Page 43 of Sweeper
Phoebe holds her hands up in surrender. “Sorry!”
“I’m here tonight following all your silly rules, so give me a little credit.”
“Fair enough.” She moves closer and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I’m just looking out for you. You have a tender heart, Daph, and I want you to protect it as you attempt your first casual fling.”
“You make me sound pathetic,” I sulk, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend any more than you are.”
“Okay.” She gives me a wry grin. “And we still have our rule that if we’re still single by the age of thirty-eight, we’re marrying each other and using a sperm donor, right?”
“Right, but I still don’t want to be pregnant.”
“Neither do I,” she exclaims defensively.
“Which is why we’re both getting turkey-basted at the same time.” I waggle my brows excitedly.
“And may the odds be ever in our favor.”
She clinks her glass with mine and reminds me to keep making occasional eye contact with Zander from my position. That task is not difficult because Zander feels like a piece of metal, and my eyes are two giant magnets. Every time our gazes connect, the swirling in my belly is so intense, I’m forced to look away, or I might faint.
The last little technique Phoebe told me to accomplish was to try to give attention to another bloke. Booker Harris would be the easiest choice since I know him, but he’s too enraptured with Poppy to even play that game with me.
So, when I end up cornered by the Scottish midfielder named Banner, I figure he’ll get the job done.
“I’m from Edinburgh,” Banner says, his eyes staring blatantly at my chest.
“That’s nice. I’ve been there a few times,” I respond, doing my best to look into his steel-blue eyes, but it’s hard when his gaze isn’t on my face.
“You haven’t been to Edinburgh with me, though,” his growly voice replies creepily.
I frown at that strange remark. “Well, no, because we’ve just met.”
“Aye, if you come to Edinburgh with me, I’ll show you a part of the city you never even knew existed.” Banner nods proudly, his chest puffing out like he’s striking a pose. “Things your mind can’t even imagine. The seedy underbelly.”
“Sounds scary.” I laugh nervously and glance over Banner’s shoulder to see Zander standing at the bar and watching me with rapt fascination. I can’t help but smile victoriously. Bloody hell, maybe Phoebe’s crazy ideas actually work.
I redirect my attention back to Banner. “I’m from Essex. What you see is what you get there, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know about that,” Banner says with a laugh. “I’m quite certain you have some surprises hiding under that fur coat of yours.”
My brows furrow at his bizarre reply. What is it with footballers and horrible pickup lines? I mean, I know the fact that they’re footballers pretty much makes them hot by default, but they surely can do better.
When I look past Banner again, a group of girls has joined Zander. A tall blonde leans up and whispers something into Zander’s ear, and my spark of jealousy is instant. When her hand slides up his arm and wraps around his bicep, my mind implodes.
This is stupid.
Playing games with men is stupid. Why did I let Phoebe talk me into this? I already knew Zander wanted to sleep with me. He all but said so in the hallway. And my original idea was much, much easier. I was going to hang out in my flat until I heard him come home and then invite him over for the little surprise I made him. Now there’s a girl who looks like she’s about to win Operation: Shag the Slutty Footballer, and I don’t fancy the idea of losing.
“Will you please excuse me,” I bite out to Banner, and without waiting for him to respond, I march straight over to where Zander stands at the bar with three girls pressing in on him.
His eyes widen as I approach. “Can I see you for a sec?” My voice is clipped as I tap my boot impatiently on the cobblestone.
“He’s busy,” some girl slurs, but I ignore her because Zander’s eyes don’t leave mine.
His brows flicker with concern as he detaches the woman’s claws from his arm and is nearly forced to shove his way out of the gaggle of women. “What do you need?”
I grab his hand and drag him toward the pub and hang a right into the narrow hallway by the toilets. I swerve around on my heel and inhale a sharp breath at our proximity. He’s all tall and smoldering, a curious glint in those hazel eyes. I shake off my traitorous thoughts and ask firmly, “Are you having a nice time tonight?”
His eyes dance over my face, and I swear he’s fighting back a smile. “Yeah, sure. How about you?”
