Page 74 of Sweeper
“Finney needs no cuddles. Finney needs an exorcism.”
“That’s rather harsh.” I lift my glass of wine to my lips and take a sip. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re jealous.” I wiggle my eyebrows playfully before silence descends between us. My smile falters. Maybe I took this joke too far. Maybe I sound like a girl who wants the guy she’s sleeping with to be jealous.
The truth is, I wouldn’t want anyone else to go with me. And based on the awkward look on Zander’s face, I realize that he’s probably getting ready to let me down gently. I’ll be crushed. And the fact that I’ll be crushed is probably a bad thing because this is supposed to be casual. I should have just asked Phoebe. I’m likely going to be co-parenting with her when I’m still single in my thirties anyway.
“Did you say you’re singing?” Zander shoots me a crooked smile, and hope reignites in my belly.
“Yes,” I groan and play nervously with my hair. “I wouldn’t have even said yes, but it’s a paying gig, and I like money.”
Zander huffs out a laugh. “That’s all you needed to say.”
“Shut up.” I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “You’ll come?”
“Yeah,” he replies, leaning forward and shooting me a dirty look that shows me exactly where his mind is at. “I’ve wanted to see you sing again ever since that night at Old George.”
“Then why didn’t you stop me from making a fool of myself?”
“’Cause I liked watching you try to make me jealous.” Zander turns his hat forward, pulling it low over his eyes.
“It clearly didn’t work,” I grumble dejectedly, feeling like a proper fool.
“Didn’t it?” He pins me with a knowing look, and I open my mouth to reply but suddenly feel at a rare loss of words.
Zander reaches over and casually plucks a chip off my plate. “Am I your friend, Ducky?”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve somehow become less horrible since we first met, so it would appear we’re leading into friendship territory.”
He laughs and waggles his eyebrows. “Or all the good sex I’m giving you has improved your normally grumpy disposition toward me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” I giggle, and Zander surprises me as he leans across the table for a kiss. It’s intimate and tender and lingers longer than I expect it to, sending all sorts of flutters to my belly.
He pulls back and pops an olive into his mouth like he didn’t just make me see stars. “I’m great at weddings, actually. I’ve got moves like Jagger.”
“Oh, this I have to see,” I croak after I’ve recovered from that mind-blowing public display of affection. I redirect my attention to my food, feeling much more relaxed than before. It felt like a big step asking Zander to come with me to this wedding. But I figured if he can ask me to a Harris Sunday dinner, then this isn’t totally off the mark. I smile up at him and add, “It’ll be nice not being the odd one out in the Harris bunch for once.”
Zander’s brows knit together. “The Harris family is all going to be there?”
I nod around a strawberry. “Of course. Santino’s been the Bethnal Green club lawyer for over a decade, I think. He’s really close to the family.”
“They’re close to everybody, aren’t they?” Zander says, turning his gaze out toward the water with a peculiar look on his face.
“What is that supposed to mean?” My voice pitches up in curiosity.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and clears his throat. “Aren’t you worried they’ll suspect something is going on between us? It was your rule to keep our little arrangement a secret.”
“I’ll bring you to the wedding as a friend just like I brought you to Sunday dinner,” I reply, feeling slightly defensive. “Just don’t bust out anyDirty Dancingmoves on me, and we should be just fine.”
A slow smile spreads across his face as he rises out of his chair and leans across the table. “You want to see a preview of my dance moves?”
My brows lift as I deadpan, “A lap dance would be far worse thanDirty Dancing, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not giving you a lap dance, Ducky,” he says and grabs my hand to yank me up out of my chair. He pulls me close and murmurs into my ear, “Not now at least.”
He then wraps one hand around my waist and holds my other out in a formal pose. I nearly burst with excitement when he moves us around the table in a proper four-count, drawing the eyes of everyone in the restaurant.
My jaw drops in fascination. “Are we?”
“Waltzing? Yes, darling,” he purrs in a horrid British accent.
