19. Daphne

Chapter 19

Daphne

Tonight’s the night. I’m making a move on Cameron Hastings.

I’m nervous and giddy, but so freakin’ ready. I shift on the couch beside him, his leg resting against mine. He’s sprawled out under a purple blanket, limbs everywhere, like he’s perfectly at home.

“Heading back to San Francisco for the holidays?” I lean in, hoping the highlighter on my cheekbones entices him. When he kissed me on his birthday, I swore it was because of this shimmering powder. Tonight, I’ve gone extra radiant, aiming to draw his attention to exactly where I want his kisses—all over me.

“Maybe for a few days,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “My parents go all out with this giant tree. We always decorate together, have a huge luncheon and dinner, watch movies, and play games like Who Am I? and Never Have I Ever.”

“That sounds so fun.” Cameron’s family seems so normal. I wonder what he’s like around them. Does he laugh like he laughs with me? Is that furrowed brow finally relaxed? “I’m visiting my family too before my moms go on their holiday trip. Maybe we’ll bump into each other at the St. Claridge,” I say, trying to sound casual.

“I’ll be counting down the days.”

Heart, meet somersault.

“Me too.” I grab the remote from the coffee table, which is littered with my movie snacks—gummy bears, popcorn, Maltesers—and Cameron’s healthier options—crudités, fruit, and hummus. Perhaps tonight is the night he finally caves and indulges in some real treats. I scroll through the movie options. “What are you in the mood for? I’m a sucker for a good tearjerker.”

“Why would you want to make yourself cry?”

“It’s cathartic. Crying is almost as good as an orgasm.” He glances at me, eyes lingering on my face before settling on my lips. I blush, turning away. “And don’t get me started on those animated shorts where people do kind things—like adopting a stray dog or sharing a cookie with a stranger. I’ve got a whole collection bookmarked for emotional release. I could show you sometime if you’ve got pent-up feelings.”

He chuckles deeply. “I have a way to work those out on my own.”

It’s like we’re playing a sexy game of cards, but I’m already ready to fold. He’s so close. Just a few inches away. I click into a random movie, trying to hide my burning cheeks. “What about this one?”

“You’re kidding.”

I look at him, puzzled. “What?”

“ Shrek ?” He grimaces.

I gasp dramatically. “Do you have something against a classic that challenges fairytale stereotypes and celebrates being true to oneself?”

“You won’t believe this, but the night we met, my family gave me Shrek in a game of Who Am I? because they think I resemble him.” He shakes his head, but there’s a hint of a smile.

He really is an ogre. My ogre.

“Oh my gosh, they’re right! I always thought of you as an éclair—hard outside, soft and gooey center—but Shrek is even better.”

“Seriously?” He grabs my hand and places it over his rock-hard abs. The muscles ripple below his shirt. We both freeze, our breaths catching. “Anything soft and gooey about that?”

Nope. Just me. My whole body feels like a marshmallow Peep in the microwave, puffing up and getting ready to burst.

“Nope, that’s hard. Really hard.”

He releases me, but I let my hand linger. In one swift movement, I could be kissing him again. But I chicken out. I want him to make the first move. I need to know that he can be vulnerable.

“If I’m Shrek, does that make you my ass?” he asks.

“Mine’s not nearly as scrumptious as yours,” I let slip pulling my hand back. Ugh, I’m blowing this.

“Scrumptious?”

“You know, it’s nice and juicy because of all those squats you do during drills,” I say, rolling my eyes casually.

“You’ve become quite the expert on my drills lately.”

“I need to understand the game so I’m not lost when I go to the next one.”

“And my glute workouts are a part of that?”

I shrug. “It’s in the book.”

It totally isn’t.

“Sure.”

I gulp, hitting play.

After two bags of popcorn and half a bowl of gummy candies—all devoured by yours truly—we’re at the part where Fiona reveals her ogre self to Shrek. Cameron’s head rests on my shoulder. His steady breaths rise and fall. He’s like a giant, sleepy house cat, and I’m the lucky one he’s chosen. I’ve been trying to stay statue still, except for the occasional gentle scratch up his arm or a lingering whiff of his hair.

Gentle tears catch in my tear ducts—Fiona’s confession always gets me. I sniffle and glance at Cameron. He’s biting his lip, and—wait, is he…crying?

My mouth drops open.

It’s disarmingly intimate. His stoic fa?ade is cracked, softened by the glow of the TV. He scrunches his nose, trying to hold back tears, but it’s too late—a single drop escapes and hides in his scruff. Warmth blooms in my chest and settles in a decidedly inappropriate place.

Am I actually getting worked up over this man crying?

