Sweeper

by Amy Daws

  Zander’s face falls, and I use his shocked reaction as an opportunity to detach myself from his grasp. I stumble over to my suitcase by the opposite wall and wheel it behind me as I scamper to my door. Once inside my flat, I collapse on the floor and consider hitting my head to try to give myself a strong dose of amnesia, so I never have to remember that embarrassing moment again.

  I guess I know what happens when I stop thinking.

  Zander

  “Are you obsessing about the DNA test?” Link mumbles over a mouthful of protein pancakes.

  “What?” I ask, my thoughts completely distracted as I sip my protein shake. It’s early Monday morning, and the three of us met up for breakfast at a café located directly across from Tower Park called The Full Monty. We have training in an hour, and I have to admit, I have no idea what they’ve been talking about because I’ve been seriously distracted.

  “You haven’t got the results yet, right?” Knight inquires, cupping his mug of coffee.

  “God, no. It’s only been a couple of days.” I shake my head to clear my thoughts as Link and Knight train their eyes seriously on me.

  “Are you thinking about Saturday’s match?” Knight asks, a knowing look spreading over his face.

  I wince and debate if I should lie and pretend that is what I’ve been distracted with, but then I say fuck it and go for full transparency. “I’m in the middle of a bizarre, sexual cat and mouse chase with my hot, handy neighbor who I’m pretty sure hates my guts but also wants to fuck me.”

  “Come again?” Knight replies flatly.

  Link’s brows furrow. “Is this the girl who delivered the food that night we were drunk at your apartment?”

  I nod and prop my chin in my hands, gazing out at the traffic on the busy Bethnal Green road. “She’s been riding my ass super hard about being noisy and not following the building’s rules. There’s been some yelling, and I think I might be in love.” Not love love…but fuck, if I can’t stop thinking about that kiss, I have it bad.

  “You sound like a creep, man.” Knight shakes his head.

  “I know.” I stare up into the sky. “She inspires me.”

  “Does she even like you?” Link cuts into my daydreaming with an annoyingly obvious question. “I didn’t pick up great vibes between you two at your apartment that night.”

  “That was before.” I lean forward with a sneaky smile.

  Link mimics my posture, his eyes blazing with curiosity. “Before what?”

  “Before she pounded on my door last night and woke me up out of a dead sleep to yell at me about my trash in the hallway. Then out of nowhere, she shock tongues me.”

  “What’s shock tongue?” Link asks, staring at me with wide, enraptured eyes. “Sounds aggressive.”

  The corner of my mouth curls up on one side. “A shock tongue is the kind of kiss you don’t see coming, but once the shock wears off, you’re glad it’s happening.”

  “Sounds lovely,” he croaks and then clears his throat awkwardly and pitches his voice low. “I mean…sounds fucking hot.”

  “Oh, it was.” I can’t wipe the smile off my face if I tried. Pretty sure I woke up smiling today.

  “What happened after?” Knight grunts, showing more interest than I expected of him this early in the morning.

  “She stopped the kiss, yelled at me to take my trash out, and disappeared into her apartment. Fucking hot.”

  “She sounds nuts,” Knight huffs.

  “She sounds perfect,” Link corrects.

  “She sounds like she wants me but doesn’t want to admit she wants me.” I drop my fork and push away my food, sitting back in my chair to think. “What can I do to get this shock tonguing to happen on a regular basis?”

  “Can we stop saying shock tongue?” Knight grumbles, staring into his coffee mug. “It sounds rapey.”

  “I have an idea,” Link says, and I can’t help but wince because it reminds me that it was Link’s idea for me to send in the DNA, and every time I think about what those results might be, my anxiety spikes. “What if tonight, we come over and break something in your place, so she has to come fix it like she did when you had Booker over? We’re basically setting up the perfect porno film.”

  “Right,” I reply slowly. “Except we’re not doing an orgy scene so why would I need you guys there?”

  Link deflates. “Really?”

  I blink back at him. “You’d want to three-way one girl with me and Knight?”

