Civilians. I shift to make room as she turns to confront me, my hand falling automatically to the soft skin of her upper thigh. Our bodies are touching, her face a few inches from mine. I can see the different hues of blue and green in her eyes.
I can also see that her pupils are dilated, a second sign of physical arousal. I'm not sure what to think of that, especially when she's clearly angry with me once more. I don't seem like her type, and she's definitely not mine.
"I meant, I can't believe you noticed my limp," she snaps. "I've spent years fixing it!"
"I only noticed this morning when you were walking back with Jenna," I reply. "When people are tired, they aren't always able to regulate themselves like they do usually."
She's upset. I'm not sure if it's because I noticed her limp and scarring or because I've been too blunt with her again.
"If it helps, I'm more detail oriented than most others," I add. "Is the scarring why you don't wear bathing suits?"
Her flush deepens. She crosses her arms.
I don't know how she does this: infuriates me yet makes me sympathetic to her in the same breath. The idea a woman as beautiful as she is can be self-conscious is absurd, yet her blush confirms it. It's probably why she didn't want to get in the paddleboats when everyone stripped down to bathing suits this afternoon. I'm once again torn between reaching out to comfort her and getting away, before I say something that I can't take back.
"You shouldn't let the scarring deter you. You've got a great body," I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. "I assume you noticed that, too."
"Absolutely," I reply without hesitation.
"Whatever. You don't have to lie about it."
"Do I strike you as the kind of person who tells you anything but the truth?"
"I'm well aware you'd rather be in a firefight than deal with me!"
"I meant that, too."
She's staring at me like she either wants to kill me or figure out what kind of alien I am.
"I can't imagine it's the first time you've heard either of those things," I add, growing irritated by the tension between us.
"You are such a dick," she responds. "Pretty sure that's not the first time you've heard that, either, is it?"
Fuck her or leave her. Right now, I'm thinking there's a third option, one that makes me wish we were in the deserts of Iraq, where no one would find the body.
Every conversation ends this way between us. It's the reason we shouldn't be alone together. Ever.