Lockdown Love

by Brisa Starr

  He leans into the golf cart. “Here’s the key. Here’s the garage door opener.” He pushes the button and the door goes up.

  He steps aside, and I slide into the driver’s seat. This is going to be fun.

  “This is so cute. I can’t believe people just drive these around for their cars.”

  “Yeah, it’s a hoot,” he replies. “OK, so turn the handle down here behind your right leg for reverse.” He leans in close, pointing to a lever under the seat.

  I bend in my seat a bit to see what he’s referring to. Our faces are close. God, he smells so good... fresh from the shower. His wet hair glistens.

  He pulls back and straightens up, standing next to the golf cart with his hand on the cart’s roof. Dang, his bicep is huge. He’s sexy and strong, and I want to reach out and touch his chiseled muscle to see how hard it really is. I stare at it for a second too long.

  “Emma?”

  “Wha-” I say as I realize I was staring at his arm. Blushing again — if Paige could see me now, she’d laugh her ass off. I act like nothing happened. “OK, thanks. Need anything from the store?” I ask, my tone dry.

  “No thanks. Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Of course,” I reply, a bit sharper than I intended, but I was trying to recover my no-nonsense attitude.

  I turn the key in the ignition. With my foot on the brake, I shift the lever into reverse, and the cart makes a beep beep beep sound, like a forklift. I press the gas, the cart’s little putt-putt motor starts up, and I start to move backwards.

  I back the golf cart out of the garage and into the street. I shift out of reverse and press the gas again. “See you later,” I holler, wave, and drive off.

  Girl. Get. Your. Shit. Together. That’s the mantra I keep repeating to myself while driving to the store. I do not have time for any bullshit relationship. How many times do I need to remind myself of this? And again, it’d never work. We don’t even live near each other. And he’s way too cocky. The ego in that man, like he’s just expecting me to drop my shorts for him.

  You can tell he gets his way with women. Too hot for his own good. Well, not me. Not this time, Landon.

  As I drive my putt-putt down the street — racing along at 20 miles per hour — I see another golf cart ahead of me. Hm… I’m gaining on it quickly. For some reason, it’s moving very slowly, even for a golf cart, driven by a senior. What is he doing? But as I approach, the mystery is solved. Trotting alongside the cart is a cute, little white dog, going for its daily walk. The driver of the cart is holding the dog’s leash as he drives. Only in Sun City, I think, as I pass and exchange waves with the other driver. Everyone here waves and smiles to each other. It’s nice.

  I arrive at the store and pull into the parking lot. The sun is shining, and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The weather is perfect, and I see there are miniature parking spots up front just for golf carts. “How adorable!” I squeal out loud and pull into one of them.

  I turn off the cart and take out the key. I finger comb my hair that got tangled in the breeze coming here. Then, I get my phone from my purse and decide to text my girl, Paige. I have to update her on Landon. I lean back on the seat and put my feet up on the dash.

  Me: Hey girl, what are you doing?

  Paige: Hey! Not much. More importantly, what are you doing? Or should I ask WHO are you doing?

  Me: OMG stop it. You’re as bad as he is. You know I don’t have time for that. I don’t even want THAT.

  Paige: Whaaaaat? He sniffing around ya? If he’s as hot as you say, how can you not?

  Me: Why do I have to keep reminding everyone that I don’t have time to mess around.

  Paige: I know. I know. You’re right. I guess ;) But hey, maybe a no-strings-attached affair with a hot doctor is just what you need. It’s not like you’re working every single minute.

  Me: You know I can’t do the no-strings thing. I’m not like that.

  Paige: First time for everything. Send me a picture of him!

  Me: LOL how am I supposed to do that? Say to him, “Oh my BFF wants to see what you look like”?

  Paige: Exactly.

  Me: Nooooo!

  Me: Okey dokey, I gotta run. Heading into the store for food.

  Paige: Have fun.

  Me: Thx. Luv u.

  Paige: Luv u back.