The heat between my thighs multiplies. My heart beats wildly and loud enough that I’m sure he can hear it.

I trace the tear’s path on his skin. Cameron straightens beside me. He swipes at the wetness on his cheeks. “For fuck’s sake,” he groans, his voice low and sleepy.

I let out an awkward laugh.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep things light. “At least now you can admit this is almost as good as an orgasm. Or, you know, if anyone asks if you’ve cried during a movie, you can say yes.”

“Yeah, that’ll definitely help during my family’s game of Never Have I Ever. Though I doubt it’ll make me the winner.”

“How does someone even win at Never Have I Ever?”

“I can show you now,” he says, swinging a leg onto the couch and stretching his arm across the back. It’s muscular and strong.

My insides flutter. “You want to play?” I pause the movie.

“Yes. The rules are that for everything you’ve done, you eat one of my movie snacks.”

I cringe at the plate of veggies. “That’s devious.” He smirks in a challenge. “Fine. But if I have to eat rabbit food, you have to eat one of my gummy bears.”

“I haven’t had something sweet in my mouth in months.”

My insides turn to lava. “Worried you’ll like it?”

He flexes his beautifully scarred fingers and swollen knuckles over his black jeans. “You have no idea.”

This is pure torture. Every interaction with him lately has been mind-blowing. When we agreed to be friends, I thought I could handle it. His frosty greeting when we met again made me believe I could resist temptation. But getting to know him has done the one thing I feared most—it’s made me really like him. A lot.

Maybe my sister is right, and I’m just a hopeless romantic with zero ability to keep things casual.

But Cameron Hastings has ignited my life in ways I never imagined. All those adventure-less years seem like ancient history when we’re on a Yes Year spree, whether I’m racing his car down the coast, playing undercover laser tag, or biking through Hyde Park wrapped in sweaters and coats.

Everything about him makes me want to say Yes, Yes, Yes . My body is screaming Please, Please, Please .

“Well, you first,” I whisper.

“Never have I ever…” He scans the room. “Made someone a gift.”

I pick the least offensive of his snacks: an apple slice. “You’re just trying to make me eat this, aren’t you?”

“No idea what you mean.” He grins, watching me as I crunch on the apple while biting into my Cadbury bar, so it’s like I’m eating a chocolate-covered apple.

“Never have I ever kissed someone in the rain.” I bite my lip, thinking about his body pressing over me on his car hood. Is that too obvious? Who cares.

He pops a gummy bear into his mouth, chewing slowly. “This thing tastes like rubber.”

“Douse anything in sugar, and I’ll put it in my mouth.” His pupils widen. “I mean, I like sugar. Tell me about this rain kiss of yours,” I say awkwardly, hoping he’ll change the subject.

“My first kiss was in the rain,” Cameron says.

“Really?”

“I was sixteen. She played on the girls’ football team,” he says, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “We were finishing practice, and it started raining. Everyone ran for cover except her. She was laughing, spinning in the rain.”

A pang of jealousy mixed with longing strikes me. “And then?”

“I had no clue how to talk to girls back then,” he admits. “Told her she’d ruin her cleats. She called me a smartass and punched my arm. Then, I kissed her.”

So what he’s saying is that if I punch him, he’ll be more likely to kiss me.

“That’s so Cameron of you.” I gently slug him in the shoulder. He laughs but makes no effort to put his lips on mine. There goes that theory. “Have you ever dated another athlete?”

“No,” he murmurs. “It’d be hard. Balancing a relationship and my career seems impossible. It’d take someone special for me to make time for them.”

“That makes sense.”

My heart skips like a scratched record. He always makes time for me.

I wish I had a neon sign over my head that said, Pucker this girl up, Hastings. If he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend, maybe we could just be a friends-with-benefits situation. That would definitely check off a Yes Year activity.

“What about you? What was your first kiss like?” he asks.

“Nothing that romantic,” I sigh, cringing. “My first kiss was at a freshman orientation party. I was so nervous I bumped noses with the guy. He laughed, but I was mortified. His friends called it the Clumsy Kiss for weeks. It was so embarrassing.” I remember wishing the ground would swallow me whole.

Cameron’s expression intensifies, his jaw tightening.

“That guy didn’t know what he had,” Cameron says. “If it had been me, I’d have considered myself the luckiest guy on earth.”

I blink. “Really?”

My heartstrings turn into a honeycomb stitch. “Anyone would be lucky to share a moment like that with you. And if anyone ever teases you again about how you kiss, they’ll have to answer to me.”

I sink into the couch, ready to give up on my plan. If he wanted to kiss me, he would’ve already.

“Thanks, Cameron.”

