by Amy Daws
Who is this fucking guy anyway? As much as I’ve flirted with Daphney, she would have mentioned having a boyfriend, right? Especially after last night. I’m not crazy. She was checking me out. Surely, she wouldn’t be checking me out and flirting with me if she had a boyfriend.
Maybe it’s just a random dude she brought home from the pub? Maybe she does that a lot, and I’m going to have to get used to the idea of listening to her banging dudes next door.
Fucking hell, this is messed up. I’m the professional athlete here. Aren’t I supposed to be the one getting laid on the regular? This is some bullshit.
To be fair, I haven’t exactly gone out looking for girls. Link and Knight have hit the clubs in West London a couple of times, but I always pass. I was playing too shitty to push myself like that. Plus, I wasn’t in the mood for random hookups. I just wanted to get my shit together and not get kicked off this fucking team.
Daphney and this guy don’t seem to be slowing down any, and the more I stand in front of my bathroom sink and listen to them, the more on edge I feel. My palms are sweaty as I grip the porcelain sink. Sex used to help my soccer game. I sought it out after every match like a fucking oatmeal raisin cookie. My little treat for a big victory. Maybe not going out with Knight and Link was a bad idea.
“Fuck it,” I growl. Slipping my hand into my lounge pants, I fist my rock-hard dick. “Jesus,” I utter because I haven’t been this hard in months. It’s nearly painful to stroke it’s so goddamn hard. But the pain of it feels good, too. Rewarding in some sick way.
I pump my cock and picture myself in there with Daphney, bending her over that tiny sofa, pressing her up against that sound booth of hers, clanking notes on her keyboard as I fuck her brains out and hear her call out my name…not whoever that asshole is in there with her.
Daphney barely tolerates me, so jerking off to her fucking some guy next door makes me a low-key perv, but I deserve this for all the nasty looks she cuts me every time she sees me. For all the times she yells at me about my alarm or has texted me a reminder to take my trash to the dumpster and not leave it in the hallway to rot. She’s been nothing but a nag since the moment I stepped foot in Old George while I’ve been nothing but friendly.
“Fuck!” I exclaim as my climax catches me off guard, and I splatter my release all over my bathroom sink. I exhale heavily, my stomach tensing with each frenzied breath.
I pause to listen and realize there’s no more noise coming from next door. They must have finished before me. Fucking amateur.
I clean up and slip back into bed, and it’s the thought that I could please Daphney ten times better than that cum stain next door that sends me into a deep, restful slumber.
Daphney
Phoebe: So, did the music flow like the beautiful country hills of Essex?
Me: Not the way I’d hoped. I wrote lyrics for an entirely different song, not the jingle that I stand to make some decent money on.
Phoebe: Well, you’re writing again! That’s something to celebrate.
Me: I suppose. I’m just frustrated. This isn’t rocket science. It’s Tire Depot. I need to turn in the lyrics in three days, or I’m going to miss out.
Phoebe: Just relax. You’ll figure it out. You always do.
Me: Not always.
Phoebe: You know what they say helps with creativity?
Me: Hard drugs?
Phoebe: Sex, Daph…which might be a bit easier to locate than hard drugs. I know a naughty neighbor who would probably be all too willing to provide you such a service at a much cheaper rate than a drug dealer.
Just the mention of Zander causes my entire body to heat. Ever since I saw him reading Bridget Jones’s Diary, my disposition to him has shifted. It humanized him or something. Made him a lot less wanker and a lot more adorable boy next door. And while I know there’s a mile-long list of reasons I should stay far, far away, I can’t help but admit that I was excited when I saw he was the one with the plumbing issue the other night. I mean, he’s a sexy footballer who’s my neighbor. A girl can only deny an attraction for so long.
Me: Do you really think I can pull off a one-night stand with him, Phoebe? He’s my neighbor, so it could be awkward. Plus, I’m a relationship girl. Always have been.
Phoebe: People change, Daph. I’m a romance narrator now! No one saw that coming.
Me: Fair point.
