Sweeper
Page 18
Phoebe gapes at us like we’re covered in blood. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect you to bring the slutty footballer.”
“Phoebe,” Daphney nearly growls and mouths an apology to the woman who is now openly glaring at us.
“Also known as Zander Williams,” I reply with a mock hurt tone. “It’s nice to see you again, Phoebe.”
She barks out an unamused laugh and sits back, arms crossed over her chest. “What does this mean?” She points between Daphney and me with an angry look on her face, then leans forward and lowers her voice. “It obviously means you shagged him again, but what else does it mean? I mean, shagging is one thing. Shagging and brunch is an entirely different matter.”
I can’t help but laugh because she’s talking like I’m not even here.
Daphney lifts her menu to her face, ignoring her friend. “Do they do a nice eggs Benedict here?”
Phoebe slides her eyes over to me. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
My brows lift. “I’m just here for the food and fellowship.”
“Mm-hmm.” Phoebe reaches out and grabs her champagne flute, sipping her mimosa with a skeptical brow.
Following Daphney’s lead, I look over my own menu and decide to order two entrees instead of one. This hot seat has really worked up my appetite.
The server arrives and takes our orders, and as soon as he’s gone, Phoebe scoffs. “I knew you could never pull off a one-night stand.”
Daphney’s face flames red as she shoots daggers at her friend. “Phoebe!”
“Was that the original plan?” I huff out a laugh and glance over at Daphney to find her fidgeting with her cloth napkin.
“I don’t know,” Daphney snaps. Her nostrils flare as she sputters, “I tried to set some rules, but you wouldn’t let me, if you recall.”
Phoebe shakes her head. “So, what now? Are you two dating?”
Daphney chokes on her water, and I reach over to pat her on the back, letting my fingers linger on her bare shoulder that’s peeking out from her sweater. She shivers beneath my touch, and I can’t help but smile at her. She’s cute when she’s flustered.
When she catches her breath again, she pins her friend with a harsh look. “We’re just having fun.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Phoebe says flatly, not breaking eye contact with me as the server sets a coffee in front of me and an orange juice in front of Daphney.
We all take fortifying sips, and Phoebe launches right back into me. “What’s your deal, Zander Williams? What’s your damage?”
“Damage?” I ask, shaking some Splenda into my mug.
“Background, baggage…let’s air out your dirty laundry so I can make sure that my mate is safe in your apparently very ‘fun’ hands.”
I can’t help but laugh as I sit back and drape my arm over the back of Daphney’s chair. “No dirty laundry here. I’m just a soccer player.”
She scoffs. “No illegitimate children back in America? Some baby mamas you’re paying child support to?”
“No,” I nearly choke on my coffee. We really are on an episode of Downton Abbey. “Illegitimate children? Is that really what you call them?”
“Ex-wives then?” Phoebe asks, and I can feel Daphney’s eyes burning on me.
I roll my eyes and shrug. “I’m twenty-five, so that’s a hard no as well.”
“Mummy issues? Daddy issues?”
All humor drains from my body as I shift in my chair and feel painfully reminded of the stupid situation I’m in right now—waiting on a freaking DNA test result. I school my features to look casual. “Like I said, I’m just a soccer player. What you see is what you get.”
Phoebe doesn’t seem convinced as she glances over at Daphney who looks exhausted after being completely steamrolled by her best friend.
Oddly, I feel protective of her. I jerk my chin up at Phoebe. “What’s your deal?”
“Moi?” Phoebe replies, feigning innocence.
“Yeah.” I lean across the table and pin her with a serious look. “How long have you and Daphney been friends?”
“Oh, darling.” Phoebe sighs dramatically. “We aren’t friends. We’re framily. And we’ve been so since nappies.”
“That means diapers,” Daphney whispers under her breath.
“I know what that means,” I hiss back at Daphney, not wanting to look weak in front of her friend here since we’re clearly on trial. I pin her with a skeptical look. “If you’re so close, what’s one of your favorite childhood stories involving Daphney?”
Phoebe’s eyes alight with this change in course. “My God, which one should I pick?”
“Don’t embarrass me,” Daphney whines, and I slightly regret my question.
“Why would you think I’d embarrass you?” Phoebe laughs and turns devilish eyes to me. “Okay…there’s the time that Daphney forced me to ditch school.”
“It was your idea!” Daphney interjects.
Phoebe waves her off. “We snuck into my neighbor’s house and stole a packet of his cigarettes and tried to smoke them in the woods behind his house. We both ended up vomiting and nearly starting a fire. It was completely mental. We went back to school for the last lesson smelling like smoke and sick.”
I turn amused eyes to Daphney. “You have a thing for neighbors, don’t you?”
Her pink lips part in shock. “I do not!”
“Oh, and then.” Phoebe reaches over and grabs my arm to redirect my attention. “She tried to give me a haircut when we were, oh, I don’t know…eleven? She swore she could make me look like Reese Witherspoon in Sweet Home Alabama. It looked so terrible that my mum had to take me to London to get it fixed.”
“It didn’t look that bad,” Daphney argues, her eyes lighting up with amusement. “I just needed a bit more time.”
