Page 99 of Close Knit

He nods solemnly. “Coach put me on the bench for the rest of the game. Maybe for the rest of the season, because my bad call hurt my teammates. I was selfish, and because of that, I’m going to lose my contract.”

I recognize this negative self-talk. He’s spiraling, just like I did a few weeks ago. With so much to process at once, how could he not? There’s no way that what happened today could cost him his career. I wish there was some way I could show the world that he isn’t just an athlete, but a man who was broken and given no outlet to process his trauma. He just needed someone to talk to.

“I—”

“Don’t say you’re sorry.” His voice turns to stone. “Please. I can’t hear it from you.”

“I wasn’t about to. I’m angry, Cameron. I’m seething about the fact that anyone could do what Charlie did to you.”

“I shouldn’t have let it affect me. I let Charlie worm his way into my thoughts. I messed up. Coach is done with me. The team detests me. After all the effort I’ve made this season to try and let them in, to try and trust them. Why?” His voice cracks again. “My shot at winning this season is fucking over. Hell, my career in the Premier League is probably over. I’ll have to sit here this season watching my team play without me, and then I’ll be shipped back to play in the States. I’ll lose my shot at competing in other leagues or starting for the World Cup.” He sinks deeper into the couch, like a deflated pool toy being discarded after the summer.

“Does the team know everything that happened at Overton?” I interrupt his spiraling thoughts.

“About Charlie?” His head tilts. “I don’t know. They all probably read the tabloids. No one ever bothered to clarify. All the rumors suggest I had it leaked for clout.”

“Clout?You don’t need clout.” His eyes blink at me, surprised. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Don’t pity me.”

“I don’t,” I state firmly. “I don’t pity you.”

He drops his face into his palms. “Then forgive me for putting you in my mess.”

“I don’t need you to do that. There’s nothing to forgive.” I stand, wedging myself in between his knees and wrapping my arms around his head. His earthy musk is tinged with salt.

“I don’t know what I was made for if it isn’t football. I’ve been a winner my whole life, and now I’m just—” He believes he’s ruined everything, but I know he hasn’t. This is his fear speaking. “I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know how to make this right.”

His breath becomes ragged, matching the rhythm of my heart, and his arms gently rub the backs of my thighs. I want to make him forget and give him the peace he deserves.

My mind drifts back to the night we first met. I’m done holding back.

“Look at me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. He tips his chin up. His eyes are clouded with fog. His skin an icy breeze. “Let me take care of you.”

“You’re too good, Daphne. Too good to get wrapped up in this.”

“You could use some good to get wrapped up in.” There’s a shadow of a smile at the edges of his mouth. “Kiss me.”

He obeys and lets out a low hum of relief. Raw, unadulterated.I got you. Our tongues move slowly, deliberately, each motion calculated and filled with a shared need that’s as desperate as it is comforting.Let me take this load off.

He guides me closer. The world fades away. It’s as if our hearts are entwined in their own little rhythm, finding solace in each other.I’m here. Before something insatiable split between us and is ready to consume me whole.Yes.

My mind wants to snap me back to reality. To remind me of all the reasons that sleeping with Cameron could be a mistake. That it could complicate things. That a girl like me could neverbe with a guy like him. But dancing barefoot on the edge of unknown territory feels so good.Yes. A kiss to take away the pain.I’m never letting go.

“I need you, Daphne.”

“Yes,” I coax him, leaning on top of him as he sinks deeper into his sofa. I brush a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. His eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping his lips. I let my hand linger, memorizing each perfect imperfection. Color has slowly absorbed back into his cheeks. “You played well today, Cameron,” I murmur. “One game doesn’t define you.”

“Please,” he whispers.

I can’t wait any longer. I need for us to be closer, to throw all my fears to the side. I trace the contour of his torso before relieving him of his shirt. His touch turns fervent, tugging my sweater off with urgency. My breath hitches, as if I’ve dived headfirst into a frozen lake. I strip off his trousers, tasting the adrenaline passing between us. The rest of our clothes come off.

“Cameron.” I gasp at the sight of his cock, remembering how it felt inside of me.

He groans as I straddle him, my knees pressing into the couch. My hands run over his firm shoulder blades. It’s been months of foreplay, months of lying in bed wanting him again, and now he’s so close. My core aches.

He places light kisses along my breastbone before looking up at me. The warmth in his eyes holds steady, unwavering, as if silently vowing to always be there. His body radiates heat, begging me to close the distance between our naked bodies. His cock twitches beneath me, pressing against my entrance.

“Come here.” He hooks his arm around my waist, attempting to lift me from the couch. I grip the fabric behind us.

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