrolling her sleeping bag, and I watched the muscles in her shoulders shift under the long sleeves of her camo top. She was built solid, compact, the kind of strong that didn’t need to show off. I’d seen her carry a full keg up three flights of stairs last summer without breaking a sweat.

I was in so much trouble.

Outside, I could hear Riley’s voice carrying across the campsite, something about firewood and marshmallows and who was going to be in charge of the ghost stories. Sarah’s answering laugh was too loud, too eager, and I felt a headache brewing behind my eyes.

“She’s going to try something tonight,” Lexi said, and her voice had gone flat. “Sarah. She’s going to find an excuse to crawl in here.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Riley’s going to back her up. You know she will.”

She was right. Riley had that look about her, the matchmaker gleam in her eye that said she’d already decided Matty and Sarah were a thing, and she was just waiting for the pieces to fall into place. Never mind that I’d told her, more than once, that I wasn’t interested. Riley had a way of hearing what she wanted to hear.

“I’ll handle it,” I said.

Lexi looked up at me, one eyebrow raised. “How?”

I didn’t have an answer. I could be rude, sure, but that would make the next two weeks miserable for everyone. I could pretend to be sick, but Sarah would probably offer to nurse me back to health. I could come out to her directly, but something told me that wouldn’t stop her. Sarah had that look, the one that said she thought she could change my mind if she just tried hard enough.

“I don’t know yet.”

Lexi stood up, brushing off her knees, and crossed the tiny space between us. She was close enough that I could smell her, something floral mixed with the clean scent of soap, and I had to force myself to breathe.

“I could help,” she said.

“Help how?”

She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingers brushed my jaw, and I felt it everywhere. “I could be your girlfriend for the week.”

The words hung in the air between us, and I stared at her, trying to find the joke. But her eyes were serious, her mouth set in a line that wasn’t quite a smile.

“You’re serious.”

“Sarah’s not going to make a move on you if she thinks you’re taken. And Riley can’t argue with it if we’re already sharing a tent. It makes sense.”

It made too much sense. That was the problem. It was logical and practical and it would solve everything, except for the part where I’d spent the last year trying to convince myself I didn’t have a crush on my neighbor, and now she was offering to pretend to be mine.

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

Lexi’s smile turned sharp. “No catch. Just a favor between friends.”

“We’re not friends.”

The words came out harsher than I meant them to, and I saw something flicker in her eyes. Hurt, maybe. Or surprise.

“We’re neighbors,” I said, softer. “We say hi in the hallway. We don’t do each other favors.”

“We could be friends,” she said. “If you wanted.”

The tent felt smaller than it had a minute ago. The air was thicker, heavier, and I could feel the heat coming off her body, could see the pulse beating in her throat.

“I want a lot of things,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I get them.”

She stepped closer, and now there was no space between us at all. Her chest brushed mine, and I felt the soft give of her breasts through the thin fabric of her top.

“What do you want, Matty?”

I could have lied. Could have made another joke, deflected again, retreated to the safety of sarcasm and distance. But she was looking at me with those dark eyes, and her lips were parted, and I could taste the strawberries and cream on her breath.

“You,” I said. “I want you.”

Her smile was slow and devastating, and the dimple in her cheek deepened. “Good. Because I want you too.”

She kissed me then, her mouth soft and sweet, and I felt the world tilt sideways. Her hands came up to cup my face, and I grabbed her hips and pulled her closer, and the tent, the campsite, the whole stupid trip faded away until there was nothing left but her.

When she finally pulled back, she was breathing hard, and her lip gloss was smeared.

“So,” she said, and her voice was rough in a way that had nothing to do with sleep or cigarettes. “Girlfriends?”

I kissed her again, because I couldn’t not. “Girlfriends.”

Outside, Sarah called my name, her voice bright and hopeful. I ignored it. Let her come. Let her see.

I had everything I wanted right here.