“Time for it to grow out, you mean?”
“No!” She erupts in a fit of giggles. “Time for you to get some taste.”
“Oh, so it’s my taste that was the problem?”
“Or your mother’s. She never did like me.” Daphney harrumphs, crossing her arms over her chest to pout.
Phoebe rolls her eyes. “My mother doesn’t like anybody.”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupt the walk down memory lane, trying to make sense of everything I’m hearing. “Phoebe, are you telling me that Ducky here was a bad girl?”
“Entirely. She was a horrible influence on me.”
“Not true!” Daphney interjects.
“This does not compute,” I reply, moving my chair so I can turn all my focus to Daphney. “You seem like such a Goody Two-shoes now.”
She glares at me. “I’m not a Goody Two-shoes.”
I look pointedly at her friend. “Is this the same girl you grew up with?”
Phoebe narrows her eyes at Daphney. “I believe the former dark passenger still lives inside her. It’s just quieter now.”
“Or maybe I’ve just grown up,” Daphney snaps as the server sets the food down in front of us. “That’s kind of what people do, right? We’re not children anymore. Nothing is wrong with being responsible.”
“Nothing wrong with that at all,” I respond knowingly, ignoring my food for a moment. “But it’s usually not very fun.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her!” Phoebe exclaims, pointing her fork at me in a moment of silent comradery.
“I have plenty of fun,” Daphney says, tucking into her food.
“When you’re not working seventy hours a week.” Phoebe rolls her eyes and begins cutting up her pancakes.
A sullen look begins to mar Daphney’s striking features, so I offer, “You were loads of fun yesterday.” A knowing smirk lifts the corners of her mouth, so I lean over and whisper, “Three times, if you recall.”
“Three times?” Phoebe squeals around a fork full of food. “Well done, Soccer Boy!”
“Did you really have to share that?” Daphney glares at me but the smile on her lips is unmistakable. �
��You’re skating on very thin ice.”
“Speaking of thin ice,” Phoebe interjects. “Remember that time Marisa had to pull you out of your father’s pond? She told us it wasn’t cold enough to go ice skating, and we ignored her. My God, I thought she was going to murder us. Luckily, the pond isn’t very deep, so we weren’t in any real danger but still, the image of you frozen and shaking while Marisa screamed at you lives rent-free in my mind.”
I laugh at the visual. “Who’s Marisa?”
An awkward silence descends as I glance back and forth between Daphney and Phoebe and notice all humor draining from Daphney’s face.
“Just someone we knew,” Daphney replies quickly. She clears her throat and smiles as she redirects her focus to her food. “These eggs are really nice.”
Phoebe smiles softly, and there’s a marked change in her demeanor. I consider asking more questions, but I get the impression we’ve ventured into a subject Daphney would rather not discuss.
My hand moves to my leg when I hear my phone ringing in my pocket. I pull it out to see it’s a foreign number. Smiling apologetically, I excuse myself from the table to step outside for the call.
“Hello, this is Zander Williams,” I state, inhaling the cool air as I stuff my other hand into my pocket.
“Hi, Zander Williams, this is Bernard from Discreet DNA, do you have a moment to talk?”
Chills erupt over my entire body as I freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, not even noticing the people trying to get around me. “Okay,” I answer woodenly, cringing that I said okay instead of telling him now is a bad time.
“I’m afraid that the sample you sent in on the water bottle has come up as inconclusive. This happens sometimes when the sample is tampered with or contaminated in some way. Do you know if it was exposed to any outside elements before you sent it in?”
I wince as I think about how it fell to the floor when the sink decided to explode, and Booker knocked everything off the counter. The lid was still on it, so I thought it would be fine.
“It might have gotten a little wet,” I reply, turning to glance through the window at Daphney and Phoebe. They look so at ease in there, enjoying their breakfast. I’d do anything to trade places with them right now.
“That’s probably the issue then,” Bernard says jovially. “If you could send in a new sample, we can run it again. But I’m afraid there will be another sixty-pound fee.”
I shake my head and snap, “It was hard enough getting the first sample.”
Silence descends for a moment before the man responds, “Well, if that’s the case, you may want to consider getting a paternal sample. Half sibling tests don’t have the same level of accuracy without samples from the shared parent. So, while we could get you results on a new sample of your potential half sibling, the success rate is quite diminished.”
“Jesus Christ,” I reply and run a hand through my hair. “This was a mistake.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience, sir.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “If you do decide to try again, please note that a hair follicle from your alleged father is your best sample option aside from blood or saliva for conclusive results. Much higher success rate than a water bottle. So, if you can ever get hold of a hair follicle, then we’d be happy to rerun the test for you.”
I roll my eyes and stare up at the sky. “Oh sure, that sounds easy.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t be of service, sir.”
I hang up and clench my teeth, annoyed as fuck that all those hoops I jumped through were for nothing. How the fuck am I going to get a hair sample from Vaughn Harris? I’d sooner get Daphney Clarke to fall in love with me.
I exhale heavily and crack my neck. This setback better not fuck up my game. I can’t afford to go backward. Not now that I’ve come this far.
