by Amy Daws
“I’m not smiley,” she replies with a smile.
“Yes, she is,” Phoebe bellows across from us. “And she’s smiling because she sold her first jingle today and made a boatload of money! You are now looking at the voice of Tire Depot!”
Everyone’s eyes turn to Daphney with a mixture of amusement and genuine appreciation. Booker holds his beer out. “Congratulations, Daph! That’s brilliant.”
“Thanks, Booker.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, clearly not liking all the attention. “Phoebe demanded we celebrate tonight, but it was only then that I realized it was so she could make me pay up on our bet.”
“What was the bet exactly?” I ask again, watching her with rapt fascination because she seems lighter than I’ve ever seen her before, and hell if I can’t tear my eyes away. I’m not even trying anymore at this point.
“She didn’t think she’d sell the bloody song, and she did because she’s brilliant,” Phoebe answers with a knowing glint to her eye. “Now she’s rich and buying all of our drinks tonight!”
Phoebe cheers along with the rest of the guys, and Daphney’s face falls. “I am not paying for drinks,” she exclaims, losing all good humor on her face. “I wrote a song about tires, not jewelry!”
Phoebe laughs good-naturedly and shoots her friend a wink.
I nudge Daphney with my shoulder. “Relax, these guys can definitely afford their own drinks.”
She huffs and takes another drink, her smile from earlier returning.
“Congratulations on the jingle,” I say quietly.
“Thank you. It’s silly but also kind of exciting to actually make decent money at it.” She turns her stunning blue eyes to me. “And I’m desperately trying to forget the fact that I might be hearing my voice on the telly sometime. Maybe even after one of your football matches.”
“That’s wicked.” I lift my brows with interest. “With a voice like yours, you should be singing on stages.”
“Pass.” She cringes. “Not all of us are meant for the spotlight.” She hits me with a dazzling smile and adds, “Hot new American footballer takes Premier League by storm. Now that’s a headline.”
I bark out a laugh. “Did you just call me hot?”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s an expression.”
“It’s a compliment.” I waggle my brows. “And I could give the very same one to you. You look stunning tonight.”
Our eyes lock, and the smile on her face falls as her gaze dips to my lips. The look in her eye is unmistakable, and I have cause to hope that I might pull home two W’s tonight.
Daphney
Operation: Shag the Slutty Footballer is in full effect.
This is a ridiculous plan, which obviously means it came from Phoebe. After telling her all about my kiss with Zander and his blatant proposition, she was certain that an affair with a slutty footballer was exactly what I needed to forget about Rex for good. Which means my quiet evening of sitting at home in my pajamas to watch the Bethnal Green match on my telly was thwarted when she burst into my flat and yelled, “Tart up, we’re going out!”
I actually was a bit relieved for the assistance because I wasn’t sure what my next move with Zander would be. I just knew that ever since that kiss, well, honestly, ever since he arrived in London, I have not stopped thinking about him. Zander Williams gets under my skin like no other bloke. I’m quite certain he’s ninety percent spoiled man-child and ten percent manwhore.
However, I’m twenty-six, single, and living next door to a man who may very well be my muse—not that I would ever tell him that. His bloody ego wouldn’t fit under that stupid backward cap he always wears. But it’s undeniable that the kiss I shared with Zander, dysfunctional as it might be, ignited something inside me. It’s as if it awakened a part of me that had been sleeping ever since Rex. Maybe even before Rex. I’m keen to explore that part of me, even if it is a bit outside of my comfort zone.
Plus, look what happened after I stepped out of my box and snogged him in the hallway. I finished my jingle, submitted it to Drake, got a rave review, and made ten thousand pounds.
All signs are pointing to…live a little, Daphney Clarke!
Phoebe’s plan for tonight was to hunker down with drinks at Old George and hope for a Zander sighting. The Harris family often frequents the pub after a home match. It was the twin’s wives’, Indie’s and Belle’s, favorite hangout when they worked at the same hospital together, and I guess it was sort of claimed as a Harris hangout after that. Hubert reminds the patrons to give the footballers space or they will be asked to leave, so everyone plays it pretty cool. And after how well Zander and Booker played on the pitch, I had a feeling Booker might drag him here.
