Page 51 of Close Knit

“When we were kids, my dad would bet that if I could block all of my family’s free kicks, then he would do one of my chores. If I missed one, I was stuck with his. So one night I was feeling lucky, and we went out to our field—”

“You have a field at your house?” I fail to hide the shock in my voice.

He nods. “Along with a karting track for Frankie, a bouldering wall for Alec, and an ice rink for Brooklyn.” Theregoes my jaw onto the floor again. He laughs at my expression. “I promise, it’s not all that.”

“Sure.” I roll my eyes, softly kicking his shin. “Go on, one night you were feeling lucky.”

“My siblings were easy saves. Mom kicked a curveball that nearly cost me the bet, but I managed it well. Then it was Dad’s turn. He’s never been a professional player, but he’s really into sports. That’s how he met my mom—well, more accurately, he bought her basketball team to get her attention.”

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard!”

“They’re like two lovestruck teenagers,” he says with a soft expression.

My foot continues bouncing through the space between his legs. I want to touch him—touch the softness inside of him. “Ugh, I’m sorry, I keep interrupting you.”

“It’s fine.” He bumps his knee against mine. “It was Dad’s turn. He always favored left, so I dove, and for the first time, I saved one of his shots. To this day, it was one of the best one-on-ones I’ve ever had.”

His glistening smile melts me into an actual puddle in my seat. Okay, this whole don’t-catch-feelings-for-your-one-night-stand thing is off to a terrible start. Why does he have to be so adorable after all the gruffness these past couple of months? It’s spinning my head right off my shoulders.

“That’s sweet, Goose.” I tap my knuckles against his firm stomach.

Mistake—big mistake. Oh man, is that the opposite of soft.

“What’s with the nickname?” He leans another inch closer.Don’t breathe too deeply, Daph, or you will literally pass out.I brush off the tingling in my body and shoot him a quizzical look. “Yours, not mine.”

“Duck?” He nods. “My family gave it to me. When I was a kid, it went through a ton of variations. Daphne to Daffy to DaffyDuck to just Duck. Well, as my moms and sister would say, Duckie.”

“It suits you.”

“Are you saying I look like a duck?”

“No, though you’re friendly and obviously like to migrate.”

“Don’t go whipping out duck jokes now.” Another kick that closes the inches between us. “You’re goose-like also. Strong family, protective, and you mate for life—though in your case, it’s with your balls.”

He cracks into a laugh. I do, too.

Behind him, a man appears like a shadow. “You Cameron Hastings?”

Cameron’s softness shatters. His body goes stiff again. “No,” he says over his shoulder with a cold note in his voice before he glances back at me and stretches out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

I hesitate. Does Cameron know this guy?

“Wait, it fuckingisyou, Hastings,” the man barks like a bulldog. “Tosser. Watch what you’re doing to Lyndhurst this season.”

I slip off my seat and step in front of Cameron. “What’s your problem?”

“Get back, Daph.”

“This why you can’t keep your head in the game? Got yourself another distraction?” the guy shouts, puffing out his chest.

A few heads turn as his loud voice breaks over the music. My stomach tightens.

Suddenly, the guy lunges around me, grabbing Cameron by the collar of his charcoal sweater and ripping it. Cameron’s eyes widen with shock. The stranger’s face twists in anger, his knuckles white.

“Hey, leave him alone!” I shout, but the guy just scoffs.

Despite being taller than the stranger, Cameron seems frozen. The crowd around us closes in, their faces a blur of concern and curiosity. My pulse pounds in my ears.

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