Zander
“Oh, balls,” Link yelps as he drops down into the metal basin filled with ice water in the physical therapy room at Tower Park. “Why does Coach Z hate me so much?”
“Because you always look so damn happy during training.” I turn down the speed on my treadmill and take a quick drink out of my water bottle. “He thinks he’s not pushing you hard enough. Try looking miserable like the rest of us.”
Link rests his head on the edge of the tub and contorts his facial features into a moronic expression. “How’s this look?”
I laugh, and at the same moment, Knight walks in, scowls at Link’s face, and walks over to the medicine balls. He lowers himself on top of the biggest one and nods his head toward me. “Where were you all weekend? Feeling sorry for yourself because of the DNA mix-up?”
“No,” I scoff and can’t hide the smile that spreads across my face. “There was no moping.”
Ice clinks against the metal basin as Link turns toward me. “I thought I saw an extra pep in your step at practice today. Did you make good use of my romantic wisdom with Daphney then?”
“Shut up,” I laugh, and an image of Daphney in my bed after brunch on Saturday hits me full force. It was one of those epic sex marathons that leave you feeling hollowed out by the end. Fucking mind boggling. “I had a good weekend, and that’s all you’re getting from me.” I glance toward the door and hold my finger to my lips. “And don’t mention her name. She’s close with the Harris family, and it’s just a casual thing, so I don’t need that fucking things up here.”
“How close?” Knight asks, his brows furrowed curiously.
“Like she went to Vaughn Harris’s house yesterday for Sunday dinner with the whole family.”
“Holy shit,” Link replies with wide eyes. “That’s definitely close.”
I nod and wipe the sweat dripping down my forehead. “Which gave me an idea.”
“Oh?” Link and Knight both look at me with renewed interest.
“Well, that DNA guy who called me Saturday said that paternal hair follicles have the highest chance of accuracy on their tests. And I was thinking maybe if I could get Daphney to bring me along to one of those Sunday dinners, I could stumble into the wrong bathroom and get what I need.”
“You want to go to Vaughn—” Link winces when I shush him loudly. He lowers his voice. “You want to go to the home of ‘he who shall not be named,’ slip into his bathroom, and take a lock of his hair?”
I shrug. “Seems like I’d have a better chance of scoring hair there than trying to sneak something out of his office.”
“What if you get caught?” Knight asks, his eyes grave. “This is the manager of our club.”
“You guys weren’t worried about me getting caught when I was running around the locker room trying to get Tanner’s gum out of the garbage. This idea seems way more sane than that. I’ll be alone in a bathroom. There’s no way I’ll get busted.”
Link interjects next, “Does fishing for an invite from Daphney indicate casual? What if you send her mixed signals?”
“We’re friends-ish.” I shrug again.
Link hits me with a dubious look. “Does she think that?”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll take her out sometime this week. To dinner or something that doesn’t involve sex. Lay down a foundation that exists beyond my bedroom. Maybe one of those double-decker bus tours would be a nice gesture.”
“That doesn’t sound casual. That sounds like a relationship,” Link coos.
“Whose fucking side are you on?” I snap, surprised at my temper but also really annoyed these guys aren’t supporting me on this. It was their stupid idea for me to get DNA in the first place. Now they have cold feet? Fuck that.
Link holds his pruney hands up out of the water. “Yours, my dude. Chill out.”
I scrub a hand through my hair, annoyance prickling my veins. “I just want to get this fucking thing done. I don’t like leaving things open like this. I trained good today, and I want to keep it that way, which means I need to focus on this plan and finish what I’ve started.”
“Alright then.” Link nods in solidarity. “I’m here for you, man.”
I shake my head and turn my treadmill speed back up, effectively ending this discussion. This isn’t a bad idea. This is a good idea. And the more I think about it all, the more I expect I’m going to discover that Vaughn Harris isn’t my father. It’s probably why my mom never sent that letter in the first place. I know who my dad is. I just need to finish this stupid plan to confirm that fact so I can move on with my life.
I lower the speed on my treadmill again and pull out my phone to shoot Daphney a text.
Me: What’s your schedule like this week?
Daphney: Madness, yours?
Me: I want to do one of those double-decker bus tours.
Daphney: Are you taking the piss?
Me: I am a man of many talents, but pissing and texting isn’t one of them.
Daphney: Siiigh. Taking the piss means having me on. Messing or joking with me.
Me: They didn’t cover that in in Bridget Jones’s Diary. I'm on the second book, though, so maybe it's coming still.
Daphney: You’re reading those fast!
Me: This hot girl I met recommended them to me. I’m trying to impress her.
Daphney: Why are you buttering me up? I already agreed to be your neighbor with benefits.
Me: Can I reap some of those benefits tonight?
Daphney: I’m afraid not. I’m working at Old George.
Me: Well, if you have some free time this week, let me know. I want to do this bus tour thing, and I need you to be my tour guide.
Daphney: Those buses come with a tour guide.
Me: Yeah, but you can give me the stuff they don’t cover in Bridget Jones’s Diary. ;) Whatcha say, Ducky?
Daphney: Very well, Soccer Boy. I’m free Tuesday after 4.