He leans in closer, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear and grazing the top of my cheek. Wait, maybe my shimmering highlighter is working! “I mean it, Daphne. You deserve someone who appreciates all of you, clumsy kisses and all.”

You.

I want you.

I want that to be you.

“Maybe I’ll get a second chance at a first kiss.”

“I hope you do.” The air thickens with tension, a charge neither of us can seem to defuse. He clears his throat and laughs awkwardly. “All right, my turn. Never have I ever stayed up all night talking to someone.”

My mouth drops open. “That’s a low blow; you know my knitathons go all night!”

“Rules are rules.” He shrugs, handing me a carrot, letting his fingers brush against my knuckles. I chew and think of my next question.

“Never have I ever seen the northern lights.”

Neither of us chomps on a movie snack. “Want to add that to your Yes Year adventures?”

“I wish! Maybe after my retreat, we could take a trip. You know, if you can pencil me in.”

He inches closer, like a slow-motion wade through a pool. “I don’t see why not.”

It’d take someone special for me to make time for them. His voice rings in my ears. I’m special.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, draping my legs over his. Our faces are so close, I’d settle for an Eskimo kiss at this point.

His fingers rub along my thighs, his eyes scanning my body until a spark lights up behind them.

“Never have I ever been…tied up,” he says, voice low and teasing.

“Excuse me?” I cough. My mouth goes dry.

“All tied up . ” He tilts his chin downward to my shirt that reads, All Tied Up , with yarn threading through the letters.

I brush him off. “It’s just a knitting pun.”

“Knitting pun, huh?”

“Yes!” I laugh, nudging his firm shoulder hard enough that his golden hoop shakes.

It’s getting unbearably hot. His eyes seem darker, more intense. Cameron leans in, his breath warm on my skin. “I don’t believe you,” he whispers, sending a shiver down my spine. “I think you like the idea of being tied up, just a bit.”

Do I? Maybe with the right person. “Sounds like you’re more into that idea.”

“Never tried it. Maybe with the right person.”

Oh gosh. He can see right into my brain, can’t he? “All right, uh, never have I ever…broken a bone,” I say. He eats another gummy. His jaw moves, and his scruff is doing things to me that should be illegal. “So, does this mean I get the story of how you broke your nose?”

“The first time?”

“How many times were there?” I squint, leaning in to inspect his nose. It bends slightly in the center, the bridge fitting perfectly between his brows like it was designed to be there.

“Three,” he admits. “And then there are the finger fractures. Most were minor, but this one…” He holds out his left hand, showing off a rather crooked pinky. “This one never quite recovered.”

I trace over his rough skin before interlocking our fingers. “I love your hands,” I whisper. “I mean, like, they’re so strong. You can see your work in them. All of that saving and stuff.” Heat floods up my spine “I like your nose too.”

He watches me as I lift my free hand to his face, running it along the bridge of his nose and stopping at the tip.

“You do?” he breathes heavily, looking at me from under dark lashes. He grasps my hand tighter, massaging my palm with his thumb.

“Yeah. It gives you character. And I’m really into characters.”

I continue my exploratory touches along his face, traipsing up to his brow, tracing the strong lines of his jaw. My pulse is frenzied as I run along the fade on the back of his neck.

Cameron leans into me. Our game has shifted to How Much Can You Take? He tugs me closer, his lips hovering teasingly over mine.

“So, what else do you like about me?” His voice is a tantalizing purr.

The pad of my thumb traces over his pierced ear. My nerves thunderbolt as if I’ve touched a live wire. I map a path to his jaw, savoring the delicious roughness of his stubble.

“The things I’m discovering through this Never Have I Ever game,” I admit. “Your turn.”

“Never have I ever…” His gaze roams over me with a slow intensity. “Had an ankle chain between my teeth.”

Neither of us grabs a snack. I raise an eyebrow and remove my hands from him. “You’re sure you didn’t do that the night we were together?”

“I’d remember that.”

On my ankle, my little seashell chain dangles innocently. Cameron stares at it like gears are turning in his head.

“Well, I have an easy fix,” I casually suggest, uncurling my leg.

In one swift move, he grips my calf, warmly and confidently. His touch is hot. I fall back into the couch corner as he plants a slow path of kisses along my calf. His scruff grazes my skin, each bristle a tantalizing spark.

When he reaches the chain, my brain turns to mush. The moment stretches like taffy. His tongue glides over the metal in a deliberate, lazy motion. His eyes bore into me, promising everything we’ve been and could be.

Call a doctor, because I’ve officially flatlined.

“I—I guess you have to eat a gummy for that one.” My voice trembles.

“Totally worth it.” He drops my leg, giving it one last lingering glance. Then he grabs a gummy and bites it in half. Please sink those teeth into me! my brain screams.

