17. Daphne

Chapter 17

Daphne

What a game we have here! Lyndhurst versus Sutton, with the Lions in the lead. Thanks in large part to their goalie. Hastings is putting on a masterclass of goalkeeping, denying the Sutton Strikers time and time again.

You’re right, Marty. He has been the linchpin of Lyndhurst’s defense today. It’s safe to say his move from Overton has seen him develop into a formidable force between the posts.

“Lyn, Lyn, Lyndhurst, Lyndhurst! Go, go, go, Lyndhurst!” I chant with the crowd.

Seated in the directors box, I basked in the warmth, munched on snacks, and sipped drinks all day. Famous faces surround me, with kids in Lyndhurst jerseys zipping around. Everyone’s laughing and chatting.

On the field, Cameron stands in a vibrant uniform that hugs his broad shoulders. He looks commanding, powerful, and attractive with a capital A. His muscles bulge under his tight shorts as he bends low, guarding the goal. If I wasn’t in public, I’m sure I’d be drooling.

My other friends sprint along the field, but none of them shine the way Cameron does.

Who knew sports could be this fun? I’m even able to follow the game a little, although I still don’t understand how anyone can run for ninety minutes straight.

I run my hands through my newly dyed hair—my merman connection from the botanical garden squeezed me in for a lilac root touch-up yesterday.

“Are you Daphne?” a stunning woman with large eyes and brown curls asks, sitting down in the empty seat beside me. She wears a Lyndhurst jersey that matches mine, tucked into leather pants. Confidence radiates off of her, her shoulders square with impeccable posture.

I smile brightly. “I am! Nice to meet you…”

“Bea.” She extends her hand; there’s a martini glass in the other. “Bea Matos. Ivan’s wife. The backup on the bench for the new guy. Same jersey.”

“Oh, Cameron?” I clarify, spotting a purple scarf wrapped around her neck. I’m pretty certain Sven made it, given the beautiful stitching and his signature braided rib bind-off.

“Yes.” She winks at me.

“We’re neighbors!” I laugh nervously. “I live in the same complex as half the team.”

“I heard. Have to say, you’re such a sweet thing, helping with Femi’s auction tomorrow.” She tugs at the scarf. “Snagged one of these the moment I saw it. Going to be wearing mine all season.”

“It looks stunning on you. And it was nothing,” I say. “Just glad they got finished in time.”

“I’m so glad to finally meet you. The lads couldn’t stop raving about you at the barbecue last weekend. Ivan and I host the whole team often, and I do watch parties when they play away. You should come. All the partners do.”

“Oh, no, I’m not anyone’s partner.”

“I just thought since you’re wearing—” she says expectantly. “Well, smart girl.” She pats my thigh. “I was going to warn you about dating footballers, but, truthfully, I was also hoping for some boy drama. Living with all those hot mates under one roof?” She fans herself.

So the jersey does mean something. Butterflies flutter in my belly, just like they did the night Cameron kissed my cheek. The things my poor rose-shaped vibrator had to witness after he left me breathless—well, you could say I was so thorny, I wilted with excitement.

Gosh, I’m so thankful no one can hear inside my brain.

“They remind me more of hanging out with my sister.” I laugh. “We watch reality TV and knit together. We just finished Lust Island .”

“Oh my goodness, Georgia Woods so deserved that win!”

I beam. Bea and I seem like we’re going to be very good friends. “Yes. I thought the same, she’s an absolute queen. And she makes her own outfits too? I’m obsessed with her.”

“You’re right, she’s always got her ball of yarn and crochet hooks.”

“If I wanted just a hookup, I’d have stayed home with my wool!” We mimic Georgia’s famous catchphrase together and burst into laughter.

“You know, I’ve been wondering what I’ll do after Ivan retires this year,” she says with a cheeky smile. “Maybe I’ll take up knitting scarves like you to fill up all my free time.”

“You totally should.” I almost burst out of my seat. “I’m hosting a knitting retreat next year; I’ll send you an invite.”

“No way!” she shouts. “Nanny taught me when I was younger, but it’s been years. Here’s my number.” She takes my phone out of my hand and punches in her contact info. “If you’re at the next home game, let me know. You can bring your tools, and I’ll bring mine.” She returns her focus to the game before standing and pulling me up by my arm. “Look, Tamu is going for it.”

