Sweeper

by Amy Daws

  “Sunday night was embarrassing?” His face goes serious as he steps closer to me, and I get a whiff of his body soap that I desperately want to rub my face into.

  “Sunday night was mortifying!” I shove my hand into my hair and realize I stuck my pen back in there before. My God, I’m giving him a lush view to feast on. “I don’t know what came over me. One minute, I was mad at you, and the next minute, I was—”

  “Shock tonguing me?” he finishes with a laugh and then reaches out to touch my arm. “I wasn’t mad about it.”

  “I was.” I jerk back, needing space between us because clearly, I’m not someone who can be trusted around the likes of Zander Williams. I cringe as I recall the stunned look in his eye when we broke apart for the first time, and I thought the kiss wasn’t consensual. What a horrible, horrible fear to even consider. “That wasn’t the way I wanted to start this.”

  His brows shoot into his hairline. “There’s a this?”

  “No,” I bark and expel a nervous seal-like laugh, moving even farther away. “Clearly not.”

  He moves with me, his hands reaching toward me again. “There could be a this.”

  “But I don’t want a this.” I do a small circle with my hand between us. “I want a that,” I say, pointing at my flat. “And a that,” I state, pointing toward Old George out the side window. “And I want to take care of this.” I point at the mouse trap and sigh heavily. “My plate is full, so this should not happen.”

  “What is this that you’re even referring to, Ducky? This doesn’t have to be something to add to your list of things that stress you out. This can be easy. This can be casual. In fact, casual is kind of my specialty.” He grips the back of his neck, and a look of nervous hope flits across his face. “Plus, we’re neighbors, so the convenience factor should not be ignored.”

  I laugh nervously and shake my head at the idea that sex can be called a casual convenience. It’s so different from everything I’ve done in the past. In the past, I’d have to date someone for at least a month before I’d sleep with them. I needed time to build trust and comfort. To make sure I knew who they were before we could be intimate together.

  Then again, I waited an entire month to sleep with Rex, and look how brilliantly that turned out. I was in love with him, and I didn’t even know him. Maybe knowing a bloke before you get naked together is overrated.

  I mean, look at Phoebe. She makes casual hookups look easy and carefree. She never moans about guy problems. She is fulfilled by not knowing the men she sleeps with.

  Zander Williams is likely the male version of Phoebe, and he clearly doesn’t get troubled by anything or anyone. Maybe I’m doing this adulting thing all wrong.

  Zander steps closer to me and reaches out to tuck a stray hair behind my ear. The sensation sends shivers beneath my poncho, and I turn into his warm touch. It’s a heady sensation having him this close again. I don’t want it to stop.

  “This can be fun, Ducky,” he says, his voice low and sultry. “We are consenting adults, and we can make our own rules. So just think about what you want and let me know.” He hits me with a soft, crooked smile that I really would love to kiss right now. Then he leans in, and I hold my breath as he tenderly brushes his lips over my cheek. “I’m only a wall away.”

  Zander

  “That’s how you fucking do it, boys!” Coach Z yells as the entire team files into the locker room, sweaty, screaming, and flying high from a home game win at Tower Park.

  After training the entire week in the official sweeper position and doing drills with Booker over and fucking over, I still couldn’t believe it when Vaughn told me I was starting. The guy actually pulled me aside before the game, looked me in the eyes, and said, “The improvement I’ve seen in you the past week and a half has been so incredible, I’d be a fool to clip your wings tonight. So go out there and fly, son.”

  Hearing him call me son at that moment hit me in a way I didn’t expect. I’ve been doing such a good job with focusing on soccer and not giving any real estate in my mind to the DNA results I’m still waiting on. But at that moment, when my manager and possible birth father told me in so many words that he was proud of me, a fantasy took flight in my mind. I allowed myself, just briefly, to imagine what it would be like to play for Vaughn as his actual son.

  The scariest part of that image? I actually liked it.

  The guilt over that realization was nearly crippling. I felt it hovering over me as I marched out of the tunnel and onto the pitch to warm up. I had a dad. He is who I should play for today and no one else.