“About that night…” I hesitate. Be confident, Daphne! I’ve kissed him once. I can do it again. “When you said you hadn’t stopped thinking about it, what did you mean?”

Instead of Soccer for Dummies , I should’ve grabbed Flirting with Gorgeous Men for the Clueless .

That familiar crease above his nose reappears. “It felt easy being with you.”

“In what way?”

“I’ve never been with someone who—” His focus zeros in on me. “Complimented me so much. It was a huge turn-on. I loved how vocal you were about what you liked. You were sexy.”

Cute, adorable, sweet—those are my usual labels. Sexy? Only with Cameron. My insides melt.

“Oh, good,” I croak. “You used your mouth well too.” Did I just say that? “I mean, your words were nice.” My senses spin.

“Have you been thinking about it?” he asks.

Pfft , have I thought about it? Only in my bed, in the shower, anytime I’m in his car. When he looks at me or flirts. Or when he laughs, like he’s still getting used to the idea of joy.

“Sometimes,” I say. Our bodies sway closer, like magnets with a mind of their own. “Never have I ever…fantasized about a friend of mine in a very unfriendly way.”

Cameron hesitates, eyes darting to the gummy bowl. Slowly, deliberately, he picks one up and pops it into his mouth. My heart somersaults. I reach for a carrot and take a bite.

“Never have I ever wanted to ditch my no-soccer-players rule,” he says, his tone dead serious.

“Don’t you know by now, Goose? In our world, it’s called football.”

I reach for the coffee table, but Cameron’s hand intercepts mine. He grips my jaw, bringing his mouth close, hovering over the spot he kissed on his birthday but not making contact.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” His lips brush against mine, tentative and teasing. A jolt of heat shoots through me.

More. I need more. My eyelashes flutter closed, and it’s like Cameron really can read my mind because he kisses me.

The world stops.

It’s slow at first, almost as if we’re both afraid to break the spell. But then he’s climbing over me, his warm, solid body pressing into mine as his hand moves to the back of my neck, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. It’s like a dam has burst, and all the pent-up desire and tension between us floods out, drowning us both.

I gasp against his mouth, and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue past my lips, exploring, tasting. I melt into him, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt. My absolute favorite. He groans, a deep, primal sound that sends heat pooling low in my belly.

His breath is hot against my lips. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful.”

“And you,” I breathe. “You make me feel so alive.”

Our kisses become urgent and desperate, like we can’t get enough of each other. His hands slide under my shirt, brushing my skin, and I shiver. I tug at his shirt, pulling it over his head, and he does the same to mine.

“I’ve never stopped thinking about you.” His voice is raw with emotion. “Every time I’m around you, I lose my goddamn mind.”

“Cameron.”

“Your sweaters and your punny shirts make me fucking crazy,” he says as he peppers hot kisses along my neck and collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts. “I’ve thought about you in ways I can’t even begin to explain. Every laugh, every sigh, every little sound you make—it’s been living rent-free in my mind since that first night. I’ve thought about you in ways that would make you blush.” He nibbles on my earlobe and licks down my throat. I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I’ve dreamed about you, Daphne. About us. About what it would be like to finally have you again.”

He says the words I’ve kept locked up for months. His athletic body is a marvel under my hands—every muscle is taut and defined. Around him, I’m safe, beautiful, and sexy.

“Tell me. Tell me everything,” I plead.

The undeniable stiffness in his jeans grows. “Late at night, when it’s just me and the sound of you through the wall, I let my mind wander. I’ve pictured you in my arms, imagined your skin against mine, and tasted your lips. I think about you in the shower, imagine you there with me, your purple waves drenched. I watch your livestreams just to hear your voice. I’ve even—” He pauses, his voice husky. “I’ve even touched myself thinking about you.”

No more waiting. I need him. I unzip his jeans. “You have no idea what you do to me,” I groan while he devours my neck again. “I’ve thought about you too, Cameron. Every day, every night. I’ve wanted to kiss you since your birthday. Maybe even before that.”

His hands are everywhere, but it’s not enough. I need more. I arch against him.

“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 the Stone Times posted 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?

“Okay,” I say, my voice quavering. I search for reassurance, but all I see is the widening gap between us.

Cameron picks up the blanket and wraps it around me, his touch gentle but distant. He pulls me onto the couch next to him, but now there’s a space between us that feels like a chasm. Unspoken truths and hidden fears press down.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of it.”

His words spin in my mind, tangling with Bea’s comments about the relentless media attention. The reality crashes down: what we have is no longer just ours. It’s out there, exposed to the world.

I try to grasp what he’s saying, but the realization hits me: this isn’t okay.