Page 45 of Sweeper
“No one likes a pigsty,” I deadpan, totally immune to his charms for once and annoyed that Phoebe didn’t give me any time tonight to clean up before she dragged me over to the pub. My saving grace was that we would hook up in Zander’s far superior flat, but of course, his pushy-arse isn’t easily persuaded.
Zander pulls back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Just let me come inside.”
My brows lift at that double entendre, and I cringe when I’m pretty sure he just read my dirty mind. With a growl of acceptance, I unlock my door and let him into the chaos. What do I have to impress him for? It’s not like this is a relationship.
“Just don’t look too closely,” I call over my shoulder as I flick on my twinkle lights that wrap around my living area and cast the flat in dim lighting. I shuffle into my dark kitchen to quickly toss all the baking dishes into my sink and corral all the items I left out earlier. Housekeeping has never been my forte. And my nieces are wild little beasts when they come over. I don’t even think they like baking all that much, but I do it with them so they stay out of my living room and away from my music equipment.
I find the small dish with the item I have for Zander and turn to see he’s watching me from the entry of my kitchen with an amused look on his face. “Don’t make fun of me, or you won’t get this present.”
His face goes serious. “It’s a present?”
I grip the plastic dish nervously in my hands. “I can’t promise it’s as good as your mum’s because I’ve never made oatmeal raisin in my life, and the girls said the raisins look like sheep poo, but I assure you, they’re not.”
I thrust the container that houses one oatmeal raisin cookie toward him. The cookie is resting on top of a neon green piece of tissue paper and the girls decorated a small card that says, “Great Game, Soccer Boy” but they ended up scribbling over the top of my text, so I’m not sure he can even read it anymore.
Zander holds the container up to his eye level as he stares at the cookie with an unreadable expression on his face.
“The mess should tell you it’s homemade, so hopefully, you can ‘taste the love and shit.’” I laugh nervously because I don’t know what he’s thinking. Surely, he understands the love and shit comment was a joke. I was just repeating what he’d said earlier about his mum’s cookies. I don’t even talk like that. It’s a very American-sounding phrase, but the longer he goes without talking, the more I fear he thinks I’m a level-ten stalker and trying to make him my boyfriend!
Finally, his eyes flicker from the cookie. “You made me a cookie?”
“Yes, but thelove and shitthing was a joke,” I stammer nervously. “In fact, that cookie was made with a fair amount of frustration and probably plenty of germs. I made Marisa and Rocky wash their hands, but you know little kids. They’re really disgusting, and their hands always seem permanently covered in jam. You know what…on second thought…maybe take a pass on the cookie. We don’t need Bethnal Green’s new star defender feeling poorly from a dodgy cookie.”
I reach for the container, but Zander pulls it out of my reach, causing me to stumble into him. He wraps his free arm around me as a giant smile spreads across his face. “You made me a cookie.”
His awestruck expression causes butterflies to erupt in my belly. I bite my lip, feeling strangely giddy at how pleased I’ve made him. Inhaling a cleansing breath, I narrow my eyes. “I also asked to have casual sex with you, and it doesn’t seem like that was a good idea either.”
His shoulders shake with silent laughter as he releases me to pull the cookie out of the container. He takes a massive bite, making a big show of moaning around every single morsel. I hate that I love watching this.
He mumbles around a mouthful, “A true triumph.”
“Don’t be an arse.” I roll my eyes and swat at him.
He licks his lips and swallows, his face growing thoughtful for a moment. “No girl has ever made me cookies before.”
I quirk a brow. “Your mother is most likely a girl.”
“You know what I mean.” His eyes sweep over my face, and a warmness creeps up inside me at the look in his eye.
“You’re welcome.” A sheepish smile spreads across my face. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
He shoots me a cocky smirk. “Too late.”
Zander
Daphney pours me a glass of water, and the entire time I watch her moving around her messy kitchen, making excuses for the clutter, I can’t help but think this situation is fucking perfect. We’re neighbors, she doesn’t like me, and she still wants to have sex with me.
I just scored the best goal of my life. That brings our score up to Zander: two, Daphney: one.
Knowing I need to make a move before she comes up with some ridiculous reason to call this whole thing off, I toss my hat on the counter along with the cookie container. I position myself behind Daphney at the sink and snake my hands around her hips. She inhales a sharp breath as I turn her around, so her ass is pressed up against the counter and our bodies are flush.
“Do I get my second present now?” My gaze dances from her full lips to her sparkling eyes, unsure which I want to stare at more.
Her voice is raspy when she replies, “What present are you referring to exactly?”
I fight back a smile as I circle my thumbs over her hip bones and watch a flush crawl across her cheeks. “Oh, what did you call it again? Casual relations?”
She covers her face with her hands. “That sounds just as bad as the first time I said it.”