  “I’m open-minded.” Link shrugs.

  “I’m closed-minded,” Knight barks. “To you. And other dicks in general. I’m not closed-minded to men who like dick. Play with whatever balls you like. But don’t feel the need to pass them over to me, you know?”

  “Well, I don’t need them passed to me either,” Link defends, looking hilariously rejected. “I’m just saying if I was tossed into the middle of a porno, I wouldn’t be that disgusted at the idea of being with a couple of shredded pro soccer players. I think I’d be gay for you! Are you telling me you wouldn’t be gay for me? Have you seen my abs?”

  He lifts his shirt up, and while the man is rocking a solid six-pack, I fear this conversation is getting away from us. “How about I just stop by Old George after training today and see if she’s working?”

  Link sighs defeatedly. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”

  “Or…” Knight leans across the table to point his fork at me. “You focus on the match we have at Tower Park Wednesday night. You have a chance to start at a home game, and that’s one hundred percent where all your focus should be directed. Not some girl.”

  I sigh heavily and rake my hand through my hair. “Fuck, you’re right. But after what happened Saturday, I’ll probably be back on the bench.” My jaw tightens as I replay the moment in my head. “God, I know I shouldn’t have pushed forward. They put me in as a center-back, but I was so fucking close to stealing, I couldn’t help myself. I left Booker hanging with his nuts out. Rookie move, for sure. Coach Z is going to have my ass for breakfast today.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Knight replies with a knowing look. “You may have been overzealous at one point, but up until then, you played more like a sweeper than a center-back, and that’s what Vaughn recruited you for.”

  “You think?” I ask, still kicking myself. “I lost us the fucking game, Knight.”

  “I know, but you and Booker were totally in sync. That’s what Vaughn Harris wants from you. A sweeper who sits back and protects the penalty box when necessary and has his keeper’s back…or front. I think your instincts for most of the match were spot-on. You just got burned because Finney didn’t have your back. Didn’t you notice how Vaughn pulled Finney aside after the game instead of you?”

  “Yes,” I respond, feeling a nervous tingle start in my fingers. “I figured that was because he was too disgusted by me to talk.”

  Knight shrugs. “Or you’re doing exactly what he wants, and now he just needs to shift things around to speed up the new game plan.”

  “Well, fuck me.” I huff out a laugh, feeling ten times lighter than I did when we sat down earlier. “Knight, if you’re right, I might just have to shock tongue you.”

  “I’ll watch!” Link exclaims, and the eerie twinkle in his eye makes both Knight and I burst out laughing.

  Daphney

  It’s Tuesday evening, and I’m seated inside my tiny, clawfoot bathtub with my guitar clutched tightly to my chest while the acoustical chords reverberate loudly off the tiled walls. I sing out the last bar of the Tire Depot jingle that I finally completed and feel a euphoric rush hit me.

  “Oh, my God,” I exclaim, and my guitar makes an angry noise of protest as I grab it by its neck and hurl myself out of the empty tub. “That’s it!”

  I grab my notebook with the lyrics I’ve just come up with and glance around for my pen, only to remember it’s stabbed into my messy bun. I pull it out and make the final note that just came to me as I shuffle out of my loo to p
ut my guitar back on its stand.

  It’s been two days since I snogged Zander in the hallway, and I haven’t had a moment to even think about it. Apparently, it doesn’t take sex to unlock my creativity—a steamy hallway kiss will also do nicely.

  At first, I was messing with some lyrics that had nothing to do with work. Then out of nowhere, the melody for Tire Depot just popped right into my head, and I didn’t leave my loo until I had it perfect.

  I’ve always practiced my music in the loo, and it drove my siblings absolutely mental when we were growing up. The four of us shared one bathroom on the second floor of my parents’ country home, and after school, I would take my collapsible music stand into the loo along with my French horn and practice my sheet music until teatime. I really was the most annoying youngest sister.

  It got a bit more tolerable for everyone when I switched my focus to the guitar, but they still moaned to my parents every night about me occupying the loo for hours. My parents never told me to stop, though, so the habit has stuck with me.

