Page 118 of Close Knit

She laughs, straightening her back and placing her hand over mine on the knitting needle. “Well, I’m glad you asked, Mr. Featherington. It didn’t happen overnight. It took a lot of trial and error, finding my voice, and connecting with my audience.” She looks around, trying to find her next words. “When I was in fashion school, I had a teacher who encouraged me to post a pattern online. In the first week, I received over three hundred sales. It was the first time I thought that this could be something. I went to school knowing I loved fashion but not exactly what ‘real’job I wanted to do. I never thought this was an option. Toward the end of college, I started posting videos for fun to teach some of my classmates’ new stitches, and those videos gained traction. I got a few yarn kits for free. I began testing patterns for people, and it kind of just snowballed from there. I started sharing my projects and personal stories. It resonated with people.”

“I wish I could be there to see you talk about this.”

“I know, but it’s okay.” She strokes her thumb along the back of my hand.

I inhale a deep breath, leaning toward her. I relinquish my knitting-needle microphone to her and rub my hand along the top side of her bare thigh, chuckling as I glance at her shirt of the night. In big block letters, it says,Wooly Temptress, with a sheep lying—too provocatively for an animal—on a bed and proudly holding a pair of shears. The sheep is freshly shaven with a fur blanket draped over herself.

I chuckle, picking back up the tangled mess of yarn and starting again. “Do you remember your first sponsorship?”

“You’re too good at the announcer voice.” She continues her project, thinking for a second. “I was sitting with my sister when I got the email.” Her mouth breaks into a toothy smile. “It was for SkillLearn, a video-tutorial-based website. Not only did they pay me three thousand dollars to mention them in a livestream,but they also asked me to make a Knitting Class for Beginners that still brings me a little bit of money every month.”

“Really impressive, Duck.” From my dad, I know how much perseverance someone has to have to grit their teeth and get through the highs and lows of owning their own business.

“Thank you. Obviously, everything with the bullying has really sucked, but this month I got my highest check yet from my YouTube streams. Each hateful comment actually made me money, though I’d trade the money for my mental health any day.” She finishes her row and flips her project.

I cringe, feeling guilty. “You always see the positive in things.”

“For a long time, I felt like I was just knitting silly little patterns, but now it feels like I have a purpose. It’s easy to forget how much I know, because I’ve been doing it for close to five years. Talking to brands and making videos is second nature to me at this point. At first, I never felt like it was a real job, but one day I brought in more money than Juni made in a month—and she’s a doctor. We’re lucky, you know.”

“Agreed.” I’ve never had to worry about money. My parents always gave us everything we wanted, and then at eighteen, when I went to go play for LA, my first contract was for six figures.

“Every day I wake up so grateful. I don’t pay rent here, so I donate a lot of it. Most people need it more than me.” She says it so plainly, so freely, like she’s not trying to impress me. Like it’s who she really is. A goddamn saint.

“You’re so kind.” I untie a section of knots; the end is in sight.

“So are you.” She bumps her foot on my leg.

My chest constricts. I can’t quite believe her. “So, Daphne Quinn, last question. How do you feel about Cameron Hastings?”

“I like him. Like,likehim.” She scoots closer to me.

“I like,likeyou too,” I say and finish untangling the remainder of the yarn before setting it beside her. I rub my hand over her ankle. “Do you like this too?” I ask.

“Yes.” She smirks. The last couple nights I’ve spent over here have been like this. A little game, seeing how long we can hold off without giving in. Since we got back from California, my appetite for her has been insatiable.

“And this.” I turn toward her, moving back on the couch so I can kiss her ankle and that damn chain that drives me wild.

“I’m still a little sore from ice skating yesterday.” She giggles. I took her to a private rink for our recent Yes Year activity. She was terrible, but it was okay because that meant she had to hold onto me the entire time.

“What if I had a way of making you feel a little better?” I kiss up her calf.

Daphne sets down her blanket and picks up Project Time-Out, inspecting the tangle-free mess. “But you just untangled my yarn; I was going to start working on my project,” she says innocently.

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

She picks up her needles and yarn, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous glint. Daphne’s needles click rhythmically. I can’t resist as I work my lips up her legs, each kiss drawing a soft sigh from her. “Oh.”

This is about to become a very fun game.

“How’s the knitting?”

“No problem at all, don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Not distracted?”

She bats her head side to side. The pink tinge in her cheeks is obvious. “Nope.”

The corner of my lip lifts in a smirk. If that’s how she wants to play it. “What if I grab your rose-shaped vibrator? Are you going to be able to keep working?”

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