I knew they’d show up, yet still, my heart leaped up into my throat when I spotted him walking over to our place on the corner picnic table. He looked so fit in his tight jeans and gray long-sleeved top peeked out from his puffy black coat. His shaggy brown hair was tucked under that American baseball cap he’s always wearing, but thankfully, it was turned backward to reveal his bright and alive eyes. He is most likely still riding a high from their big win. He played a perfect game, and while I greatly admired how he looked on the telly in his football kit, the lace-up tobacco leather boots he’s wearing tonight are giving me lumberjack fantasies that have me squirming in my seat.
So, the plan was first to run into Zander. Check.
Next, I was to flirt with him and not yell at him for something annoying he may have done in the past twenty-four hours. That was tricky because his alarm went off four times this morning, but I do have some flirting capabilities left inside me. Therefore, flirting mission accomplished. Check, check.
The rest of the night, I was to play it cool as we all ate and drank and enjoyed the band that returned to the stage after my solo performance. They sound incredible, and between the moonlight, the firelight, and the air of possibility, my body feels more alive than it has in ages.
Booker’s wife, Poppy; Tanner’s wife, Belle; and Roan DeWalt’s wife, Allie, the Harris Brother’s cousin who moved here from America a few years ago, all joined us at the pub to celebrate the win tonight as well, so it’s a proper party at Old George. I see most of this lot at the weekly Sunday dinners at Vaughn’s house, but watching them interact without their children and letting off some steam is another story altogether.
All the couples are out on the dance floor, completely enamored with each other, dancing in their own unique ways. Tanner, like a child while Belle is his scolding mother. Booker and Poppy are slow dancing to a fast song. And Roan is spinning Allie around like a pro. It’s adorable.
Phoebe dances beside me and nudges me in the ribs. “Don’t get any bright ideas.”
“With regard to?” I ask, rubbing the tender spot she hit.
“The Harris Brothers are the exception, not the rule.” Her green eyes sparkle from the nearby firelight as she wiggles her hips to the music.
“I don’t know what you’re going on about.” I grab Phoebe and force her to look at me.
She pins me with a serious look that’s a rare sighting on her. “Footballers are slags. All of them. Even the Harris men were slags in their time.”
“Okay…” My face has to be the picture of confusion because I’m not following what she’s going on about.
“Zander Williams is no Harris Brother,” she states through clenched teeth. “He’s Rex 2.0. So don’t think you can turn him into a boyfriend, okay? Zander is for fun, not for the future.”
“I know that.” I step back, my body tense with annoyance at the mention of Rex. “Can we get to a point in my life when all signs don’t lead back to Rex Carmichael please?”
Phoebe holds her hands up in surrender. “Sorry!”
“I’m here tonight following all your silly rules, so give me a little credit.”
“Fair enough.” She moves closer and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I’m just looking out for you. You have a tender heart, Daph, and I want you to p
rotect it as you attempt your first casual fling.”
“You make me sound pathetic,” I sulk, crossing my arms over my chest. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend any more than you are.”
“Okay.” She gives me a wry grin. “And we still have our rule that if we’re still single by the age of thirty-eight, we’re marrying each other and using a sperm donor, right?”
“Right, but I still don’t want to be pregnant.”
“Neither do I,” she exclaims defensively.
“Which is why we’re both getting turkey-basted at the same time.” I waggle my brows excitedly.
“And may the odds be ever in our favor.”
She clinks her glass with mine and reminds me to keep making occasional eye contact with Zander from my position. That task is not difficult because Zander feels like a piece of metal, and my eyes are two giant magnets. Every time our gazes connect, the swirling in my belly is so intense, I’m forced to look away, or I might faint.
