Love Under Quarantine_Simple
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LOVE UNDER QUARANTINE
KYLIE SCOTT & AUDREY CARLAN
Copyright 2020, Kylie Scott & Audrey Carlan, Inc.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Jena Brignola
Cover Image: Brian Kaminski
Editor: Jeanne De Vita
ISBN: 978-1-943340-13-2
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Note to Readers
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Kylie Scott Titles
Audrey Carlan Titles
Acknowledgements
About Kylie Scott
About Audrey Carlan
We dedicate this book to our readers all over the world.
You matter. We hear your fear. We have it too.
May this love story provide a healing escape, if only for a little while.
All our love and well wishes,
Kylie & Audrey
NOTE TO READERS
Hello friends,
First and foremost, we hope this message finds you in good spirits and feeling healthy. As with any book we write, Love Under Quarantine will have a lot of real-to-life experiences and some things that are straight up fiction. We took some liberties as every single person has a different experience during their time sheltering in place. However, we did our best to have Evan and Sadie share some of our personal experiences and things we heard, did, said, and lived in order to flatten the curve during the COVID-19 pandemic.
This story is purely fiction. Every city, state, and country will have their own ways of handling a pandemic. We are not experts in this field but did our best to portray a story that’s filled with hope, love, and survival during a world tragedy.
We hope you enjoy it.
Thank you.
Kylie & Audrey
CHAPTER 1
QUARANTINE: DAY 1
EVAN
“THEY LOCKED DOWN THE FUCKING city, man!” I rage into my cell phone while pacing my best friend Jake’s apartment.
“Ev, bro, relax. I can hear your blood pressure skyrocketing all the way from Africa. And I sincerely doubt that they’re locking down San Francisco. It’s one of the biggest cities in the world. There’s no way the government can close off a city of six million people, not to mention the commuters. You need to…”
“Jake…I swear on my mother’s life. The Department of Public Health laid it out, and the governor agreed. There’s a stay-at-home order for the entire Bay Area. Rumor’s in the press that it’s going to go statewide.”
“Okay, I understand you’re freaked out. You have a lot on your plate.” His patronizing tone makes my blood heat.
I fist the hand that’s not holding the phone to my ear in a vice-like grip until my fingers turn white. “Freaked out? I’m a sitting duck! If the media finds out where I am, it’s over for me. My side of the story hasn’t come out and I’m still working with my publicist on the best way to handle the shitshow that is my life right now.”
A heavy sigh comes through the line. “Evan, don’t be a douche. I’m in Africa fighting HIV/AIDS, malaria, and meningitis—to name a few—from killing hundreds of thousands of people. You will survive a minor inconvenience in the largest free country in the world.”
Shit. Now I do feel like a douche. I rub my forehead and push my fingers through the dirty blond waves of hair at my crown. “They’re calling it coronavirus. I guess it’s similar to the flu.”
In the background I can hear my friend sifting through some papers. “Yeah, we received the reports from our liaisons about the concerns. It originated in China in a small town called Wuhan. It looks like the World Health Organization received information about it in or around December. Much more serious and contagious than the flu. Seems as though the reports, data, and specifics are emerging daily.”
“It’s March, man. Why the heck are we just hearing about it now?” I grind out, irritation coating every word.
Another sigh trails through the line. “It’s simply not that easy. They can’t announce something could end up being a pandemic. We’ll just have to ride this out and see what’s happening. Word is China and Italy are devastated. Most of the world is still figuring out how bad this could get.”
“And while all of this is going down, I’m stuck in San Francisco,” I offer dryly.
“Stuck? Evan, you play for the Oakland Marauders. Your house is a twenty-minute drive away. It’s not like you’re stuck in bum-fuck Egypt. Besides, you could do worse than my apartment. It’s safe, you’re on the twentieth floor, and you’ve got company. Thanks for watching Gloria, by the way.” My best friend chuckles, instantly pissing me off more.
“You mean devil-kitty?” I glare at the orange cat hissing at me from her perch on top of the media center. I swear if that cat jumps off and attacks me, it will lose all nine of its lives taking a swan dive over the balcony.
“That’s not nice. She’s my pretty-pretty ginger princess. She just misses me, but eventually she’ll warm up to you. Give her some of the treats in the top right cabinet near the coffee pot. That will help win her over.”
Stomping into the kitchen, I open the cabinet and pull out the cat treats. The second I shake the bag, devil-kitty races into the kitchen and leaps onto the counter like a parkour ninja.
“Jesus Christ! What the fuck, cat?” I jump back while the feline stares me down as if she’s demanding that if I give her the treats now and walk away, no one will get hurt. Psycho cat.
