Page 136 of Close Knit

“So much,” she drawls. “Soooo much. I love being with you, you know? And your forearms—nicest in the world. Has anyone told you that?”

“Not recently, no.” I chuckle. “But I’m glad you think so.”

“Think I do. I do-do-wop-a-doo you. I like you, Cam-a-doodle-dooooo,” she croons, breaking into a ridiculous beatbox that syncs with the bass thumping in the background.

“I like you too.”

“So much. Even when you’re an absolute grouch. But you’re my grouch, my little—I should say big, very big”—she hiccups—“Scrooge man who always gives me little presents and the besthugs. Ugh, Cameron, you give the best hugs, and you make me come, and your nose has that little bend in it that I just think is so sexy, Cameron. You are so sexy!”

She’s never been drunk around me, but it’s absolutely adorable.

“So are you, Daphne. Are you inside?” I ask.

“There’s just something about you, you know? Like, your laugh. It’s like if a puppy could giggle. And your eyes! They’re like little pools of melted chocolate I want to slather all over my tongue. Have I ever told you that?”

“Once or twice.” I reposition my head on my pillow, picturing her slathering chocolate all over her body. Now that is a sweet thing I wouldn’t mind devouring.

“And you know what else? I always feel like I’m in this bubble of safety with you. Like if a pack of wild animals showed up, you’d take them down.” She howls. “And even though your knitting skills are…questionable, it’s adorable that you’re giving it a shot. Oh, and it kind of turns me on when you get all teary at movies. Oops, did I just say that out loud?”

“I’m starting to get the picture,” I say, trying to keep my laughter in check.

“And don’t even get me started on how you look in a tux. Seriously. James Bond, who? Cameron Bond is more like it. You’re just…you’re just so awesome. Do you think I could knit an entire suit forLust Island? I’m going to ask Georgia.”

“Maybe wait to text her until the morning?” I suggest.

“Right, right, right. Always with the good ideas!”

Daphne had her first meeting with Georgia and theLust Islandteam two weeks ago, and since then she’s been on a roll with ideas for wardrobe. She’s already started knitting to prepare for the premiere, which is the same week as the championship matches in May.

There’s a commotion on the other end of the line. Her voice fades in and out. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just telling Bea here how amazing you are!” Her voice darts off the line. “No, seriously, you won’t believe my man’s hair, it’s so soft. I could just run my fingers through it forever.”

Oh boy, she’s really gone. But I love her calling me her man. “Did you just—”

“Also, he has the most gorgeous you-know-what…”

“Daphne,” I say more sternly.

Bea whoops and cheers, then grabs the phone. “Cameron, you better get your big cock-a-doodle-do over here before I steal your girlfriend.”

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Daphne chants.

“We should get drinks into you more often,” I tease.

“You think so? I did break my heel, so maybe not this many drinks.” She giggles.

“I’m coming to get you,” I say, already tugging on my leather jacket and grabbing my keys.

“Yay! I can get you onto the dance floor. The girls taught me a move that I promise I didn’t whip out on anyone,” she purrs, mischief lacing her words.

Jealousy flares. “What move?”

“It involves a lot of shaking. I promise you’ll love it.”

“You’ll love it!” Bea chimes in.

“I’m on my way,” I say.

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