Page 23 of Sweeper
A grin spreads across my face. “Have you missed me, Ducky?”
Her blue eyes shimmer as she lifts her dark eyebrows. “No, but you’ve still definitely been missing your alarm.”
I grip the doorframe and can’t hide my smile. “But I’m getting better. I told you I’m like a retriever and very trainable.”
“And I told you I’m a cat person.” She hates me.
“I’m trying to forget that depressing fact.” I love her.
She thrusts the bag into my chest. “Here’s your food. It’s thirty quid.”
I take the bag and head nod behind me. “Come on in while I find my cash.”
I turn to head over to my backpack, and I can see Link and Knight’s eyes on Daphney.
“Hiya,” she says noncommittally.
“You’re the delivery girl?” Link asks, and I bristle as his tongue basically hangs out of his mouth while ogling Daphney.
“Among other things,” she replies, crossing her arms. “I live next door too.”
“The delivery girl and the neighbor. My God.” Link’s drooling now, and it’s annoying as fuck.
She frowns at him as I rush over to give her forty. “Keep the change.”
“Thanks, Soccer Boy.” She smiles and winks. “Try to catch that alarm on buzz one tomorrow. Just for something new and different maybe?”
I grin, still feeling the effects of the alcohol in my body. “Maybe you can crawl in bed with me tonight and help rouse me in the morning?”
“Ha!” she barks out a laugh as she turns to leave. “I think I liked your duck sampling pickup line better.”
“So you did like it!” I exclaim, hanging out the door and watching her go down the steps. “I’m growing on you, Ducky. Just admit it.”
“Like a fungus on your rubbish that still seems to get left in the hallway.”
I wince. “I’ll take it out tonight.”
She waves, and I return to my apartment to find my two teammates staring at me with their jaws dropped. “That’s your fucking neighbor?” Link says with his eyes wide.
I nod and sigh. “Tell me about it.”
Daphney
“Of course, you’re here,” my friend Phoebe says as she comes barging into Old George like she owns the place. “I don’t know why I bothered buzzing your flat because this is pretty much where you live now.”
“Well, some of us have to work for a living,” I reply as I pull out a rack of pint glasses and stand back so my face isn’t assaulted by the steam billowing out.
“I work,” she exclaims defensively, her inky black hair spilling over her right shoulder. “I’m just…waiting for my next spicy project.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. Phoebe is a freelance journalist slash influencer slash blogger slash jack-of-all-trades. Recently, she started narrating some romance novels for a studio in London. She’s one of those women who has the Midas touch with absolutely everything.
Phoebe and I grew up together in Essex, and her family is beyond loaded so the girl doesn’t even need to work. However, that also means she has the luxury of taking a lot of chances and dabbling in a bit of everything.
Honestly, she’s everything I wish I could be. She moved to London almost immediately after completing school. She’s got a gorgeous little flat in Notting Hill, and she’s constantly dating.
Like constantly.
She slaps her hands on the bar. “I might need to borrow your flat Friday night.”
