Page 82 of Close Knit

“Then let’s stop thinking and start doing.”

I let out a breathy plea. “Yes, yes, yes.” I nod eagerly as Cameron tugs off my shorts. He kisses me again, more demanding.

Then, a buzzing noise slices through the sirens wailing in my head.

I’m lost in the sensation, in the heat and the passion and the overwhelming desire, but the pinging and vibrating continue incessantly, and I stiffen.

The last time my phone blew up like this was when theStone Timesposted about my knitting retreat. The heat between my legs tangos with anxiety, cold dread seeping into my bones.

“Ignore it,” Cameron mutters, breathless and desperate. I try, but the notifications triple until my phone tumbles off the coffee table. I pull away, trembling with unspoken terror. “No, Daphne. Stay.”

“Sorry, I should…it could be my sister or my moms,” I stammer, reaching for my phone. I silence it and try to make sense of the blur of notifications, my mind spinning, panic setting in.

An image pops up. Not just any image—it’s me and Cameron. In the parking lot of Lyndhurst Stadium on Saturday. My breath hitches, fear knotting in my chest.

November 16

Cameron Hastings: More Successful in Scoring with Yet Another Influencer than Saving Goals for Lyndhurst.

I’m in a tabloid.We’re in a tabloid. This cannot be happening.

The photographs turned our smiles, and a deeply personal moment, into a spectacle.

“Is everything all right?” Cameron asks, his voice tinged with worry.

I have to tell him. My fingers tremble as I scroll through the rest of the article. My heart races as I read the comment section, even though I know I shouldn’t.

another uggo for hastings lol

Just another PR stunt, if you ask me.

She’s obsessed!!! DESPERATE MUCH

totally just helped w/ auction 2 get 2gether w/ him

wtf is a knitting influencer?

LOL AS IF HE’D EVER GO FOR SOMEONE LIKE THAT

WAG wannabe

My chest tightens like the air’s been sucked out of the room. The flush creeping up my neck isn’t from Cameron anymore, but from the raw feeling of being scrutinized by hundreds and hundreds of strangers online.

In this panic, memories of my eleventh birthday flood back. The fairy-themed party. The popular girls. The pictures they posted of me and my party online, mocking me. Calling me names like loser, weirdo, and freak.

I keep scrolling, each comment sharper than the last. I blink rapidly, trying to erase the article burned into my retinas.

“Duck?” Cameron’s face falls. He knows exactly what happened because it’s happened to him too. I shakily turn my screen toward him. His face is calm, but his jaw clenches and his brows furrow. “Fuck.” He’s trying to hide it—the panic? The fear? He takes a few shaky breaths, his face solemn. It’s the same expression he had when that fan attacked him. Then he grabs his clothes. “I’m going to take care of it.”

“Cameron.” I reach for his hand, but he won’t meet my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s just a rumor. We aren’t dating, so it’s a lie anyway, right? It’s fine.”

“I’ll have this taken down.” His growl displays none of the tenderness he whispered a moment ago.

“Okay.”

“I promise.” He tilts my chin up. “We’re okay. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right.”

But his face betrays him, flickering with anger and something else—regret, maybe. My stomach knots, twisting sharply. Did I make a huge mistake? Did we just complicate everything?

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