The ball flies across the field to Tamu’s feet. He runs at lightning speed, kicks the ball, and the opposing team’s goalie dives, but it’s no use. Tamu scores as the keeper skids along the grass. Ouch .

The stadium erupts. Bea tosses back her martini, sets down the glass, and wraps her hands around my shoulders, jumping.

“ Olé, olé, olé, Tamu, Tamu, all the way! ” Bea and the rest of the box chant. I sing along, my heart bursting with excitement.

After things calm down, my mind returns to Bea’s friendly advice. Wouldn’t it be interesting to get insider tips on dating a footballer? Not that I’m planning to break my rule anytime soon.

“So.” I attempt to be nonchalant. “What you were saying earlier…about dating a footballer. Would love to know more, just to understand the boys better.” There goes that plan. I’m very much chalant.

Bea’s face lights up with mischief. “Well, let’s start with the perks: romantic getaways, gifts, VIP access, and exclusive events.”

Cameron has been doing that stuff for me, minus the romantic getaways. We do friendly activities instead. I’m sure he provides the same treatment to all his friends, or, well, when he had a bigger friend circle.

“Doesn’t hurt to be spoiled,” I say.

“True, but that stuff gets old quickly—and this is coming from someone who really likes stuff.” She laughs, showing off the rings on her hands. “Then there’s the other side of things. When Ivan signed with Lyndhurst, it was overwhelming. The constant spotlight, the tabloids, the pressure, the travel. Lucky for me, I love seeing the world.”

“The idea of traveling does sound exciting!” I can knit anywhere—on a cozy couch in England or in a bustling cafe in Italy. And what about all the wonderful yarn stores I’d discover worldwide?

“It is, but I’ve been fortunate that Ivan hasn’t been moved around much. That’s not the case for many partners. It’s tough on them, packing up and relocating when a better offer comes along.” She sighs. “Even harder when the offer is worse.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yep, they can be called away at any time. Once, we were celebrating our fifteenth wedding anniversary when Ivan got a call for an unexpected training session. I ended up alone in the restaurant.”

“On your wedding anniversary?” I frown.

“Thankfully, Ivan hasn’t missed the birth of our two boys.” She rolls her eyes. “But the tabloids camped out all night for a picture of our firstborn.”

“Seriously?”

“They’re ruthless, but that’s just how it is in this world. I’ve come to terms with being second to football. It’s his first love, and that’s okay. He’s still my best friend, and I’m his. They live and breathe this game. Honestly, sometimes I love it just as much. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

A tightness clings to my heart. “How long has Ivan been playing?”

“He was the starting keeper for ten years. I’ve spent a lot of time in this box. But let me tell you, if you don’t have your own life, it’s easy to get lost in theirs.”

“I can’t even fathom how tricky it must be, especially with a family. But isn’t compromise and understanding the bedrock of any great relationship?” I ask.

She blinks rapidly at me. “Wow, you are wiser than your years.”

“Thanks. I have therapy to thank for that.” I laugh, but there’s still a heaviness in my chest at her confessions. “I appreciate you sharing all of this with me, Bea.”

“Of course, sweetheart. If you ever fall for one of them and think he’s worth it, trust me, make sure he’s a man who can navigate all of life’s challenges with you. Because there will be plenty.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s why all of us partners stick together.”

“I’m glad to be a part of it.”

Her attention is pulled back to the match, but my mind spins.

If Cameron and I were to ever be something, it wouldn’t be like dating a normal person. It means media exposure, impromptu moves, and spending some weekends alone.

But those things don’t sound too bad.

My individuality matters. I have my retreat, and I wouldn’t mind moving around a bit, especially with how much I’ve enjoyed London. And finally, I love my own company, as long as I have a pair of knitting needles in hand.

Maybe I could amend my no-soccer-boys rule. I’ve gotten familiar with Cameron’s schedule over the last few months. The dedication, time, and energy he pours into his career are sexy—I wouldn’t ever want him to give that up.

My brain is turning into a tangled mess. But then again, every good knitting project has its knots and tangles, right? They always turn out beautifully in the end.

Could Cameron and I be something beautiful too?

Bea sits back down from cheering and turns toward me. “Even if you are just a friend, it’s nice for Hastings to have you here. Nobody ever cheers for the keeper.”

A wave of sadness washes over me. Why wouldn’t he get the support he deserves? It’s clear that goalies are crucial.