  Before the game started, I pointed up to the sky and repeated my mantra, football over bullshit. My first starting game isn’t the time to play make-believe. It’s the time for focus.

  And that’s what I did until the referee blew the final whistle.

  When Knight and Link both tackled me onto the field with celebratory hugs, I realized that somehow, someway, I just finished the best game of my career. Suddenly, Link and Knight are shoved away from me by Booker Harris. He holds his gloved hand out and helps me up before pulling me into a long hug.

  “Let’s do this all season, Williams.” He pulls back and shakes my shoulders before stabbing me in the chest with his fingers. “We’re celebrating tonight.”

  “Fuck yeah!” Link bellows and wraps an arm around Booker, who doesn’t look like he was planning to celebrate with Link. He laughs and shoves him off, then points at me one more time before jogging over to the sidelines to embrace Vaughn and Tanner.

  I stand frozen on the grass, watching the three of them embrace and talk animatedly, their hands gesticulating plays that had happened throughout the match. At one point, all three of them look over at me, and Tanner offers two big thumbs-up while Vaughn directs a round of applause my way.

  A knot forms in my throat as I wonder once again if my connection to these men is only soccer related? Or blood related? I’d all but forgotten about the DNA results I’m still waiting on the past few days, but experiencing a win like this has shifted something inside me. I feel a bond to them I hadn’t felt before. Maybe I actually want to be related to them?

  After we’ve showered, changed, and completed a few media interviews, we make our way into the player parking lot. Bethnal Green fans crowd the sidewalk, cheering through the gate, and several of the players stop to sign autographs and take selfies.

  Once we’re done, we begin loading up into various cars. “Where are we going?” Link asks Booker as we slide into his large SUV.

  “We’re going to Old George by your flat, Williams,” Booker replies, glancing at me in the passenger seat. “That’s a family favorite. And if we end up back at your place to play a little FIFA afterward, that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

  I laugh and pull the bill of my cap down low, amazed that this pro soccer player would even consider sitting on a rookie’s couch playing video games over hitting up a posh nightclub with a million fans to soak up all his glory. Booker Harris is kind of the shit.

  Minutes later, we stroll into the Old George, and the patrons instantly start chanting the Tower Park pride song, forming a semi-circle around us. Loads of patrons are decked out in green and white Bethnal Green jerseys and T-shirts as they give all of us a round of applause for the big win tonight. Several fans come over and take selfies with the team, and when one asks me to jump in the shot with him and Booker, I can’t help but smile. To be on top again feels wicked, and the atmosphere of the community all rallying around the team is amazing. We really are the people’s team, just like Daphney said.

  Once the crowd clears out and gives everyone some space, my eyes go to the bar in search of good ole Duckmeister to see if she’s working. I couldn’t stop thinking about her last night after our second little hallway tryst. She looked so fucking ridiculous in that mouse-catching getup yet still just as adorable as always. It’s been a while since I’ve had to chase a girl, but I have to admit, I like that she’s not making this easy.
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  However, I’m not sure what will come of us. I can tell she’s a relationship girl, and I honestly haven’t ever been in much of a relationship. One girlfriend in high school that I dumped to focus on my soccer doesn’t really count, does it? And with all I have going on at Bethnal Green, getting involved in something serious isn’t what I want, either. But just the thought of a missed opportunity with Daphney makes my balls fucking ache.

  When Hubert appears behind the bar, I, along with Link, Knight, Booker, Roan, and a few other teammates, sidle up to order some drinks. My head jerks when my phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it out to see a missed call from my mom. She left a voicemail that I wonder if I should even listen to. It might bring down my good mood.

