Page 33 of Sweeper
Phoebe: You know what they say helps with creativity?
Me: Hard drugs?
Phoebe: Sex, Daph…which might be a bit easier to locate than hard drugs. I know a naughty neighbor who would probably be all too willing to provide you such a service at a much cheaper rate than a drug dealer.
Just the mention of Zander causes my entire body to heat. Ever since I saw him readingBridget Jones’s Diary, my disposition to him has shifted. It humanized him or something. Made him a lot less wanker and a lot more adorable boy next door. And while I know there’s a mile-long list of reasons I should stay far, far away, I can’t help but admit that I was excited when I saw he was the one with the plumbing issue the other night. I mean, he’s a sexy footballer who’s my neighbor. A girl can only deny an attraction for so long.
Me: Do you really think I can pull off a one-night stand with him, Phoebe? He’s my neighbor, so it could be awkward. Plus, I’m a relationship girl. Always have been.
Phoebe: People change, Daph. I’m a romance narrator now! No one saw that coming.
Me: Fair point.
Phoebe: Plus, it’s only awkward if you let it be. And you won’t know if you don’t try. You need a rebound to get back to your old self. Just see what happens when you let yourself have a little fun.
Me: Easier said than done.
Phoebe: I have the utmost faith in you, Daph. XX
I laugh and slip my mobile into my pocket as I climb the three levels to my floor. It’s late Sunday evening, and I feel a bit defeated after a wasted weekend at my parents’ home. I thought going back to Essex where I wrote tons of songs in my youth would remind me that I’m capable of this.
Unfortunately, the trip inspired too much of my youth because I ended up writing lyrics to something that had nothing to do with Tire Depot.Creativity is a fickle bitch. Maybe Phoebe’s right, and having a bit of fun would help?
When I hit the third floor, and my eyes catch sight of a mouse darting away from a rubbish bag sitting in front of Zander’s door, my hopeful outlook toward Soccer Boy plummets to the filthy ground below my feet.
Abandoning my suitcase in the hallway, I march over to Zander’s door and loudly pound on it. I don’t give a toss if he looked cute readingBridget Jones's Diaryat Old George or if his pecs looked ridiculously fit in that wet white T-shirt the other night. He’s just completely screwed up my week by bringing vermin into our building. God, I should have never let my guard down with him! You give dogs an inch, and they take a mile.
It takes ages for a sleepy-looking Zander to open his door. He’s dressed in a pair of low-slung gray loungers, and the angles of his hip bones jut out inhumanely, but I bury that ungodly image to a deep vortex in my body as I poke him hard in the chest, ignoring how firm he is.
“How many times have I told you that you can’t leave your rubbish in the hallway?” I seethe, my fists clenched tightly beside me.
“I was sleeping,” he mumbles, rubbing his fists over his dark-rimmed hazel eyes.
“I don’t care!” I exclaim, hating how cute he looks while I’m cross at him. I stamp my foot in frustration. “I saw a mouse in our hallway just now!”
“Set some traps. It’ll be fine. I’ll take it out in the morning.” He turns to close the door in my face, and I move my foot in its tracks.
How rude is he? “You’ll take it out now.”
Zander narrows his eyes on me. “Look, I know you take this building manager job very seriously, but unless there’s a damn zombie apocalypse out here, I can deal with this in the morning. I had a really rough weekend, and I need to crash.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself!” I let out a harsh growl as I bend over and pick up his bag. I turn to walk down the steps and feel a warm hand wrap tightly around my elbow and jerk me backward.
“You’re not taking out my trash.” Zander releases his hold on me, then reaches down to yank the rubbish out of my hand. His crinkled eyes look severe in the harsh hallway lighting as he bows over me with agitation billowing off his fit body.
“Try to stop me,” I snap, refusing to let go of the bag. “You clearly think you’re too good to take your own rubbish to the bin. And since I don’t fancy a mouse in my flat, I’ll have to bloody well do it myself!”
“Why can’t it wait until morning?” He yanks the bag out of my hand and grips the back of his neck as he takes a step back. My eyes are drawn to his bulging bicep and a small tattoo I never noticed before. His voice is flat when he adds, “I see other people leaving their trash bags in the hall overnight. Are you up their butts too?”
“I am hardly up your butt. And what a ridiculous phrase,” I scoff, annoyed at how gruff his tone is with me right now. This isn’t the type of Zander I’m used to. But that muscle in his jaw that’s moving angrily is really attractive.
“Oh please, Daphney. You’ve been so far up my ass since I arrived that you can probably talk for me by now. I can’t get away with anything over here. Meanwhile, you get to fuck random dudes as loud as you want all night long without a care in the world.”
“Fuck random dudes? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Friday night, the night before my first match that I got to start in, by the way, I heard you railing a guy next door. Woke me up four fucking times throughout the night. I didn’t think the guy had the stamina, but he proved me wrong. Please be sure to pass along my props to him. You sure know how to pick ’em.”
Flustered, I stare at him, trying to comprehend what he just rambled on about. “Wait…you started in the football match?” My chest tightens as I search his face for confirmation. I didn’t let myself watch because I needed to work, and I didn’t think there was a chance Zander would play after our conversation in the supermarket. If I’d known he was on the pitch, I would have flicked on the telly. “You actually started the football game? Zander, that’s brilliant!”