“Why not?”

“It’s not a sexy position, but it’s the most important one on the pitch,” she explains, keeping her attention on the field. A whistle blares, and Bea slams her hand against her chair. “Are you fucking kidding me?” she shouts. “That wasn’t a foul!” I struggle to catch up with what’s happening. It looks like the referee called a foul in the penalty area. “Here comes your friend! No, get back, Omar!”

The other team has the ball, and Cameron stretches his arms out in front of the goal. His eyes are like laser beams on the target, his body coiled and ready.

The stadium goes silent, watching the opposing striker. The ball rockets toward the goal like a wild cannonball, and I barely have time to gasp.

Then, there’s Cameron.

He launches himself across the goal, hands stretched out, fingers splayed, his body twisting midair. Every muscle in his body is perfectly tuned, like a warrior on a battlefield. With unbelievable fluidity, he catches it. The ball snaps into his hands, and for a moment he hovers there, suspended in midair like he’s defying gravity.

I’m left staring, completely awestruck.

Forget charming.

Forget kind.

Forget all the sweet little things he’s done.

Right now, Cameron Hastings is a freaking god.

The stadium erupts in cheers, but they’re only half as loud as they were for Tamu.

“Thank fuck.” Bea sighs with relief. “They do not need any more losses this year.”

My attention is caught on the lazy crowd, despite the miracle Cameron just performed in front of me. “There’s no chant for when the keeper blocks a goal?”

Bea shrugs. “Never.”

Well, that won’t do.

After Lyndhurst’s win, everyone from the box lingers awhile. Bea eventually convinces me to meet Ivan and the rest of the team, who don’t live at the apartment complex. They’re all thrilled about me helping with the auction for Femi tomorrow. By the time Cameron appears in the doorway, I feel like my friend group has doubled.

I sidle over to him. When he spots me, his head lifts, and he gives me this adorable, soft look. I’m half a second away from melting.

Seriously, with that look—full of intentions and unspoken words—how is a girl supposed to keep her cool?

“I should get going,” I say. “Thanks for inviting me. Another perfect Yes Day in the books.”

“Need a ride?”

“It’s a fifteen-minute walk.”

He frowns, his eyes searching mine. “Need a ride?” he repeats. His voice is low and intimate.

My heart does a jitterbug. “I’d love one.”

I follow him out into the private player’s parking lot. The air between us buzzes with a new kind of static, like pulling a fuzzy blanket out of the dryer without a dryer sheet, making every hair on your arm stand up.

Is this real or just postgame adrenaline? Whatever it is, when we reach his car, I awkwardly hover by the hood, not quite ready to hop in.

“So, are you going home to binge-watch the game rerun?” I ask.

“Think so,” he says. He looks utterly wiped out, with dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped, and his usually bright gaze dull and distant. By his face, you’d think his team had lost.

“Not going to celebrate with the team?”

He shakes his head. “No. Gave it my all today. Didn’t want to lose and make your first football match a letdown.” His thumbs are raw and bleeding, like he’s been picking at them again. I hate the pressure he’s under.

Football has been my life since I could walk . Cameron’s words echo in my mind.

I wonder when he ever takes time to recharge.

“You could never disappoint me. Even if you lost.” He scans my face before his lips tug into a half-smirk. “But isn’t watching replays work too? You deserve a nap after that game. I broke a sweat, and all I did was cheer.”

“It’s better to watch them when the match is fresh.”

“I used to feel the same way about my knitting patterns,” I share with him. “I’d push through for hours, even with all the mistakes. But then I’d switch to an easy project, come back to the tough one, and feel refreshed.” He makes a noncommittal grunt. “So, Cameron, when do you get to have a real break?”

He looks across the parking lot before his golden eyes bore into mine. “With you, mostly.”

And just like that, he dropped a bombshell. He finds his peace with me. My heart flutters like fabric in the wind.

“I feel the same.” And without overthinking, I grab his hand. He stares at our interlocked fingers. I wish I could read his mind, or swaddle it in a nice, comfy sweater. “You looked so good out there. I-I mean, you played really well,” I stammer.

“Thank you.”

The cold November air whips through his hair, tousling his perfectly unkempt locks. “Cameron, are you sure me wearing your jersey doesn’t mean anything?” I ask, needing to know. I want to hear him admit that he is beginning to like me as more than a friend. I need to make sure my feelings are reciprocated.