  Vocals were never my focus, but if I must do something vocal, like a jingle for a tire shop, I feel like the loo makes me sound better than I am. Phoebe says my husky tone is like a mix between Adele and Janis Joplin, which she obviously only says because she’s my best mate, and that’s what best mates do. They lie through their teeth to make you feel better about yourself. But I know I’m not an awful singer. I’m at least on pitch, and that’s half the battle. It’s just not something I like to do for attention if I can help it.

  I sang at Hayden and Vi’s wedding and I didn’t mind that because the focus was entirely on the bride and groom. No one was looking at me for a performance. The music just provided an emotional backdrop. That’s the kind of singing I enjoy. Or this kind where I record it in the privacy of my flat where no one else can hear me.

  Once I’ve got my lyrics perfect, I step into my small recording booth and fire up my equipment while slipping on my headphones. I pull up the original track of the instrumental version that I submitted to Commercial Notes ages ago and tap it into my ears, so I have accompaniment to sing along to.

  Recording the sixty-second vocal bed only takes me twenty minutes because it’s all so fresh in my mind. Honestly, this is what I love about promotional tracks. They’re short, sweet, and to the point. We’re not looking to impress some big record label or get a room full of opinions. I’ve whipped up my Big Mac and fries of the music industry, and after a few minor edits, I’ve zipped this track off to Drake and will sit here with bated breath, just waiting to hear what they think.

  I’m trying not to get my hopes up. Ten thousand pounds would be incredible money, but with my voice on the track, it might not be the feel they’re looking for. Hopefully, they’ll at least buy the instrumental version for a nominal fee so it’s not a total loss.

  As I step out of my booth, I hear a loud snap from out in the hallway, and my eyes go wide as realization hits. Steeling myself, I tiptoe over to my flat door and peer out to confirm my suspicions.

  A tiny, brown, beady-eyed creature has been trapped inside the neon pink humane mousetrap that I picked up at a pet store yesterday morning. I bought a no-kill trap because I couldn’t stomach the idea of handling the remains of a dead mouse, but now that I’m looking at this thing alive and very much irritated for being stuck inside a teeny tiny mouse hotel, I think this might be far worse than I anticipated.

  With a light squeal, I duck back into my flat and pace the small space, trying to muster up enough courage to go out there and get rid of the thing. If certain people would be courteous enough to take out their rubbish, I wouldn’t even have to be dealing with this mess in the first place.

  Narrowing my eyes, I walk over to the wall that separates mine and Zander’s flat. I press my ear up against it to see if my naughty neighbor might be home because this should be his problem.

  Naturally, for the first time in the three weeks since he’s arrived, it’s dead silent over there, so he must not be home.

  “Figures,” I huff to myself.

  My stomach churns at the idea of that thing out there…getting angrier and angrier by the second. My guess is that neon pink isn’t exactly a soothing color.

  I shake out my arms and jump up and down to pump myself up. “You’re the building manager, Daphney. You’re independent. You’re strong! You can handle this. Not to mention, this is part of your job and why your brother gives you a discount on rent. So, just go out there and take care of business!”

  With a growl of determination, I march into my kitchen and grab a pair of yellow rubber dishwashing gloves from under my sink. Still feeling a bit exposed in my leggings and T-shirt, I decide that the red poncho I had to buy from a street vendor one night when I got caught in the rain at the Columbia flower market might offer some decent protection from the vermin. Oh, and my wellies. Knee-high rubber boots and elbow-deep gloves will keep all my wobbly bits safe from any diseases that awful creature might be carrying. For good measure, I also add my giant sunglasses—you never know what those creatures might expel from their body.

  I grab an empty Amazon box and tiptoe out of my flat, hoping the tiny thing is sleeping and I might be able to gently place it in the box, move it outside, and open the trapdoor all without waking it.

  Good God, could I be any more of a girl?

