Page 137 of Close Knit

“Bring your forearms!” she commands, and I can practically hear the wink in her voice.

“Text me your location.”

I drive through the empty London streets. When I arrive, the club-thumping bass reverberates through my car. Neon lights cast a glow on the bustling street, with a line of eager partygoers snaking around the building. I slip the doorman a couple of billsand push through the crowd, my mind blurred by flashing lights and writhing bodies.

Then I see Daphne. On the dance floor, her lavender hair shimmers like a halo under the lights. Every curve of her body is accentuated by her tiny knitted dress, a vision that makes my fists curl with raw desire. When she spots me, her face lights up, and she runs over, almost tripping on her broken heel. Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she reaches me, breathing in happy bursts.

“Cameron! You came.” She hugs me, placing a sloppy kiss on my cheek. She smells like a vodka distillery. “Come dance with me!” she insists, pulling me onto the crowded dance floor.

“I don’t know…” I have practice in a few hours. But then she looks up at me with half-lidded eyes, and I’m a goner. She spins around, twirling and stumbling. She hooks her arms around my neck and leans in close, and before I can process it, her teeth clasp my earring, tugging and pulling.

My dick responds immediately, aching for me to take her home. Fucking hell.

“What was that?” I yell over the music.

“You got to lick my anklet; it’s only fair.” She opens her mouth and blinks her eyes in what I can only assume was an attempt at a wink.

“What’d you think?”

“Loved it!” Daphne purrs, sliding her hand up my inner thigh until her fingers brush against me through my sweats. “Guess you loved it too.”

I pull her closer, find the curve of her ass, and squeeze hard. She gasps. Her eyes smolder with that familiar passion, making my heart race. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And you love it,” she says, sticking her tongue out.

I wrap my lips around that devious little tongue and give it a loud suck. “Yeah, I guess I do.” She giggles in my arms, bodyswaying to the music. “Remember when you said you loved my forearms?” I say into her ear.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums.

“Well, I love your everything,” I say. Now is not the time to tell her what I’ve been slowly coming to terms with—that I love her. But I do.

I’m certain of it.

I love Daphne Quinn.

Her eyes are soft with affection. “Even when I’m a drunken mess?”

“Especially when you’re a drunken mess,” I reply, kissing her forehead. “You’re my drunken mess.”

“Let’s stay like this forever.”

“Forever sounds perfect.” I hold her close as we sway to the music, lost in our own little world.

Chapter 39

Daphne

February11

Lyndhurst FC’s Cameron Hastings Seen at a Club with Influencer Daphne Quinn

It’s Sunday night.The front door clicks open, which means Cameron just got back from his away game. I sit on the floor of the bedroom, braiding my hair in front of the floor-length mirror.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he says, dropping his stuff by the door and lying down on the bed.

I smile. “Sven’s header in your box was one for the books today.”

“Wasn’t it? Glad he had my back during that penalty kick.” He stretches and rolls over to my side of the bed, noticing a crimson-red book on my nightstand. Oh crap!

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