“It doesn’t have to.” He avoids my gaze.

“Would you care if I wore someone else’s jersey?”

“If that’s what you want.” His foot taps incessantly on the pavement.

“I don’t,” I say.

“Good, because I’d rather you didn’t.” His eyes fix on me, his fingers tightening in my hand.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” I nibble on my lower lip. “I wish I had come to a match earlier. I learned so much today by hanging out with the WAGs. They’re a blast!”

“Like what?” He strokes his thumb over the inside of my palm.

“Ivan’s wife said no one cheers for the keeper.”

Cameron shrugs, running his free hand over his neck. That adorable tic makes me want to pin his arms to his sides and kiss him senseless. “Not often,” he admits.

I pause, trying to find the perfect words. “There’s no way I’m letting you miss out on the best part of the game—at least, it was for me.” I reassuringly rub his strong forearm. “I’m making you a promise. I’ll wear your jersey and cheer obnoxiously loud, so you always know you have a friend in the stands.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of his lips, a rare crack in his tough-guy fa?ade. “You’re coming to another game?”

“I’ll even make you a chant.” His head tilts skeptically. “What, you don’t believe me, Goose?”

Finally, he lets out a full laugh. “Do I get to hear this chant?”

“You can’t laugh at it. Promise?”

He makes an X across his heart. My hand feels cold in his absence. “But just remember, there’s a reason I never made the cheerleading squad.”

“Why? Because you look too irresistible in a skirt?” He motions to the mini I’m wearing, and I gulp.

“Goal or bust, in Hastings we trust!” I declare, repeating it for emphasis. “I know, it’s a bit last minute, but what do you think?”

Cameron’s stare is a blend of blankness and tension, like when I gave him that crocheted birthday cake. I’m like a science project under his scrutiny.

“I love it, Duck.”

“Good.”

Time beats slowly. My body hums with the ache to touch him.

Screw this. No more waiting. I fling my arms around his waist and hurl myself into his rustic, salty musk. The muscles of his back flex before softening. He crooks his arms around my neck, urging us closer, making me feel small and safe in his embrace.

His fingers tangle in my hair as he cups my head. His chest expands with each breath, as if he’s inhaling not just air, but me too.

I shuffle my feet forward, burrowing myself deeper into his torso. I close my eyes and memorize every sensation—the way his fingers feel, the soft hum of his breath, the heat radiating off of him. Our hearts batter against our rib cages in sync.

Rain starts to fall, but we don’t move. Our embrace feels more intimate than any kiss. I get lost in the sensation of him against me. Hard and soft. Something tenses under my stomach—oh my, that is most definitely hard.

Fire floods my core. Without breaking our contact, I settle on the edge of his car hood. His body is heavy over me. He grips me tighter until we’re practically dry-humping in this parking lot. Without a doubt, this is the sexiest hug of my life.

The rain is like a baptism, washing away the silly idea that we could ever be just friends.

He gives me a look he’s given me a dozen times before, but this time I finally understand. It’s like I’m the center of his universe. In his gaze, I sense everything: hope, fear, desire, and something that feels dangerously irresistible.

He’s a victorious lion, relaxed yet brimming with energy.

Cameron is all man.

“God, Daphne.” He sighs against the top of my head. “You—” He chokes on the next words. I wait for him to say it. Come on, Cameron, take the lead.

I want Cameron Hastings. His hands roam along the top of my back, running across his last name, each touch sparking a fire inside me. Say it, Cameron. Say you want me like I want you.

“You’re a really good friend.”

Friend .

He unhooks from me, and suddenly I’m so cold. My heart drops. “Yeah.” I force a smile. “You too, Cameron.”

He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his keys. “Want to drive?”

“Drive?” I blink. He jingles the keys. “Right, the car!” Disappointment is probably apparent in my voice. “Yeah. Heck yeah.”

He tosses me the keys, and they spin in slow motion under the stadium lights. With a quick move, I snag them midair and dash toward the driver’s seat, adrenaline fizzing out of my veins.

Before he gets in, he shakes his head, rubbing the sides of his temples. He looks absolutely tormented.

And I’m certain that I did that.

I think Cameron Hastings definitely loved my chant.

And the sight of me in his jersey.

And our not-so- friendly hug.

But most of all, I’m now certain he wants me as more than a friend.