Page 30 of Full Tilt (Love The Game #4)

Brent

The photo of me leaning inside Cam’s car and kissing him has been printed in a couple of less reputable tabloids and pages on social media.

Cam told me there were some of the same paps hanging around the stadium after training, but since he’s not given them anything to photograph, let alone a usable quote, interest seems to have dwindled.

Thank fuck.

I’ve got no issue with the spotlight—I can handle a camera flash without flinching—but I’d much prefer not to be reduced to clickbait. Especially if I’m being painted as the reason Captain Camden Crawford’s been “off his game.”

Which… I’m not. (And if I am, it’s in a “he’s well laid and emotionally supported” kind of way.)

It’s been a weird week. Good weird. Cam’s opened up more. I’ve slept over a few nights. We’ve had real, actual conversations about things like future games and summer plans. We’ve even gone grocery shopping together like a couple of domestic boyfriends. (He takes cereal choices very seriously.)

So yeah. Things are progressing.

And now comes the fun part: telling my family.

Cam had been quiet at first when I’d brought it up.

Understandable. He’s a private guy, and after the media bullshit, he’d looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole anytime someone even mentioned the word relationship .

But when I reminded him that my family were not the media—and also not entirely unfamiliar with him—he’d relented.

I think what pushed him over the edge was the idea that if anything did leak further, the last thing either of us wanted was for my family to hear it from a gossip site.

It was about respect, about not letting strangers shape the narrative before we had a chance to speak for ourselves.

He nodded slowly after that, even mentioned that he’d probably have to do the same soon with his folks, and though I didn’t press him, the fact that he said it out loud felt like something quietly significant.

Like he was starting to believe that this— we —might be worth acknowledging beyond just the walls of his flat.

Which is why we’re here now: sprawled on his couch two nights before his next match, our knees brushing, the TV playing something neither of us are watching, and my hand hovering over my phone like it’s about to explode.

Cam eyes me from beneath his lashes. “You’re gonna regret this.”

“I already do.”

He hides his face in the throw pillow. “Cosmo is going to be unhinged.”

“That’s the problem. I know.”

That Cosmo previously attempted to play matchmaker when he realised Cam lived in Exeter…

yeah, you can imagine. Not only did he blow up Cam’s phone in their Love the Game group, but later that day, he sent me a meme that said “when your gaydar and Cupid have a threesome” and then another of a clown putting on makeup—captioned “me trying to act normal after setting up my brother with his future husband.”

I’d ignored it all. Especially since, at the time, Cam had already been on the edge of overwhelmed.

And I definitely hadn’t told Cosmo that the guy he was shipping me with was the same guy I briefly mentioned had kissed me before ghosting me.

And I definitely didn’t tell him I’d already been getting hot and dirty with him either.

So now? Now, it’s chaos just waiting to happen.

I shoot Cosmo a text.

Me: Hey. Got a sec?

His response comes in milliseconds.

Cosmo: Is someone dying? Am *I* dying?? Why do you sound ominous?

I groan and scrub a hand down my face.

Cam, lounging on the other end of the sofa, raises a brow. “He’s going to combust.”

“Yep.”

I hit Call.

He picks up on the second ring, breathless and dramatic as ever. “What’s wrong? Is it Mum? Is it you? Are you dying? Did you finally get that bad tattoo you always threatened me with in college?”

“Jesus, Cos. No one’s dying.”

He exhales—loudly. “Then what is it? You’re being weird. You never ask to call. This has ‘emotional reveal’ energy all over it. If you tell me you adopted a duck, I swear to God?—”

“I’m seeing someone.”

Silence. One full beat of it before he all but shouts, “Oh my God.”

On the couch, Cam stiffens slightly. I give him a tiny, reassuring glance.

“Is this a good oh-my-God or a ‘should I hang up’ oh-my-God?” I ask. Honestly, at this point, I’m looking for any excuse to end this call.

“It’s a ‘why are you keeping secrets from me, you bastard’ oh-my-God,” Cosmo blurts. “Who is it? Do I know them? Is it serious? Are they hot? It’s serious, isn’t it. Oh my God. Who is it?”

I roll my eyes. He knows I’m in England, yet he asks if he knows them. Technically, he does, but I swear Cosmo takes drama queen to a whole new level. I hesitate. “You’ve met him, technically.”

A pause. Then Cosmo gasps. Loudly. “It’s not—wait. No. It’s not Camden Crawford. As in Camden ‘stealth-sexy’ Crawford? Exeter rugby guy? Tall, hot, and emotionally mysterious? That Camden?”

Cam groans. I shoot him an apologetic look.

