Page 79 of Sweeper
“Can I come?” Zander asks, surprising me.
“Yes,” I husk, my voice sounding so obvious that I want to slap some sense into myself.
“We’ll meet you there!” Phoebe calls back and grabs my arm, dragging me away from the one thing I want.
Zander
I’m seated at a picnic table in the beer garden of Old George. A smattering of my teammates is running around, celebrating tonight’s big win while I sit here drinking my beer in silence and trying my hardest not to eye-fuck the shit out of Daphney.
Adrenaline is still roaring in my veins. That game, the foul, that penalty kick at the end. I just scored my first Premier League goal during an FA Cup match, and it feels fucking amazing. And the fact that Daphney was in the stands and saw the whole thing?Fuck, I’m getting hard just thinking about it.
Why do I like the fact that she was there so fucking much? I’ve had girls at my games before. I always have a couple of tickets at will call for whoever I’m sleeping with at the time. But I’ve never looked up into the stands for a girl. I’ve never cared to impress one or sought out encouragement from a chick. All I’ve cared about is fucking them afterward.
Which is one hundred percent what I want to do with Daphney too.
But I also want to just bask in this feeling with her. Tonight was literally the most incredible moment of my entire soccer career, and I’m sitting in a crowded bar staring at her like a stalker because all I want to do is go back to her place and celebrate in private.
This is the clearest my mind has felt since I arrived in London. I’m not thinking about the DNA results. I’m not obsessing over that jealous twinge I felt when I saw Vaughn and Tanner embrace Camden on the sidelines after he scored. I’m not thinking about my mom or my dad.
I’m just thinking about Daphney and how she’s the best thing that could have happened to me here in London.
Phoebe snaps me out of my thoughts as she drops down onto the open bench beside me. She leans in close and yells over the live band, “You don’t want to be here, do you?”
I tear my gaze away from Daphney at the bar and take a drink of my beer. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re not talking to anyone,” she exclaims and nudges me playfully. “You’re not dancing. You’re not celebrating your big victory with your teammates at the bar. You’re just drinking your beer in the corner and staring at my best mate like you’ve seen her naked.”
I lift my brows and shrug. No sense in lying to Phoebe since she already knows the situation.
“You know she’s more than a piece of meat, right?” Phoebe says, pinning me with a serious look.
“I know.”
“But do you really?” She narrows her eyes at me. “Do you know how talented she is?”
“You mean her music?” I side-eye Phoebe as she nods back at me before adding, “Of course. I hear her through the walls every day. She’s awesome.”
Phoebe pauses for a moment, tapping her long fingernail on her glass. “Do you ever hear her sing any of her own music?”
I frown as I glance back at Daphney, who’s talking to some guy at the bar. “You mean the Tire Depot stuff?”
Phoebe shakes her head and laughs. “No, like her own original music. Not the stuff for the adverts.”
I pause as I process this comment. “She said she only does commercial stuff.”
“Now maybe.” Phoebe licks her lips thoughtfully. “But she has nearly an entire album worth of original music she’s recorded. At least a dozen songs. Really beautiful stuff. She’s poetic—like Sara Bareilles meets Adele.”
I clear my throat, feeling a little unnerved that I had no idea she possessed that kind of ability. I knew she was musical. She plays her instruments like they’re not even there. And her voice is obviously stunning. But why does she only do cheesy commercial stuff then?
“Has she ever tried to do anything with her songs?”
“You should ask her that.”
Phoebe takes a long drink, and I get the feeling she’s trying to stir the pot, and I should leave this alone. But I’m actually kind of annoyed that Daphney would hide this part of herself from me. For what? Why is it a secret? I flat-out asked her if she wrote her own stuff before, and she very clearly said no. Why would she lie about it?
“Am I interrupting?” Daphney asks, taking a seat across from me and waggling her eyebrows.
My interest is piqued, so I can’t stop the words that come from my mouth next. “Phoebe was just telling me about all these original songs you’ve recorded.”