  I walk into the store with my shopping list and grab a cart. Grocery shopping is always one of my favorite things to do. Granny and I used to do it together every Sunday. Up and down the aisles we’d go, “Getting our steps in,” she’d cackle.

  I whisper softly, hoping Granny can hear me, wherever she is, “I love you, Granny.”

  After collecting most of the items on my shopping list, I make my way to the wine section. I select a beautiful Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand, my favorite region for this varietal. I love the bright tartness. The more it makes my mouth pucker, the better. I’m still learning about wine, but I’ve learned a lot from the class I’m taking online. I appreciate wine so much more now that I know a few things about it. I decide to grab a bottle of Chardonnay and a Pinot noir for good measure. “Between wine and coffee, who needs anything else?” I giggle to myself.

  Scones! That’s what.

  With whipped cream!

  I hunt for the dried cranberries to put in my scones. Where are they? It always takes a couple visits to a new store to get my bearings. Just as I spy the dried cranberries a couple aisles over, I turn the corner and bump right into the cart of an old lady. With bright, fire-engine red hair. Is that the neighbor? What was her name again?

  “Oh, you’re the one staying next door in the Mitchell’s house. You must be one of Landon’s girls.” She looks me up and down like she’s deciding whether I’m good enough for him. WTF?

  Surprised by her candor, “Uh, yes. I mean, no! I mean, I’m Emma, but I’m not one of Landon’s girls.” I reach out my hand to shake hers.

  “Oh. That’s a relief,” she replies. Now I’m confused. Relief for me or relief for him? She shakes my hand, and I feel her crepe-paper skin over bones. She says, “I’m Beverly.” She’s wearing a red and white striped shirt, which makes her hair seem that much redder. It’s short, and so is she, or at least she seems short with her shoulders hunched over so far. Unconsciously, I stand up straighter myself.

  She starts to pepper me with questions. “Then why are you both here? And how long? What do you do for a living?”

  “Uh, Landon’s here for two weeks,” I say. “I’m here for the month,” I add.

  “A month? Why in god’s name would a young thing like you come to Sun City West for a month?” she asks pointedly. “I mean, it’s true we senior citizens can get pretty wild,” she rambles. “I mean, just last week they caught a couple of seniors doing the nasty on a park bench. Can you believe it?”

  Eyes wide, stunned, “Excuse me?” I say.

  “You know... bumping uglies? Fuckin’? The volunteer Sheriff’s posse caught ‘em in the act. Yeah, people write off Sun City West as some little town that closes its shutters every day at 4pm, but no, we got some freaks living here.”

  My speechlessness and gaping mouth prompts her to say more.

  “Anyway, why did you choose Sun City West? You obviously don’t have family here, or you wouldn’t be staying at the Mitchell’s.” She’s like a detective interrogating me.

  “I’m writing a book, and it seemed like the perf-”

  She cuts me off, “A book? What kind?”

  Nosy indeed. Might as well just get this over with so I can get my cranberries and move on. “It’s a book of my Granny Grace’s homemade healing herbal recipes.”

  “Like what?”

  I sense that if I don’t end this conversation, no one will. “I’m sorry Beverly, but I really do need to go.”

  She looks hurt, so I add, “But I’m making my favorite vanilla cranberry scones, and I’ll send some over.”

  “Oh, that’d be wonderful. Yes, send that handsome Landon over w
ith your scones.”

  I nod and smile, sort of, then move my shopping cart around hers and head quickly to the dried fruit section. I get my cranberries, the last item on my list, and go to the front of the store to check out. After paying and carrying my bags to the golf cart, I drive home.

  I open the garage door and see Landon inside the garage doing push-ups. Still shirtless. His body is glistening with sweat, and his workout is making all of his already big and hard muscles even bigger and harder. Lord help me.

  I pull Bessie inside, determined not to stare at him. When I turn off the golf cart, I hear what he’s listening to. I try not to throw up in my mouth. “Fox News? Seriously? Well, if that isn’t a buzz kill,” I say.