The last little technique Phoebe told me to accomplish was to try to give attention to another bloke. Booker Harris would be the easiest choice since I know him, but he’s too enraptured with Poppy to even play that game with me.
So, when I end up cornered by the Scottish midfielder named Banner, I figure he’ll get the job done.
“I’m from Edinburgh,” Banner says, his eyes staring blatantly at my chest.
“That’s nice. I’ve been there a few times,” I respond, doing my best to look into his steel-blue eyes, but it’s hard when his gaze isn’t on my face.
“You haven’t been to Edinburgh with me, though,” his growly voice replies creepily.
I frown at that strange remark. “Well, no, because we’ve just met.”
“Aye, if you come to Edinburgh with me, I’ll show you a part of the city you never even knew existed.” Banner nods proudly, his chest puffing out like he’s striking a pose. “Things your mind can’t even imagine. The seedy underbelly.”
“Sounds scary.” I laugh nervously and glance over Banner’s shoulder to see Zander standing at the bar and watching me with rapt fascination. I can’t help but smile victoriously. Bloody hell, maybe Phoebe’s crazy ideas actually work.
I redirect my attention back to Banner. “I’m from Essex. What you see is what you get there, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t know about that,” Banner says with a laugh. “I’m quite certain you have some surprises hiding under that fur coat of yours.”
My brows furrow at his bizarre reply. What is it with footballers and horrible pickup lines? I mean, I know the fact that they’re footballers pretty much makes them hot by default, but they surely can do better.
When I look past Banner again, a group of girls has joined Zander. A tall blonde leans up and whispers something into Zander’s ear, and my spark of jealousy is instant. When her hand slides up his arm and wraps around his bicep, my mind implodes.
This is stupid.
Playing games with men is stupid. Why did I let Phoebe talk me into this? I already knew Zander wanted to sleep with me. He all but said so in the hallway. And my original idea was much, much easier. I was going to hang out in my flat until I heard him come home and then invite him over for the little surprise I made him. Now there’s a girl who looks like she’s about to win Operation: Shag the Slutty Footballer, and I don’t fancy the idea of losing.
“Will you please excuse me,” I bite out to Banner, and without waiting for him to respond, I march straight over to where Zander stands at the bar with three girls pressing in on him.
His eyes widen as I approach. “Can I see you for a sec?” My voice is clipped as I tap my boot impatiently on the cobblestone.
“He’s busy,” some girl slurs, but I ignore her because Zander’s eyes don’t leave mine.
His brows flicker with concern as he detaches the woman’s claws from his arm and is nearly forced to shove his way out of the gaggle of women. “What do you need?”
I grab his hand and drag him toward the pub and hang a right into the narrow hallway by the toilets. I swerve around on my heel and inhale a sharp breath at our proximity. He’s all tall and smoldering, a curious glint in those hazel eyes. I shake off my traitorous thoughts and ask firmly, “Are you having a nice time tonight?”
His eyes dance over my face, and I swear he’s fighting back a smile. “Yeah, sure. How about you?”
“I was until a couple of minutes ago.” I chew my lip, tasting the chalkiness of my lipstick.
“Anything I can help you with?” Zander asks, hitting me with that annoying crooked smirk.
“Are you planning to shag one of those girls tonight?” I bite, shocked at how angry I sound. I swear this man gives me a personality transplant. I’m not normally this confrontational.
“Come again?” Zander’s face is a mixture of humor, confusion, and shock.
“What is your plan?” I snap through clenched teeth. “Because it would be nice to know so I can stop doing the stupid things Phoebe told me to do and just go home.”
Zander steps back and removes his backward hat to fork a hand through his hair that’s curling at the ends. I get a fleeting urge to run my fingers through it, but stuff that thought into the dark vortex that houses my temper.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about, Ducky,” Zander’s tone is casual as he stares down at me in that big, overbearing way of his that makes me feel petite and feminine.