Phoebe: Plus, it’s only awkward if you let it be. And you won’t know if you don’t try. You need a rebound to get back to your old self. Just see what happens when you let yourself have a little fun.
Me: Easier said than done.
Phoebe: I have the utmost faith in you, Daph. XX
I laugh and slip my mobile into my pocket as I climb the three levels to my floor. It’s late Sunday evening, and I feel a bit defeated after a wasted weekend at my parents’ home. I thought going back to Essex where I wrote tons of songs in my youth would remind me that I’m capable of this.
Unfortunately, the trip inspired too much of my youth because I ended up writing lyrics to something that had nothing to do with Tire Depot. Creativity is a fickle bitch. Maybe Phoebe’s right, and having a bit of fun would help?
When I hit the third floor, and my eyes catch sight of a mouse darting away from a rubbish bag sitting in front of Zander’s door, my hopeful outlook toward Soccer Boy plummets to the filthy ground below my feet.
Abandoning my suitcase in the hallway, I march over to Zander’s door and loudly pound on it. I don’t give a toss if he looked cute reading Bridget Jones's Diary at Old George or if his pecs looked ridiculously fit in that wet white T-shirt the other night. He’s just completely screwed up my week by bringing vermin into our building. God, I should have never let my guard down with him! You give dogs an inch, and they take a mile.
It takes ages for a sleepy-looking Zander to open his door. He’s dressed in a pair of low-slung gray loungers, and the angles of his hip bones jut out inhumanely, but I bury that ungodly image to a deep vortex in my body as I poke him hard in the chest, ignoring how firm he is.
“How many times have I told you that you can’t leave your rubbish in the hallway?” I seethe, my fists clenched tightly beside me.
“I was sleeping,” he mumbles, rubbing his fists over his dark-rimmed hazel eyes.
“I don’t care!” I exclaim, hating how cute he looks while I’m cross at him. I stamp my foot in frustration. “I saw a mouse in our hallway just now!”
“Set some traps. It’ll be fine. I’ll take it out in the morning.” He turns to close the door in my face, and I move my foot in its tracks.
How rude is he? “You’ll take it out now.”
Zander narrows his eyes on me. “Look, I know you take this building manager job very seriously, but unless there’s a damn zombie apocalypse out here, I can deal with this in the morning. I had a really rough weekend, and I need to crash.”
“Fine, I’ll do it myself!” I let out a harsh growl as I bend over and pick up his bag. I turn to walk down the steps and feel a warm hand wrap tightly around my elbow and jerk me backward.
“You’re not taking out my trash.” Zander releases his hold on me, then reaches down to yank the rubbish out of my hand. His crinkled eyes look severe in the harsh hallway lighting as he bows over me with agitation billowing off his fit body.
“Try to stop me,” I snap, refusing to let go of the bag. “You clearly think you’re too good to take your own rubbish to the bin. And since I don’t fancy a mouse in my flat, I’ll have to bloody well do it myself!”
“Why can’t it wait until morning?” He yanks the bag out of my hand and grips the back of his neck as he takes a step back. My eyes are drawn to his bulging bicep and a small tattoo I never noticed before. His voice is flat when he adds, “I see other people leaving their trash bags in the hall overnight. Are you up their butts too?”
“I am hardly up your butt. And what a ridiculous phrase,” I scoff, annoyed at how gruff his tone is with me right now. This isn’t the typ
e of Zander I’m used to. But that muscle in his jaw that’s moving angrily is really attractive.
“Oh please, Daphney. You’ve been so far up my ass since I arrived that you can probably talk for me by now. I can’t get away with anything over here. Meanwhile, you get to fuck random dudes as loud as you want all night long without a care in the world.”
“Fuck random dudes? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Friday night, the night before my first match that I got to start in, by the way, I heard you railing a guy next door. Woke me up four fucking times throughout the night. I didn’t think the guy had the stamina, but he proved me wrong. Please be sure to pass along my props to him. You sure know how to pick ’em.”
