Page 84 of Sweeper
I laugh at that very on-brand response from Phoebe. “But besides the shagging, we spent a lot of time together, lounging around my flat. I worked on some tracks for Commercial Notes, and he laid on my bed doing sudoku puzzles. Pretty much if we were both home, we were together. It was very strange.”
“A footballer doing sudoku is what’s strange. I need to see photographic evidence.”
“I snapped a cheeky picture of him actually. I’ll send it to you.” I cover my mouth and giggle along with Phoebe.
“So, does this mean I was right, and Daphney Clarke still isn’t capable of casual sex after all?”
I tsk softly. “You might be right.”
“Oh, bugger.”
“I know.”
“You fancy him as more than a shag then?”
“I do…” I hesitate before I add the last bit. “I think I’m falling for him, Pheebs.”
“Fuck me,” she harrumphs, leaving no room for interpretation.
“And I’m sure he’s not falling for me, so obviously I will be taking that fun fact to my grave.”
“I’ll kill you before I ever let you say it first.”
“Thanks for that.”
She pauses for a moment before asking, “Do you think he’s developing feelings too?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “He had a tough match yesterday and wanted to be alone last night. It kind of stung after the week we spent together, but he assured me he’d be good as new for the wedding tonight. I’m trying not to read into it too much. Footballer or not, I won’t wait around forever for him to figure out his feelings for me.”
“Bravo, mate.”
I nod firmly at my reflection in the mirror. After the whole Rex debacle, I thought coming to London would make me feel stronger and more independent. I thought I could reinvent myself and find a new path in life. But in reality, I’m going down the same path again. This time, the only difference is that it’s the path I’m choosing regardless of what any man might think. It feels good.
“I like Zander, and if it turns into something more? Great. If it doesn’t, I won’t let him crush me like I did Rex.”
“Good. Now…what are you wearing to this wedding today? You need to look gorgeous to bag this footballer.”
“The bride needs to look gorgeous,” I correct. “I need to look invisible, which is why I didn’t go out and buy anything fancy.”
“You should check your wardrobe,” Phoebe sing-songs. “I might have popped something in there when you were working last night.”
“A dress?” I exclaim, padding over to my armoire and yanking open the doors. “Oh, my God, it’s perfect.”
“Thank me later.”
I smile into the mobile. “I owe you big time…for more than just the dress.”
She scoffs. “You checked my breasts for lumps. I’d say we’re even.”
Zander
When I was a kid, my mom used to beg me to curl up in bed with her and watch girlie movies. Princess movies, teen romances, makeover flicks, dance films, a few musicals. I acted like I hated it. I’d roll my eyes and stalk into her room like she was asking me to give up my soul.
Confession: I fucking loved it.
We’d pig out on movie snacks, and she’d play with my hair. The storylines of these films always made me feel warm and gooey inside. And I appreciated the fact that I always knew how they would end. Happily ever after is wicked cheesy, but there’s a lot of comfort in no surprises.
In all of those films, there was always this moment my mom called “the look of love” moment. It’s when the two main characters have been denying their feelings for each other for the entire movie and then usually at some formal event, a charity, a ball, a school dance when we’re all on the edge of our seats, the girl walks down a giant staircase wearing a beautiful dress. The guy looks up and sees her…boom—the look of love.
