Page 18 of Sweeper
“Yeah, they’re good guys,” he replies, grabbing a bag of kale and tossing it into his trolley. “I knew them back in the States, so it feels like having a piece of home with me.”
“You know all of Bethnal Green thinks Vaughn Harris is mental for recruiting three Americans, right?”
Zander winces. “I got that impression at the press conference I had to do. The team wasn’t overly warm to us at the match yesterday either, but I fully intend on winning them over.”
“I bet you do.” I smile as my eyes dip down to his groceries. “God, what are you putting in your trolley?”
“Trolley?” Zander frowns in confusion.
“This,” I reply, grabbing the metal trolley he’s been pushing around. “What do Americans call this?”
“A grocery cart, which makes way more sense.”
“God, that is so obvious. Americans call things so literal over there.”
“Well, at least then we know what we’re getting. Like this.” He pauses as he picks up a bag of greens from the cooler he’s standing next to. “What the hell is rocket? In the US, this is called arugula, so you know you’re not getting a spaceship.”
I bark out a laugh. “We were here first, remember?” I repeat the words he said to me at the pub when we first met, and a peculiar look flashes across his face.
He shakes it off quickly and yanks my trolley over to him. “Look at what you have in your cart…all sugar.”
“I like my sweets!” I defend, staring down at a trolley full of biscuits and baking items I was running low on. “And I watch my two nieces a lot, and they love to make my chocolate chip cookies.”
“And you actually eat all that junk?”
“Yes.”
“Where does it all go?” His eyes wander down my body as a slow smirk forms on his lips. My body heats the longer he stares, and I hate how much he affects me.
Clearing my throat to break the moment, I reply brazenly, “In my mouth.”
Mirth dances across his features. “Do you even work out?”
“I have a gym membership that I remember to use once in a while.” I wince knowingly.
He presses his lips together and nods. “Well, I’ll forgive your bad eating habits if you know how to make oatmeal raisin cookies.”
“What is so special about oatmeal raisin?”
“It’s my thing,” he shrugs casually. “Nearly every athlete I know has a thing. For example, Knight said he eats a blade of grass from every field he plays on before the match starts. Link does this weird hopping on his left foot three times before he walks onto the pitch. He swears it makes his left foot stronger for the match. So stupid.”
“And oatmeal raisin is smart?” I ask, shooting him a cheeky look.
“I only eat one after a win. That’s my superstition because oatmeal raisin is a delicious and nutritious reward for a job well done. It has oats and fruit in it…chocolate chip cookies are pure sugar.”
“My God, you have an answer for everything,” I state, shaking my head. “Are you always like this?”
“Yes,” he laughs to himself. “My dad used to tell me once my soccer career is over, I should go into sports broadcasting because I can color commentate my way through a funeral.”
“He sounds like a smart man, maybe a bit dark,” I reply with a laugh and expect Zander to laugh with me, but he doesn’t. In fact, his mood has visibly shifted in the blink of an eye. “Did I say something?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. You’re good. You ready to check out?”
“Sure, I can be ready.” I frown curiously at him. We make our way to the checkout counters, and that light-hearted boy who was here only seconds ago has been replaced by a pensive, brooding, distracted man.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask as we load our items onto the conveyor.
“They aren’t worth a penny,” he replies softly.
