Page 26 of Close Knit

“Kinda looked like you were just sitting. Alone. In the dark.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Sure…” She draws out the word with disbelief. “Well, isn’t this a bizarre situation?”

I need to get away from her.

“You’re an influencer,” I say uselessly.

“And you play soccer.” A sassy tone clips her voice. “Glad we got our professions out of the way.”

“Premier League footballer,” I clarify for no reason.That’s helping, Cameron.

She groans. “Okay…Look, I’m not going anywhere, and it doesn’t seem like you are either. So let’s just start over and try to be neighborly.”

I release a long, low sigh and face her.Big fucking mistake.Those blue-green eyes blink up at me. She stands there with her arms crossed over her baggy sweater.

She’s so close.

Too close.

“I can’t afford any distractions,” I say into the four feet of space between us.

“And I’m distracting you?”

Yes. Very much so. More than I care to admit, frankly.“Thiscoincidencehas been distracting.”

I’m an asshole, letting my gaze get stuck on the slopes of her neck, on the little spot behind her ear that made her giggle when I kissed it. On the thicker bottom lip that hangs slightly open. She’s expecting me to say something, but all I can do is stare at this gorgeous woman who’s obviously upset with me.

Because I was a fucking dick to her.

That’s all I can be—what I need to be—to keep both of us safe.

“I had no idea who you were or that you’d be living here when I moved to London. Not that I owe you an explanation,” she says with sarcasm, sparking a fire in me like she did in San Francisco.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she snaps. “How crazy would that be? My mom mentioned the building had been sold to a private group, but I had no clue it was a sports team. If I’d known, I might have nudged her to sell. My neighbor has been acting like a total jerk!”

“It’s not that crazy in my world.” People do things for personal gain all the time, especially influencers.

“I don’t know anything aboutyour world. Sports? Not my thing. Unless you count pickleball, which I only tried once because my mom insisted. Spoiler alert: I was terrible. I couldn’t even serve properly. And can I just say, the biggest letdown was discovering there are no actual pickles in pickleball.” She wrinkles her nose in that adorable way and laughs. Despite myself, I can’t help but smile. “See? The guy I met is still in there somewhere,” she says, playfully poking my pecs.

The shock is immediate, and I step back, hitting the door.

“No,” I say harshly. “He isn’t.”

“I’m literally looking at you right now.” She scowls.

“You don’t understand. Here, I’m Cameron Hastings, a keeper for Lyndhurst. The only thing that matters to me is winning the Premier League.”

“But can’t you be both? Are you really going to ignore me and pretend like the night we shared—one that I’m pretty sure was special for both of us because you thanked me for it—never happened?”

I have to leave, but I can’t move. This whirlwind of a girl, full of energy and sweetness, has no right to think she understands the man she spent just a few hours with. She doesn’t truly know me.

Yet with her, I was more myself than I’d been with any other woman.

I lean in, lowering my voice. “Yes, Daphne, that’s exactly what I need to do.”

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