Page 8 of Sweeper
She deadpans that last bit, and I can’t fight the smile that spreads across my face. Ducky is no jersey chaser. She’s a jersey-wearer…and those chicks are the holy grail of hot girls. I’m not mad at this realization. Not mad at all.
My mind begins to wander again, and I tell myself that she smells like beer and fryer oil, as if somehow that will lessen her appeal. It doesn’t. I’d still easily fuck her. Especially now that I know she likes soccer. An image of her naked in nothing but my jersey invades my thoughts.
Daphney clears her throat, and I wince when it looks like she quite possibly read my dirty mind. “Anyway, there’s a folder in the kitchen with where to take your rubbish, takeaway menus, a map with places of interest nearby, and a number for maintenance in case you need it.”
I could use some naked maintenance right about now. It was a long damn flight, and it’s been a beat since I’ve had a girl in my bed. I jam my hands into my pockets and try not to sound too obvious when I ask, “Where’s your apartment?”
Her cheeks turn a rosy hue as she points at the wall holding the television. “Myflatis on the other side of that wall.”
My eyes widen when I think about how truly close we are to each other. “Well, howdy neighbor.” I flinch at the creepy tone in my voice.
She fights back a laugh as she turns to walk away. “I’ll let you get unpacked. Oh…the boxes you had sent are in the wardrobe on the other side of your bed. Wardrobe means closet in case you didn’t know English.” She shoots me a wink, and I smile in appreciation.
“Okay, thanks. For everything. Really. The apartment is awesome, and I assume you had a hand in it, so I appreciate it.” She has no idea what a relief this is to me.
She nods, seemingly pleased by my gratitude. “I’m glad you like it.”
She begins to open the door, and I follow her, desperation blooming in my chest because I kind of wish she’d stay and keep me company while I unpacked. Not just because I want to fuck her…because clearly, I do. But because it’s been a hell of a year. My dad died, I found a messed-up letter that turned my whole life upside down, I’m barely speaking to my mom, and I’m in a new country starting with a new team that I may or may not have a genetic connection to.
It’s been a year.
And the past hour I’ve spent embarrassing myself in front of Daphney has been like a breath of fresh air that I don’t want to end. It’s not loneliness I’m feeling. I was an only child my whole life, so spending time on my own was a regular occurrence. It’s just been so long since my brain has been able to focus on anything other than my messed-up life.
I lift my hat and run a nervous hand through my hair as I step out into the hallway and watch Daphney head to her own door. “I’m actually pretty likeable once you get to know me.”
She shoots me a rueful smile. “Good for you.”
“Seriously. And if you don’t like me, I’m pretty much a golden retriever. Very trainable.” I stick my tongue out and pant like a dog.
Her adorable nose wrinkles. “I’m more of a cat person.”
My face distorts at that horrifying thought, but I quickly shift gears. “Well, maybe envision me like a nice fat cat who doesn’t bother anybody…just likes to sit around and eat pu—” My voice cuts out as I realize that I was about to make a really disgusting joke about eating pussy. “Bad joke,” I confess, hoping she didn’t hear me.
Her eyes go wide as a smile ghosts her lips. “Get some rest, Soccer Boy. British football is no laughing matter.”
When I’m back in my own apartment, I thump my forehead against the door. If this was a soccer match, it’d be Daphney: one, Zander: nil.
Zander
Istruggle to hear my alarm the next morning, hitting the snooze button more times than I’d like. My head is a foggy mess of exhaustion, confusion, and jet lag. The sun hasn’t even risen yet as I stumble through my apartment, ripping open boxes in search of the workout gear I need for my first day at Tower Park. Today, they want to do a simple medical exam. It’s a little weird because I’d already completed a full physical a few weeks ago with a doctor they sent over, but I guess Bethnal Green likes to complete one in person before the endurance training this afternoon. I better find the will to live because if I’m feeling this shitty, who knows what my test results might say?
Thankfully, the steamer shower helps me feel mildly more human, and by the time I’m dressed and stuffing soccer gear into my gym bag, I hear a firm knock on my door. I shuffle over to the foyer and open it, hoping to see my sexy neighbor with coffee and donuts because that’d be a great way to start my day, but instead, I come face-to-face with a tall, suited man who looks to be in his late thirties.
The guy’s eyes zero in on my face, and his voice is a gruff whisper when he says, “Well fuck.”
“Excuse me?” My hand itches to close the door in this weirdo’s face.
The guy shakes his head, ruffling his black hair as he clears his throat. “Sorry, erm…I’m Santino Rossi, Bethnal Green football club’s lawyer.”
He reaches out his hand, and I shake it dubiously and then recall Hayden Clarke mentioning that he might stop by. “Oh yeah. You needed me to sign something?”
Santino nods, his brows furrowed as he gapes at me for longer than feels necessary. “Yes, that’s right. Do you mind if I come in?”
I step back, gesturing for him to enter. “Sorry about the mess. I literally just arrived last night, and well…” I stare at the boxes strewn all over. “I clearly have some unpacking to do.”
Santino nods again, his eyes not lingering on the mess but on me. “Sorry for staring…you just look like someone I know.”
“Do I?” I grip the back of my neck and wonder if all British lawyers are this creepy.