Flustered, I stare at him, trying to comprehend what he just rambled on about. “Wait…you started in the football match?” My chest tightens as I search his face for confirmation. I didn’t let myself watch because I needed to work, and I didn’t think there was a chance Zander would play after our conversation in the supermarket. If I’d known he was on the pitch, I would have flicked on the telly. “You actually started the football game? Zander, that’s brilliant!”
“I know! And I fucked it up, thanks to you,” he snaps, his jaw tight as disappointment streaks across his face. “I was playing a second center-back alongside Finney, and I challenged a striker to prove myself, and I got beat like a bitch. They scored on me and won the fucking game right at the end.”
I blink away my confusion. “And that’s somehow my fault?”
“Yes! I got shit for sleep Friday night because it sounded like a kinky horror movie over there. I didn’t realize you were such a screamer, Duckmeister.”
“That wasn’t me!” I exclaim defensively, finally figuring out what he’s been going on about.
“Okay, sure.” He rolls his eyes.
“It wasn’t!”
“Then who was it?” A jealous look flits across his eyes, and my chest lurches with excitement over that realization.
“That’s none of your business, but I assure you it wasn’t me.” Swallowing the knot in my throat, I cross my arms over my chest and ignore the warmth spreading through my body. Even if it was me, it doesn’t give Zander permission to ignore the very simple rules of the building. “I was back home in Essex visiting my parents and working because you are literally the loudest neighbor in the universe.”
“So you rent your room by the hour while you’re away?” He barks out a dry laugh. “I’m sure your brother would be glad to hear you’re turning his building into a brothel. Maybe I’ll just text him.”
“You have some bloody nerve!” I seethe as he turns to walk back into his flat. I grab his arm, whirling him back around to face me. My hand instinctively squeezes the muscly flesh, and I feel a flame lick up my entire arm from the direct contact. “Not that you have any right to know, but it wasn’t just some random person. It was a friend,” I grind out, feeling irritated at myself for wanting to clear this up because I care about his opinion of me. “I’m not going to tell you who because that’s an invasion of her privacy and none of your bloody concern, but she asked for permission to use my flat, and I said yes.”
“She asked you for permission to fuck someone in your flat?” Zander glares at me in disbelief. “Classy friend.”
“Guys would do the same thing without even asking,” I snap back as I’m painfully reminded of the Zander I met at the pub who was a complete pig. Forget the guy who looks nervous when he talked about football or the one who bought a Bridget Jones's Diary bookmark to go inside his book. He’s long gone now. The man in front of me looks dangerously like the arsehole who screwed me over not long ago. “That is such a misogynistic double standard.”
“Look, I don’t care who or where your friends get nutted. In fact, I sort of wish it was you because then maybe it’d help get that stick out of your ass.”
“I do not have a stick up my arse!” I practically squeal as I take a step toward him.
“You sure as fuck do because you fucking like me, Ducky! And you’re telling yourself you don’t, for God knows why. A good-girl complex? Think fucking the footballer will make you bad? Well, it won’t. The only thing that makes you bad is lying to yourself about what you want.”
How does he know what I want? He can’t possibly know the way his stupid backward hat makes me feel.
“That’s not…I don’t…this isn’t…” For the love of God, he could stop smiling at me with that stupid crooked smirk just long enough for me to get my thoughts straight.
My fingers tremble as Zander looms over me all big and cocky and pushy like he knows exactly what he does to me. I don’t think having sex with Zander Williams will make me bad. That’s ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, and if I want to sleep with a footballer, I can.
He scoffs and hits me with a demeaning smirk. “That’s what I thought. Little Miss Perfect.”
Little Miss Perfect, my arse.
He bends over to pick up the rubbish, and the proximity coupled with the rage coursing through my veins causes something shocking to happen to my body. A demon possession, a judgment lapse, temporary insanity? I’m not sure…but the next thing I know, my hands wrap around his neck, and I yank him down to me for a very surprising, very unexpected, very off-brand for Daphney Clarke…kiss.