  He walks toward me, dripping with sweat. “Fair and balanced,” he says, ignoring my comment. “It’s the only way to get the truth about what’s going on in the world.”

  I can’t help but laugh and shake my head, because this must be a joke. I get out of the golf cart and grab my grocery bags.

  “Wait, lemme guess,” he says. “You’re a Rachel Maddow fan,” he snickers.

  Did he just snicker? I believe he did!

  “She’s brilliant!” I say louder than I meant. Clearly he doesn’t know fake news when he hears it.

  “Oh please. She’s all about the ratings,” he says matter-of-factly as he grabs the rest of the bags from the golf cart, not caring at all that I’m getting riled up.

  As we head inside, I see the TV is on, too. Fox News. Again. I don’t know if I can work here for a month with this insanity. His eyes are on the screen as he sets the groceries on the counter. “They’re talking about the virus. Did you hear about it?”

  That sobers me. “Yeah, the virus that made China basically shut down?” I reply. “Crazy.”

  “It’s already in Europe now, and because it’s so highly transmissible, it’s spreading fast. Too fast. Thankfully, the president already stopped all incoming flights from China to the US,” he says proudly. “He’ll keep us protected. He’s a germophobe anyway... to our benefit.”

  “Why not build a wall to keep the Chinese out, too,” I say under my breath.

  But he heard me. “Whatever it takes. We certainly don’t want the virus here.”

  Is he kidding? Trying to get a reaction out of me? I shoot him a glare, and, just as I’m about to go on a rant, he turns off the TV, telling Alexa on the Echo to play some Shawn Mendes music. Hmpf.

  An upbeat, sexy tune starts to play, an immediate improvement over the TV, which I’m glad is turned off.

  I start taking the groceries out of the bags. I’m impressed in his taste in music, and my shoulders start to relax. We might not agree on politics, but it seems that we can at least agree on music.

  He’s helping me put away the groceries and stops to look at one of my bottles of wine, “Nice choice.”

  “Thanks, I love wine, and I’m taking a course online to learn more about it. I have a whole new appreciation for it now.”

  “I love good wine, too. You have good taste, these are three winners,” he says as he takes out the other bottles I bought.

  There he goes again, with those eyes and pointed looks. Warmth is pooling below my belly. Butterflies? Desire? I’m not even interested, so I douse the fire that’s trying to build in me. I turn away from him, but there’s something in the way he looks at me, the way he watches me that makes my heart pound erratically in my chest.

  He continues, “I know you bought groceries, but do you wanna go somewhere for dinner tonight? There’s a great litt-”

  I cut him off. “Look, Landon. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m not interested in you like that. I’m not here to meet a man. I’m not here to date. I’m here to work on my book and nothing more. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” Consider the fire doused.

  He inches closer to me, gets his face close to mine, and I swallow hard, the blood pulses in my ears so loud I can barely hear him when he says, “It’s just a meal, Emma. I wasn’t asking you out on a date.”

  He turns away then and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me staring at his back with his broad shoulders and sexy waist. I imagine my hands on that waist, kissing his hard abs and licking my way down that perfect trail of glory.

  I stop myself.

  He can’t leave soon enough.

  I’m going to have to keep my distance because he’s proving too much of a distraction.

  Now that the groceries are put away and I’m completely unpacked and settled, it’s time to start writing. Having decided that I need some distance from Landon, I set up my office for the day, not in the back yard, but in the courtyard by my bedroom. I take my laptop outside and set it on the glass-top table. I open the umbrella to shade my writing area, and I pick up the cushion from the chair, swatting it to get any dust out.

  I go inside, then return with my magical cup, filled with sparkling water. I’m ready to sit down and get to work. I power up my laptop and open the word processing software. Exhilarated, I dive in to my new project.

  A couple of hours go by, and I’ve barely looked up once, when I hear Landon call my name from the kitchen.

  I’m grateful to get up, as I’ve been sitting for so long, hunched over my laptop. I stretch and crack my neck, moving it side to side as I walk to the kitchen.