  Unable to stop myself, I press play and move down to the end of the bar to listen. “Hey Zander, it’s Mom. Saw the game online…I was able to buy this package that lets me see the matches, but since I’m not in the right region, my neighbor had to do some sort of hacker thing to hide the location of my computer. I was slightly worried that he used my computer to get on the dark web, but in the end, I was able to watch and…wow…what a game, buddy.” Her voice pauses for a moment, and I hear a soft gasp of breath as she adds, “Dad would have been so proud.” My eyes tear up instantly as my grip tightens around my phone. “Anyway, I took a long lunch to watch, so I’ve got to get back to work before they realize just how long a soccer game actually is.” She laughs and adds, “I love you,” before hanging up.

  My heart thunders inside my chest. She watched. She got over herself and she fucking watched me play. There was no apology in there for words said in the past, but it’s a step in the right direction at least. I’d better give her a call tomorrow.

  “Zander, we’re going out to the beer garden!” Booker says, handing me a drink and gesturing for me to follow.

  I take the beer and swipe at the stinging in my eyes, hoping he doesn’t notice anything is off. It might not be tears, but it’s the closest thing I’ve felt to them in a long time. I nod toward the bathroom first. I just need a minute. One minute and then I’ll be ready to celebrate with my new team.

  When I finally get my shit together, I walk through the small hallway that leads back into the beer garden to look around for my teammates. My eyes take in the space with appreciation. The beer garden looks a lot nicer from this vantage point than from my apartment window, that’s for damn sure.

  It’s scattered with an array of picnic tables illuminated by Edison bulbs strung up overhead. People are huddled around a large fire pit in the center and some propane heaters along the ivy-covered walls to keep warm. I zip my coat up to my chin and glance over at the outdoor bar off to the right in search of the guys.

  “Z, over here!” Link calls out from the far corner.

  I begin to head over but my boots falter on the cobblestone when a familiar voice breaks through on a microphone. “This is so not my thing.”

  With a frown, I turn to the right to find the source of the voice and spot a small, empty stage. It’s got a few lights strung over it, some large speakers, and an empty microphone stand in front of a wooden stool. There’s no sign of life up there, so I look down at the crowd to see where the voice may be coming from.

  “I hate singing in public almost as much as I hate my best friend, Phoebe,” Daphney’s voice utters from the speakers, and chills rush over my body because it must be her. No one has a voice like Daphney.

  Daphney emerges from the crowd as she steps up onto the dimly lit stage with the microphone in hand. “This is what happens when you lose a bet.”

  The crowd replies with sympathetic murmurings as she thumps the mic into its holder and grabs an acoustic guitar off the nearby stand. She thrums a quick chord on the guitar as she adjusts the tuners at the top.

  With a rueful smile on her face, she steps back up to the mic and says, “This one’s for Phoebe. You bitch.”

  A loud cheer echoes from the crowd, and I catch sight of what looks like her friend’s dark black hair that I saw at Old George the other day. The crowd pushes in closer as Daphney situates herself on the wooden stool and adjusts the mic to her level.

  I freeze as I take a moment to check her out because she hasn’t seen me yet. It’s dark where I’m standing, so I feel a bit like a voyeur as my eyes travel over her oversized coat. Her blonde hair is loose and curly around her shoulders, blending in with the tan faux fur jacket. Her lips are a dark red, and her eyes have more makeup on them than I’ve ever seen before. She looks stunning.

  She crosses her legs on the stool and positions the guitar on her thigh, revealing a short black skirt, and patterned tights with black ankle boots. She looks edgy with a touch of glam, and I’m not ashamed to admit that my cock thumps with attention. And the fact that she’s about to sing makes me wonder if I am dreaming right now.

  She begins strumming the guitar, and the beginning of John Legend’s “All of Me” projects loudly through the speakers. When she leans into the mic and her husky voice echoes through the beer garden, the patrons all grow quiet, clearly caught off guard by her ability.

  I was already aware Daphney could sing. Even hearing her through the wall of my apartment, I got chills, and I’m pretty sure she was singing about tires. Not that it matters. The girl could sing the alphabet, and her unique tone would enrapture me.

  But tonight, what she’s doing now…this is bone-chilling. Her raspy tone is like a cry as she sings the soft melody, yet her face is cool as a cucumber, despite her mentioning she hates singing in public.