  I realize I grew up in the country, but we weren’t the farm animal types. We were the dirt bike and quad types. We were the types who went for long walks outside, not horseback riding and tending to livestock. Plus, I had a father and two strapping brothers who dealt with the unsightly horrors one might expect to find in nature. And sure, I might be handy with a plumbing wrench, and I fixed Miss Kitchems’s water heater with a healthy number of YouTube videos to assist me, but none of those skills qualify me to handle this mouse in a mature fashion.

  So…girlie girl or not, I will get rid of this mouse.

  I hold my breath and move slowly over to the trap, careful not to make eye contact because I’m quite sure I read that wild animals feel threatened by direct eye contact. When the little guy doesn’t move a muscle, I gently bend over to pick it up, and the tiny bugger goes demonic as it bounces off the plastic walls and flips the mouse hotel upside down. I screech like I’ve been shot in the arse and turn to flee out the building, and maybe even the bloody country, when I smack right into a large, firm body that was not standing there a second ago.

  “Oof,” a male voice utters as my elbows slam into an abdomen.

  I scream because well, I’m basically a live wire of nerves at this point, and I wasn’t expecting another human in my vicinity so the image of a giant, man-sized rat enters my brain for a fleeting, neurotic second.

  “Calm down, Ducky. It’s just me!” Zander grabs my arms as his voice breaks into my internal freak-out, somehow calming me as I exhale a huge breath.

  “Where did you come from?” I ask, looking up at him with wide eyes that he probably can’t see behind my glasses.

  “My apartment,” he says with a laugh. “Where did you come from? Mars?” His eyes travel down my entire body, and his look of complete and total amusement isn’t even mildly concealed.

  “Something funny?” I tut, stepping out of his embrace to prop my rubber-gloved hands on my poncho-covered hips.

  “I didn’t take you for a cosplay girl, but this image right here has unlocked a whole new catalog of you in my mind.”

  A dirty look flits across his face, and I reach out and smack him on the chest, not at all noticing how firm it is. “Stop it. Stop whatever is going on in that thick head of yours. I’m just…protecting myself.”

  “From an epic paintball battle?”

  “From that bloody mouse you brought into our building. I’ve actually caught the little bugger, and now I’m trying to get rid of it.”

  “What mouse?” Zander asks with a look of confusion.

  I turn around to check the trap, and my stomach sinks with despair when I see the mouse hotel
door somehow opened in the scuffle, and the little beast is gone forever now. “Oh Zander, this is all your fault again!”

  “My fault? I was just standing here! You were the one who flipped out.”

  “I didn’t flip out. The mouse flipped out. Scared the bloody life out of me.” I place a gloved hand on my chest and feel my heartbeat thundering beneath my palm. “What are you doing sneaking around behind people when they’re working?”

  “I didn’t know you worked in pest control,” he replies with a laugh, and an affectionate look casts over his face as he stares back at me. “I thought maybe that zombie apocalypse was happening out here after all, so I came out to investigate.”

  I shove my sunglasses on top of my head and hate the fact that he’s seeing me in this state while he’s standing over there in sexy jeans and a fitted green T-shirt that really brings out the mossy color in his eyes.

  I swallow the knot in my throat as I look away and yank my yellow gloves off. My palms are sweaty, and this poncho is causing my body to break out in a nervous sweat. Or maybe that’s Zander.

  “You sounded good in there earlier, by the way,” Zander says, his voice soft and soothing like melted chocolate as he points at my flat door.

  My face falls. “You could hear me?”

  He nods and smiles. “Yeah, thought it was a radio at first until I heard you muttering and cursing.”

  I cover my eyes with my hand. “I didn’t think you were home, or I wouldn’t have rehearsed in the loo.”

  “Pretty sure my alarm issue earns you unlimited bathroom rehearsals…if that’s your thing.” He shrugs and shoots me a rueful smile.

  Rubbing my lips together, I reply, “It’s where I like to rehearse.”

  “Because the acoustics are wicked,” he confirms.

  I roll my eyes. “This is embarrassing.”

  “What?”

  “This.” I gesture to my outfit. “You seeing me like this, hearing me sing…Sunday night.”