My face heats as I force myself to break eye contact so I can focus on what I’m about to say. Taking a deep breath, I make the rash decision to throw all of Phoebe’s advice out the window and go for brutal honesty instead. “I’m doing these stupid things to seduce you because I want to try some casual sex with you.” I cringe and cover my face, feeling his hazel eyes boring into me like I’m a circus freak. “But if what you said in the hallway yesterday was utter bollocks, then tell me now so I can go home and resume hating you for all of space and time. I think I was quite exceptional at that, as it turns out.”
I finally lower my hand and glance up to see delighted amusement on Zander’s face. His full lips purse together as he fights back a smile. “You want to try some casual sex with me?”
My fists clench with the urge to punch him square in the nose. It’d be nice to give him a crooked nose to match that crooked smile. Unfortunately, images of him naked in that stupid pink tea towel live rent-free in my mind, so I’d much rather he thump me…in the casual sex sort of way.
“I thought casual sex was the original idea,” I croak, my breathing growing shaky as flashes of his abs alight in my mind. “No strings and all that.” Christ, I sound like I’m ordering a Big Mac. Better go ahead and add a side of fries while I’m at it, so I’m sure to be full by the end of the night.
Zander cocks his head, his eyes darkening as he glances down at my body, causing my nipples to pebble beneath my coat. “I already told you that was my specialty.”
“Then what were you doing out there?” I thrust my finger back toward the beer garden where he was just surrounded by Harris Ho wannabes.
“What were you doing out there?” he volleys back, and the vein in his neck looks ridiculously sexy. “I was only talking to those girls because you were talking to Banner.”
“Well, fine,” I retort, my chest heaving as he moves closer to me.
“Fine,” he repeats, forcing me to look up as he bows over me. His delicious scent assaults my senses, and I lick my lips, desperate to feel his on mine again. His voice is deep and controlled when he adds, “Does this mean you’re ready to admit that you want to fuck me as bad as I want to fuck you?”
My balance wavers as all the blood in my body rushes to my nether regions. I force myself to maintain eye contact with him when I reply shakily, “Unfortunately, yes.”
Zander tilts his head and allows his eyes to do a long, languishing inspection of my face. “Nothing unfortunate about that.”
A moment of tense silence casts over us, and I briefly wonder if I shoul
d just drag him into the loo and let him take me up against the wall. This ache inside me is so intense, I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk out of here without my knees buckling. But I need to play it cool with Zander. I’m sure he does this with women all the time, so there’s no need to inform him how desperate and starved for sex I actually am.
I chew my lip and pull my mobile out of my bag to shoot off a quick text to Phoebe.
“What are you doing?” Zander asks, his breath warm on my neck as he glances down at my phone.
“I’m telling Phoebe that we’re leaving.” I press send and look up to see an impressed smirk on Zander’s face. “That okay with you?”
“You’re the boss.” He waggles his eyebrows playfully as I grab Zander’s hand and pull him toward the side exit of Old George.
My mind is whirring with annoyance and irritation for how horribly I played that game tonight. Honesty is always the best policy. I should have never let Phoebe get in my head. And besides, if Zander and I are truly just going to have casual sex, there’s no need to play these stupid games.
As we make our way up the three flights of stairs, my crossness shifts into arousal with every step I take. I can feel his heat and presence looming behind me. I don’t have to glance back to know that his eyes are on me. And it’s a heady sensation to realize that I want them to be. I want his eyes on every part of my body.
This is really happening. I’m really going to have sex with my footballer neighbor. The last boy who made my vagina dance like this was Sam Thompson in year nine. I was too young and stupid to do anything about that. Now I’m older. I’m mature and independent. I’ve earned this experience, and I’m going to stuff away all our past drama to enjoy this.
When we reach our hallway, I head toward my door and call over my shoulder, “I have something for you, but you can’t come inside.”
“Seriously?” Zander hesitates in front of my door with a confused look on his face. “What is it with you and this hallway?”
I roll my eyes at his little joke. “My nieces were over today and left it a total pigsty. I’ll just pop in and grab it, and we can go over to your place.”