Jake’s deep laughter fills my ear. Instead of feeding her the treats from my hand, I shake some directly onto the counter a good two feet away from the animal. I’ll be keeping my fingers today, thank you very much!
“She’s excitable. Wouldn’t you be if you were getting a treat?”
“If the treat was a tall blonde with big tits and a bubble butt, yeah. Though that won’t be happening any time soon since I’m in lockdown in my best friend’s apartment.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.” Jake murmurs, his voice sounding far away from the phone, as though he’s talking to someone else. “Look Ev, I gotta go. I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll check in with you in a couple days. Just lay low. Eventually the truth will come out and your name will be cleared, yeah? Have a little faith.”
“Faith?” I huff. “In the press? In my team? Or maybe mankind at large?”
“All of the above. And wash your hands before and after you go out. They’re saying this thing has a two-week incubation time frame which means symptoms might not present themselves for up to fourteen days.”
“Two weeks! I’ll be stuck here for two weeks!” I holler, but he ignores my complaint.
Two weeks.
What the hell am I supposed to do for two weeks? I scan the apartment. It has two bedrooms and two baths with an open layout for the kitchen and living room. The kitchen has a small L-shaped bar counter with four stools beneath it. The area where most people would have a kitchen table is set up as Jake’s office. A tall, wooden, hutch-style desk stands against the wall, complete with a computer, giant monitor, and an ergonomic chair.
The living room is bachelor chic. Two black leather couches—one a three-seater, the other a loveseat. A few soft throw pillows in a light gray tone are scattered along the surface. An afghan with a pattern in shades of black, gray, white, and light blue that looks like a Native American design rests across the back of the large couch. There’s a glass end table with chrome edges between the couches. A matching rectangular table sits in the center. A bright blue lamp with a white shade sits on the end table. A cigarette lamp stands tall and proud in the corner near a single large potted plant—though I’m not sure the plant is real. Will definitely have to check that out or that sucker will die a slow death during my two-week stay. Across from the couches is a state of the art media center. Fifty-five-inch TV, Xbox, stereo, DVD player…the whole nine.
Fuck. I hope it’s only two weeks that I need to be here. I mean how long can it take for doctors to figure this type of thing out? Jake said it landed in China last year and it’s now mid-March. Another thing to look into while I’m waiting to see if my entire career flushes right down the toilet.
Everything I’ve worked for—gone.
All it took was a well-timed photo delivered to the media and the subsequent search of my locker, and my head ended up on the chopping block.
Drugs and doping. After everything I’ve put into my career. All the blood, sweat, and tears tossed out the door like yesterday’s garbage. Worst part, I had no business being in that room or at that party in the first place. I don’t even know who took the picture and sold me out. Not really. The media refuses to release their source, but it sure as hell looks really bad.
Half the team believes the lies. And why wouldn’t they? I’m a player and partier in every sense of the word. At least I had been in the past. More recently, after turning twenty-nine, I started to re-evaluate my life. Made some long-needed changes. The first of which was to quit boozing and partying it up with women barely of age. The second, focus solely on the game.
I was in prime shape. Treated my body like a temple and I worshipped it in the gym six days a week, two hours a day, if not more. I’m in the best shape of my life. And career-wise, I’m the best and highest paid running back there is. My last contract was for a cool fourteen mil and until this broke I expected to make even more next year.
Who knows where I’ll be now?
One of the only rules in the brotherhood of football is you do not chemically enhance your body. We get there on sheer will and our own grit. Being suspected of not only doing drugs at a party, but doping before games? Sacrilege.
Being the fastest running back in the league last season was my claim to fame. Now it’s worthless. Even if I can prove my innocence, I may always be under the microscope. This is a guilty until proven innocent situation, not the other way around.
Not that I had any say in the matter. I remember drinking heavily that night. Sharing some laughs with the guys. The coach snuck off to get a little side action with one of the cheerleaders and I was trying to be the cool one, Levi and I hanging out with the other chicks he brought. We all partied hard together. Drank like fishes, played pool and cards, danced with some of the groupies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually I was led to a bedroom by a hot chick. I don’t even remember her name. The last thing I remember was her straddling me on the bed. She offered me a glass filled with what I assumed was whiskey. I drank from it. Then it was lights out.
When I woke the next day, I found myself in a strange bed with a gnarly hangover. Unfortunately, that was not an uncommon occurrence in the past, even though I’d been staying pretty straightlaced most of the past year.
At the time I went home, crashed, and slept it off. Woke up to a media shit storm—my half-naked body passed out on a bed with booze and drug paraphernalia all around me on the front page of the newspaper and the leading story on every media source from here to Timbuktu.
