He looks at me with curiosity lancing through his intelligent eyes.
“Then why do you do it?”
“Engage in our witty repartee? I already told you. I like getting under your skin,” I say, elbowing his arm.
“No, not the repartee. Why do you like getting under my skin?”
“You really want to know?”
“I wouldn’t ask unless I did.”
A flush creeps up my cheeks, but I barrel through. “You’re, like, insanely hot. Like, I’m really confused by your choice of career. Why aren’t you out there selling, I don’t know, men’s underwear? Or the latest fashions by some up-and-coming designer? You’re literally the most beautiful human I’ve ever met before in my life, and I’ve metme.”
He rolls his eyes, but the smile is real.
“Thank you? I think? Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“How the hell am I supposed to pay attention to things when I’ve got all of this,” I say, gesticulating in his direction, “to deal with? I mean, given our line of business, it’s legitimately a matter of life and death.”
“So, you annoy me to distract yourself from my…hotness?” he asks, clearly not on board with his level of hot.
I look over at him, slightly dumbfounded. “Why do you sound like you don’t know how hot you are?”
“It’s not something I’ve ever heard a whole lot of, save for hookups, which don’t really count.”
“How do hookups not count? They’re literally the most transactional sex out there, completely based on physical attraction. I bet all the guys call you hot.”
He glares at me, running his hands through his hair. “There you go, trying to get under my skin again.”
“How is acknowledging your hotness getting under your skin?”
“You know,” he growls. So sexy.
“Idoknow. I just want to hear you say it.”
“You’re making assumptions about my sexuality. I don’t appreciate it.”
“You don’t appreciate it because I’m right or because I’m wrong?” I fire back, smiling, our Halloween encounter on the tip of my tongue.
He wipes a speck of dust off the console. “I don’t appreciate it because when someone is beheaded for their sexuality, it’s not really much of a joke. When that person is the POW who taught me the English you so admire and tried his best to add a layer of humanity to an otherwise hellish existence, it’s definitely not a joke. So unless I’m fucking you, my sexuality shouldn’t be that important.”
I don’t know why my dumb ass always has to take it one step too far.
Omar looks a little stunned by his speech. He faces forward, shaking out his hands. That’s a clear trigger. I’ve triggered him and it feels…awful. Fucking awful. He goes silent, and as much as I want to jump in and apologize all over myself until he gets that I didn’t mean it…I know instinctively that’s the wrong move.
I don’t know how to make this better.
The truth is, I know the details of his life, but I have no idea what it was like to go through all of that. Never has ignorance felt so much like luck and a damn liability at the same time. The motivation to do what I do comes from having such an amazing childhood that I can’t imagine allowing anyone to steal the opportunity from another human.
The intel Jake shared with us indicated that Omar was essentially a child soldier. And as usual, I hadn’t considered what being gay might mean in that context. I never fucking consider that shit because I’ve never had to.
I join him in looking out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel as we fly past the deepening forest.
When I’ve got my wits about me again, I whisper, “I promise you, I’ll never do that again.”
His “thank you” is so soft, I can barely hear it.
10