Zander’s lips are hard on mine as I snake my hands up around him and fuse our mouths together. He smells like a mixture of citrus and toothpaste. In a flash, I realize I haven’t kissed a bloke since Rex, and I hate that he’s even entered my mind again. I want Rex the Hex erased from my memory forever. And well, Phoebe does always say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
And thankfully, Zander does not kiss like Rex at all. Zander feels foreign and new and a bit hard now that I think of it. On second thought, the kiss is rather odd because I’m only now just realizing he’s not kissing me back.
Oh fuck…is this consensual? Should I have asked first? If he doesn’t want this and I’m kissing him against his will as the building manager, this could be very, very bad.
I yank my lips off his, sucking in a ragged breath as I stare at him with horrified eyes. “My God…I can’t believe I just did that. That was so inappropriate. We should—”
My voice is cut off when he presses his warm palms against my cheeks and lowers his lips back over mine, swallowing my words up into his beautiful, soulful mouth that’s definitely kissing back this time. He plunges his tongue inside, and a deep growl vibrates his chest as his hands slide down my arms to wrap firmly around my waist, pulling me against his broad frame.
Okay, what we were doing seconds ago wasn’t kissing. This is kissing. My fucking God, this is kissing. This is a proper snog like I’ve never had before.
Which likely means my kiss before was consensual but just stunned him a bit? Or if it wasn’t consensual, it is now…so…all good, I think? God, brain…shut the hell up and kiss him back. You deserve this!
My hands splay out on his bare chest as he walks us backward and bumps me up against the nearest wall. When his body is flush against mine, there’s an instant zinging that happens between my legs that causes a moan to escape my lips. Rex and I never had this level of passion. Not even close. In fact, none of the men I’ve dated had this. Maybe because we dated so long before we ever really got intimate? Hell, maybe Phoebe’s right, and shagging and bagging can be fun.
Zander’s hands slide around my back and move downward to my bottom. He pulls me into his groin greedily, forcefully. Like any millimeter of space between us makes him angry. Our lips never stop moving, and my thighs clench with desire when I feel the excitement happening below his waist as well. My skin is on fire, and Zander’s lips are the petrol fueling the flame.
Zander breaks this kiss, his voice ragged and rough as he murmurs against my ear, “Tell me that you haven’t been sitting in your apartment and looking at that thin wall that separates us and wanting to break through it to fuck me.”
&nb
sp; A nervous noise squeaks out of my throat. “Erm…”
“Because I have.” He runs his whiskered chin across my neck to whisper into my other ear, his hot tongue teasing me. “Nearly every fucking night since I got here, I’ve wanted you…thought about you.”
“Oh my God,” I groan at the overly sexual tone of his voice, my body positively melting in his arms as my nipples pebble beneath my shirt. Honestly, if he wasn’t holding me up against this wall, I’d be pudding on the floor.
“Tell me you want me, Daphney.” Zander’s voice is so confident, so certain. Like he’s done this before. Multiple times with multiple women.
The entire image of that assaults all my senses. If I were Phoebe, this would be an easy answer. Just say yes and let him shag the shit out of you, Daphney! You deserve this! You need a rebound.
Unfortunately, I’m not Miss Casual. I’m Miss Monogamous. Getting naked and sleeping with a bloke I’m not in a relationship with is sure to mean awkward and clumsy sex. I’ll be embarrassed about my body, and he’ll look like the fit footballer he is. Then we’ll have a strange goodbye and the whole will he call or won’t he call moment will make me want to die.
When you really think about it, casual sex is anything but casual. Sex with a boyfriend is truly casual. He knows what you like and don’t like, so you can just relax and enjoy yourself…worry-free. You don’t even have to worry about having an orgasm because you’re not trying to impress each other if you’re in a committed relationship.
What if I’m shit at casual sex? What if I freak out and can’t climax and have to fake it? I’m a crap actor…always have been. I can’t even lie properly! Phoebe could tell within seconds that I was fancying Zander, and I don’t think I even knew that myself yet!
Oh God, this is a terrible, terrible idea. I can’t do this.
“I want…” I rip my lips from Zander’s and press against his chest as I mutter, “You to take out your bloody rubbish. It’s called trash in America.”