Coach called me into his office the next day. Ripped me a new one before taking the team risk assessment manager and security to search my locker. At the time I thought nothing of it. I didn’t have anything to hide. Until the security team pulled out a kit with syringes and some bottles filled with liquid I’d never seen before. The words anabolic-androgenic steroids caught my attention though. Not to mention Coach’s.
I promised that I wasn’t doing drugs and definitely not doping. The team doctor took tons of my blood to do his own tests. Though he did mention that steroids usually leave the system within twenty-four hours. However, he also took hair and urine. Those tests would prove more conclusive, but took some time. Didn’t matter.
The press was waiting for me when I left the arena.
And now here I am, sitting in my lifelong best friend’s apartment licking my wounds and staying out of sight.
The world is falling apart with the threat of a pandemic and I’m under quarantine in a city I’m not that familiar with. In a building I only visited when Jake was in town. With a neighbor on one side that plays their TV so loud I don’t even need to watch the daytime soaps to know what’s happening. And the other neighbor is currently doing…what the fuck is that? Yoga maybe? I look out the glass window to see a tall and curvy blonde facing the view, standing with one bare foot on the knee of the opposite leg with her hands in a prayer position over her head—all while balancing on one leg.
I can’t see her face at all, but her body is bangin’. Curves for days, in all the right places.
No, no, no, no! The last thing I need is another freakin’ blonde ruining my life. The girl I took to bed that night at the party was blonde too. Jesus, I sure have a type.
I grind my teeth as my phone rings. I glance down and find it’s my publicist. Thank God!
“Yeah, tell me you’ve got a plan,” I clip into the phone.
Polly aka Pauline Frederickson is the leading spin doctor for sports celebrities. When I started running the ball into the endzone multiple times a game and my pay kept increasing, she sought me out. Now she’s my ace in the hole.
“Well hello to you too, Evan.”
“Polly, cut to the chase, will ya? I’m stuck in San Francisco and the city just went on lockdown. I’m in no mood for niceties.” I open the sliding door to let in some fresh air and press my forehead to the cool glass. The breeze chills my overheated skin instantly.
“Well, I’ve got mostly bad news. Coach says it’s going to take some time to clear you of any wrongdoing. You’ll have to be willing to share the blood, urine, and hair analysis results with the media. The picture says a thousand words, but the steroids…”
“Excuse me!” All the Bay Area ocean winds in the world couldn’t cool down the blazing ire firing through my system.
“He says this makes the team and him look really bad. And they can’t afford these types of risks.”
“Are you kidding me! I make the team look bad? The coach is a cheating bastard! Parties like a rockstar. And yet he has an iron-clad contract! What about mine?”
“I understand you’re upset, but we’re going to figure this out. I promise.”
“This is insane! And half the team believes this shit?” I run my hands through my hair. “Those men are like brothers to me!”
“I’m sorry, Evan. These things happen. And unfortunately, with your recent past and the pictures of you sprawled on a bed with booze and drugs clearly visible, there’s not a lot we can say without proof.”
“Jesus, I don’t know what to do. Someone is setting me up! What do you think?�
� I suck in a huge breath, trying my damndest to calm my racing heart and ease the dread filling my mind.
“Right now? Lay low. Let a little bit of this blow over. This coronavirus thing everyone is talking about is taking center stage in the media. It’s going crazy here in New York. You know how these things go. Wait a bit and let another jacked-up story take the front page. Then if we’re lucky and you stay out of the press, this will all fade, and we can work it out directly with your agent and team.”
“I’ll do whatever you say. Maybe you’re right. A little time away from it all will do some good. Though I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do all day in a small apartment in downtown San Francisco with a stay-in-home order from the governor.”
“Do what everyone else is doing,” she offers unhelpfully.
“And that would be?” I chuckle and watch as the blonde stretches her arms out in a T, legs in a wide stance, and bends over giving me an incredible view of her rounded ass. I bite down on my lip and squint to get a better look.
“Take up reading, lifts weights, do a puzzle, surf the net, and the best and most consistent way to burn time…Netflix and chill.”
“Netflix and chill?”
“Yep! I recommend Point of Interest or Lucifer or maybe True Blood if you’re into vampires.”
“Vampires?” I shake my head and rub my palm over my tired face. “I’m gonna let you go.”
“Call you in a few days unless something else comes up.”
“Great, thanks.”
“And Evan?”
“Yeah?”
“You haven’t been taking steroids. Have you?” Her voice is direct and devoid of emotion.
My stomach sinks. Even my own publicist is questioning the truth. What the hell does that say about me?
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then what’s in the past is in the past. Now, we move forward.” Her tone is chipper and upbeat. The exact opposite of everything I’m currently feeling.