  The performance is intense. And the fact that I’m able to sit here and take it in is a gift I did not expect tonight.

  As she finishes the song, I have to physically shake off my stunned reaction when the crowd goes wild. Her friend joins her up on stage, and the two hug and laugh while Daphney rolls her eyes.

  They move off the stage, and I attempt to make a beeline to them when an arm wraps around me. “Is that your neighbor?” Link’s voice booms in my ear as he takes a drink of his beer.

  “Yes,” I reply through clenched teeth, wishing I didn’t have to go join my teammates right now.

  “Fucking shit, she was hot before, but she’s off the charts now,” Link states, and I grind my teeth at the realization that every guy in this pub is probably thinking the same thing. “You going to do something about it?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” I turn my hat backward as strange nerves take flight in my belly. “Hey, let’s go get another beer.”

  I’ve never needed liquid courage with a girl before, but after listening to Daphney sing, I fear she might be painfully out of my league. When we make our way over to the team, my heart leaps up into my throat when I see that Daphney is seated on top of the picnic table next to Booker, looking perfectly at ease as she visits with everyone.

  When her eyes find mine, I give her a slight head nod, and she shoots me a secret smile that I think might be saying something, but I don’t know what exactly.

  My head jerks back when her friend steps in front of me. “Hiya there, naughty neighbor. I’m Daphney’s best friend, Phoebe.”

  My focus shifts from Daphney to her raven-haired friend. I offer her an easy smile. “Hi, Phoebe, I’m Zander.”

  “Oh, I know all about you,” she says with a wicked glint to her eye. “And who might this bloke be?”

  “I’m Link Conlin. Striker from Arizona.” Link reaches his hand out, and she takes it with a laugh.

  “Is that how you always introduce yourself? Well then, I’m Phoebe Oxley of Essex, romance narrator to the stars.”

  “Come again?” Link asks, his brows furrowing curiously.

  “I narrate romance novels.” She winks up at him. “Do you want to hear an excerpt?”

  “Abso-fuckin-lutely,” Link answers and shoulder-bumps me out of the way.

  I gladly give them some space as I walk over to the table and try not to stare at Daphney like I haven’t pictured her naked four hundred and twenty-two times.r />
  “Congratulations on the win, Soccer Boy,” Daphney says with a bright smile, holding her glass of beer out to me. “You played the whole match.”

  “Bloody hell right, he did!” Booker bellows, holding his beer up. “Welcome to Bethnal Green, Williams!”

  The guys all cheer and clink glasses with me before taking a sip. I swallow the knot in my throat and move closer to Daphney. “So, you watched?”

  Her cheeks turn a rosy hue in front of me, and I swear I have tunnel vision right now because all I can see is Daphney. She wrinkles her nose and shrugs. “Nothing else good on the telly.”

  I laugh and nod. “Oh, I see how it is.” She giggles, and it’s too fucking sexy for her own good. I turn to sit beside her on the table and nudge her with my leg. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a beer drinker.”

  “Why not?” she asks, and I have to force myself not to stare at her dark lips.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Most chicks I know drink wine or liquor, I guess.”

  “Well, I’m not like most chicks.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” I reply quietly as I watch her take a drink, her eyes slightly hooded in a way that makes me think about her in my bed. Pushing back my dirty thoughts, I ask, “So what was the bet you lost?”

  She loses all good humor on her face. “You were here for that?”

  “Oh yeah,” I confirm, and my cock presses against the seam of my jeans as an image of her singing flashes in my mind.

  She covers her eyes with her hands. “That was embarrassing.”

  “Nothing to be embarrassed about. You sounded…” I exhale a heavy breath and shake my head, my entire body vibrating with awareness. “Amazing.”

  She shrugs. “It’s an easy song.”

  I roll my eyes. “Just take a compliment, Ducky.”

  “Sorry,” she exclaims and holds the beer in her two hands, unable to wipe the smile off her face. “Thank you.”

  I watch her curiously for a moment. “Why are you so smiley tonight?”