Page 17 of Sweeper
I walk over to my kitchen counter to grab my handbag and keys before heading toward the door. I pause when I see Zander isn’t following me.
“So, this is your place?” he asks, looking at my tiny flat curiously.
“Yes.” I take in my space to try to discern what sort of impression he’d be taking away. It’s a great deal smaller than his, for sure. My unmade bed is pressed up against the wall on the right, and my black sofa sits at the foot of it smack dab in the middle of the entire studio space. I don’t have the twenty-foot ceilings like he does because of the misshapen building, so it’s much cozier, made even more so by the warm twinkle lights strung up along the walls. Zander could probably cross my flat in six large steps if he wanted to, but I still love my little flat.
My voice is teasing when I add, “I realize my entire studio is about the size of your sleeping area next door, but unfortunately, I didn’t land a great football contract.”
Zander shoots me his crooked smile as he walks over to my small piano keyboard that sits in front of the window. He hits a couple of notes and fills the room with dissonance. His gaze shifts to the corner.
“So you weren’t just playing music on a speaker yesterday.” He points at the giant structure that takes up a large portion of my limited floor space. “What is that?”
“It’s a sound booth,” I reply, my nerves prickling over him touching all my stuff.
“I take it you’re a big-time musician?” Zander walks over to where my guitar rests in its stand. He strums it mindlessly, and I cringe at how out of tune it sounds.
“Not big time,” I tut because I hate talking about what I do. People tend to glamorize the fact that I make music. They instantly think of me performing on a stage or going viral as an artist on TikTok. What I do is like the fast food of the music industry, so I’d just prefer not to talk about it.
“I see a sound booth, a keyboard, and a guitar. Plus, loads of recording equipment in that booth that look way too high tech for you not to be big time.”
“Perhaps I’m a musical hoarder.” I push my hands into my pockets, hating how awkward I feel being the center of attention.
“Bullshit,” he replies with a laugh. “Are you famous or something?” His eyes are fixed on me with genuine curiosity. “Is there a Ducky playlist out there on Spotify I should be downloading right now?”
“If there was, it’s doubtful I’d be working at the pub across the street,” I respond firmly, my tummy swirling at the unpleasant memory incited by the word “Spotify.” I tuck those dark thoughts away and pin Zander with a serious expression. “And if there was, I assure you that it wouldn’t be under the name Ducky.” I roll my eyes at the nickname, grateful that just the sound of it lightens my mood. “I record commercial tracks. Boring promo video-type music. Stuff you hear on adverts, documentaries, training videos. It’s really no big deal.”
Zander nods as he steps inside my booth and glances around. “This booth looks like a very big deal. Did you build it yourself?”
“My brother Theo made it for me. He designs custom furniture in a shop nearby, so he’s quite handy. Can we please go? I have a dinner later that I don’t want to be late for.” I move to stand by my open door, feeling strangely unnerved by Soccer Boy being all tall and big in my flat.
“Have a hot date?” Zander walks toward me, his brows lifted with genuine interest.
I narrow my eyes on him. “Why would that be any of your business?”
“Just trying to be neighborly.” A wounded look crosses his face as we walk into the hallway, and I feel slightly guilty for being such a bitch.
“It’s just a family thing.” I pause in front of his door when I see his rubbish bag sitting there, looking…well…like rubbish. I point at it, a sheepish look crossing my face. “I really hate being a nag, but you can’t leave your rubbish in the hallway. A mouse got in the building a few months ago and nearly gave Miss Kitchems a heart attack. We had a pest problem for ages after that.”
Zander exhales and shakes his head as he picks up his bag. “The bad neighbor strikes again.”
I grimace as I follow him down the stairs. I really hate being such a bitch, but maybe it’s better this way. If I’m bitchy, he’ll be too irritated to flirt with me, and I won’t have to try so hard to resist his annoying charm.
“Congrats on the win yesterday, by the way,” I say, bumping my trolley into Zander’s as I find him in the produce section. We’ve been shopping for over thirty minutes, and every time I spot him in an aisle, I swear, it’s like he’s reading all the food labels as if they’re in a foreign language.
He returns a turnip to the display case and lifts his brows. “Did you watch the match?”
“It was on at the pub while I was working, so I caught bits and pieces.”
He falls into step beside me and nods. “I can’t take much credit for the W. I was too busy riding the pine pony.”
“Sorry?” I frown at him in confusion.
“It means sitting on the bench. Read a book or something, Ducky.” The flirtatious wink he shoots me sends a zing of electricity right through my body.
“We’re still in England last I checked,” I smart back and then realize I’m smiling stupidly up at him in a supermarket, and I shouldnotbe doing that.
I turn my attention back to my groceries as Zander adds, “We start training with the team tomorrow, so that’s when we have to start proving ourselves, I guess.” A nervous look flits across his face, but he tries to hide it with a forced smile.
“Knight and Link are the two other American recruits, right?” I ask, watching him curiously.