  He’s dressed in a light blue T-shirt that makes his eyes look like clear swimming pools I want to dive into, and he’s wearing a pair of faded blue jeans with a hole torn in the knee. And he’s barefoot. Shit.

  “So you do own a shirt,” I joke and head to the refrigerator for a refill of sparkling water.

  He laughs. “Yeah, I can see I’m too tempting for you without it.” Then he adds, “You’re welcome.”

  “Whatever,” I say, shaking my head. I purse my lips to keep from smiling.

  “I’m going to take the golf cart and run some errands. You have my number, so text me if you need, or want, anything,” he says suggestively.

  Clearly, he doesn’t plan to stop flirting, despite my objections. And if I’m totally honest with myself, though I think I want him to stop, I admit I’m enjoying the attention. The way he looks at me makes me feel sexy. Desired. It’s not something I’ve felt in a long time. Too long, maybe.

  He leaves, and I head back to my courtyard to work. Hours pass, and I only take breaks to get more water and go to the bathroom. I think I’m drinking more than normal. Maybe the dryness of the desert is having an effect. I heard Landon come home, but thankfully, he leaves me alone.

  Taking another break, I make myself a tuna fish sandwich with Kalamata olives and pick an orange from the tree in the back yard. I eat them while working. Finally, I decide that I’ve been sitting long enough. It’s time to turn in and relax. Maybe I’ll tune out, distract myself from the hotness on the other side of the house and watch some Netflix. Might as well take advantage of the huge TV in my bedroom.

  The distraction works. That is, until my phone buzzes. I look down to see a message from Landon.

  Landon: What are you doing?

  Me: I’m busy.

  Landon: Surely you’re not still working.

  Me: No.

  Landon: Then busy doing what? Thinking about me?

  I giggle, shaking my head in disbelief at his efforts.

  Me: Hardly. If you must know, I watched something on Netflix, and now I’m doing research.

  Landon: What kind of research? “How to woo your roommate” research?

  Me: OMG you’re ridiculous. Will you ever stop flirting?

  Landon: Sorry. Can’t help it. You’re gorgeous.

  Not wanting to encourage him, I answer his original question to bring the conversation back to shallower waters.

  Me: I’m reading about echinacea.

  Landon responds with the nerd emoji.

  Me: Yup. That’s me. Good night, Landon.

  Landon: Sweet dreams.

  I put my phone into airplane mode and sigh, yet I’m smiling because he texts me from in
side the house. It’s cute. Equal parts frustration and desire for this man hit my body simultaneously, and I let out a deep exhale.

  It has been a productive day though.

  If I’m honest with myself, I like his presence in the house, despite the distractions and interruptions. If I can keep him under control, then it’ll actually be entertaining for me in-between writing sessions.

  In fact, tomorrow I’ll work on the chapter about massage oils. Granny made the most amazing massage oils that leave your skin baby-soft and smelling incredible. She really knew how to mix essential oils with the perfect carrier oil for all kinds of things. Some recipes were feminine, some masculine, different blends for different seasons, different occasions, and even some for babies.

  I yawn, and my eyes feel heavy. I turn off the light on the nightstand and, tired, I fall right to sleep, but with butterflies dancing in my belly and dreams of Landon. Dreams of me rubbing sandalwood massage oil into his broad shoulders, his strong back, and down his hard, Spartan abs.

  5

  Landon

  I haven’t seen enough of Emma these past few days. She keeps working in the courtyard, and I’ve been playing golf a lot. Even took some lessons from the pro at the club. With so many golf courses to choose from, I’m staying busy.

  That gorgeous woman, though, she drives me crazy with her rejections of my flirting. She tries to avoid me, but I see how she looks at me. There’s something there, a connection like I’ve never had. And I’ve had my share of women. Emma is different though. Unfortunately, she thinks we’re a poor match because we have different politics and live in different states, but I think she’s wrong. Very wrong.