Cosmo continues, breathless: “Are you kidding me? I knew there’d be chemistry. When I met him last year, I was like—yep. Big quiet vibes. Needs someone with excellent eyebrows and horizontal energy. Which, hello, that’s you.”

“Cosmo,” I say slowly, “he’s literally here.”

There’s a beat before the asshole cackles. “Oh my God. I knew it. I knew it! I fixed you up, didn’t I? I told you he was hot and broody and obviously your type.”

I glance at Cam, who’s shaking his head like he regrets everything about this moment.

I sigh. “Actually… we met about a month ago.”

Cosmo goes silent. Suspiciously silent. “ Wait . What?”

“I was already seeing him when you went full chaos matchmaker. We just didn’t say anything. I’ll be working on a sleeve for him next month.”

Cosmo lets out an offended gasp so sharp I instinctively check the phone’s volume. “ Excuse me? Are you saying my matchmaking had nothing to do with this? Nothing? I feel betrayed, Brent. I gifted you a destiny, and you just… sidestepped it?”

“I didn’t sidestep it,” I say, trying not to laugh. “You just came in halfway through.”

“You’re telling me,” he huffs, “that you, on your own, bagged Camden Crawford without my expert meddling? I call blasphemy.”

Cam snorts under his breath. I glare at the ceiling.

“And just so we’re clear,” Cosmo continues, “I still get to be best man. Dibs. You heard it. It’s binding.”

“We’re not getting married.”

“Not with that attitude,” he says primly. Then in the background, there’s a muffled voice. “Ugh. Gotta go, my group just got called. We’re doing goat yoga.”

“Of course you are.”

“Say hi to Camden for me! Don’t let him ghost you or get emotional constipation. And tell him I want photos.”

The line goes dead before I can respond. I lower the phone slowly.

Cam raises an eyebrow. “Goat yoga?”

I nod. “It’s best if you don’t ask.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head again. “Your family’s terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly lovable,” I correct, already regretting everything that just happened. And still kind of smiling anyway.

He leans in and kisses me. It’s short and sweet, but still enough to get my dick interested. Before I can cling on to him and reposition myself on his thighs, he chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ve got an early start.”

I bob my head, already knowing that over the next couple of days, he needs to be rested and focused for his next game. “No worries.” I peck his lips and lift my ass off the couch. His hand on my thigh stops me. “Okay?” I tilt my head and roam my gaze over his face.

A tentative, almost hesitant smile tilts his lips. “You don’t have to go.”

My heart flips over a little. It’s not like I haven’t stayed over before, but him needing an early night and plenty of sleep means he wants me here for me, not just for company, right?

I nod, the corner of my mouth tugging up. “Then I’ll stay.”

The smile he gives in return isn’t flashy or wide—it’s small, quiet, honest. One of my favourites.

He squeezes my thigh before rising and stretching with a grunt, his T-shirt lifting just enough to tease a slice of skin at his waist. “You coming?”

I stand, following him down the hallway, flicking off the lights behind us.

By the time I reach the bedroom, he’s already toeing off his joggers and tossing his shirt in the general direction of the hamper.

The lamps are on, casting a soft golden hue over everything, and he moves like someone who’s bone-deep tired.

“Want anything before bed?” I ask, pausing near the en suite. “Tea? Neck rub? Interpretive dance?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “No dance. But I wouldn’t say no to the neck rub.”

“Filed away for future use,” I promise.

We brush our teeth together, bumping elbows over the sink like we’ve done it a hundred times before, and somehow that domesticity just about kills me.

I’m half convinced I’ll combust if he reaches for me now—but he doesn’t.

He finishes up, gives me a lazy smile in the mirror, then heads back to the bed.

I flick off the bathroom light and join him. The mattress dips under my weight as I slide in behind him, and he’s already pulling the duvet up when I do something that makes both of us still. I snuggle in. Not kind of. Not subtly. Like, full-on spooning.

Cam stiffens for a moment like I’ve short-circuited him, then huffs out an incredulous breath. “You’re the little one.”

“I’m the limpet now,” I mutter, already arranging myself around the solid curve of his back. “Ssh. Accept it.”

He laughs again, breathier this time, but doesn’t push me away, doesn’t make a joke.

He just… settles. I loop my arm around his middle and nudge my nose against the back of his neck, the neck rub he wanted forgotten.

His hair smells like that cedar shampoo I swiped last week and never gave back.

He sighs into the pillow—deep and slow—and it tugs at something behind my ribs.

“Cam?”

“Mm?”

“Just ignore my dick. It’s excited about proximity. Doesn’t mean I’m making a move.”