by Scott, Kylie
“Great. Thanks, Polly. We’ll be in touch.”
“Take care of yourself, Evan. Remember, Netflix and chill. No media sightings.”
“Aye aye, captain!” I salute the air even though she can’t see it.
Clicking off the phone, I stare out over the view. My eyes scan the tall buildings and the lack of cars driving up and down the streets. I’d rather look at the beautiful woman next door.
Taking a gander at the balcony to my immediate left I’m sad to see the blonde with the spectacular ass is no longer there.
Guess Netflix and chill it is.
* * *
SADIE
Okay, reposition feet hip-distance apart and centered on the mat. Inhale and let it all go on the exhale. I look over the balcony across the barren city and try to find perspective. What did the teacher say? Set your intention? My intention is to maintain a modicum of good health and to not go insane during self-isolation. Fingers crossed on both fronts. Getting some work done wouldn’t be a bad idea either.
“They locked down the fucking city, man!” The voice blocks me from finding my zen spot. Some big blond dude is pacing back and forth in the neighboring apartment. Guess we’ve all got to get our exercise one way or another. A nice quiet doctor owns the place, but he’s overseas right now. No idea who this guy is. The new cat sitter, maybe? If so, I hope Gloria housetrains him quickly because all of this shouty behavior is not okay. Not if I have to share a wall with him for the next few weeks.
My new neighbor’s voice lowers to a more tolerable level and I take a deep, calming breath before moving into my next pose. Much better. Despite having questionable balance and being new to this whole yoga thing, I’m not doing too badly. It’s weird how quiet the city is with everything on lockdown. Peaceful, almost.
“Two weeks! I’ll be stuck here for two weeks!” he rants once more.
Ugh.
Due to the architect’s penchant for floor to ceiling windows—perfect for letting in the light—I have quite the view of my new neighbor’s performance. Much angst. Such woe. Like we’re not all going to go stir crazy during lock in. Even if it has only just started. I for one can’t wait to see how many divorces and break-ups this causes. Call it morbid curiosity. Though, being a romance writer, my mind would be better served dwelling on the possibilities for true love in this situation.
A random casual hook-up turning into so much more due to weeks of forced interaction? Roommates bonding over newly revealed shared interests? Nuh. Roommates entering into a sex pact to stave off boredom! Now that could work. Broken beds and broken hearts. That’s how to get things done. With the requisite happy ever after at the end, of course.
“Excuse me!” he shouts, shoving a frustrated hand through his head of thick, wavy, dark blond hair. New phone call, I think. After all, you can’t yell at the same person all day long. How tedious would that be?
Call me distractible, but watching him is actually a hell of a lot more interesting than perfecting my Downward Dog or doing yet another inventory of my pantry. Damn Oreos. I could have sworn I had another package. Day one and I’m already out of my favorite snack. Just bring on the apocalypse already. Without Oreos my life is already functionally over.
“Are you kidding me!” The man sure has a set of lungs on him. Unfortunately, at this point, he about-faces and strides back into the apartment. Still yelling, of course, though I can’t quite make out what he’s saying.
On the plus side, in those blue jeans, his ass is a thing of wonder. Honest to God. In less pandemic-y times, I’d charge my friends a bottle of wine to come over and witness the beauty of that thing. So tight. So nice. I lick my lips. Impressively broad shoulders beneath his T-shirt too. When he paces back to the front of the apartment, I’m presented with a strong jawline, high forehead, and a nose that could be slightly crooked. At least, it will be in the book. Readers dig that shit. The hint of a complicated past with a dash of violence thrown in for good measure. Ideally, he’d have broken it defending a small child or rescuing puppies. A combination of the two, perhaps?
Yes, it’s a definite. Apart from the anger management issues, this guy is officially hot stuff. Not that I’m after an actual love interest. Just inspiration for the hero of my next book.
Which is when it hits me…big buff dude reveals surprisingly sensitive side to sexy single introverted neighbor during quarantine. Hmm. It has possibilities. I stop procrastinating and move onto the next pose, arms out in a T, legs wide, and a slow bend at the waist. I exhale, pondering the plot idea along with the thickness of his thighs. The way the denim lovingly embraces every inch of his musculature. It’s like it’s on a loop playing over and over in my head. Okay, maybe I’m a little sex starved. He can feature in my masturbatory fantasies as well. After all, he’s that kind of can-do, helpful guy. Or at least, he is in my mind. And that’s where the man will stay. At a safe and appropriate distance. For both the virus and my heart.
Back to building my hero. What color should his eyes be? Blue as the sky on a cloudless summer day? Green as the first leaves of spring. Brown as…I don’t know, something that’s brown. Obviously, my brain is sugar starved due to insufficient snacks. A situation that needs to be remedied ASAP. The Reece’s Pieces were meant to be for tomorrow, but oh well. These are trying times and sacrifices must be made. I also have notes to make. Lots and lots of them.
With a little pep in my step, I roll up my mat, tuck it under my arm, and sneak one last glance at my neighbor. His forehead is resting against the glass window, cell phone plastered to his ear. He seems defeated, sorrowful. Now I’m wondering if something happened to him. Could it be related to the virus? Silently I wish the dude well, along with hoping he keeps his volume down. I’ve got a great first chapter to write, and Mama needs a snack.
CHAPTER 2
QUARANTINE: DAY 2
SADIE
“NO, MOM, YOU CAN’T DO that. You need to stay home.” I hold my cell in one hand while rubbing at the tension building in my temples with the other. “The idea is to only go out once a week for groceries, and even then you need to wash your hands before and after as though you were a doctor getting ready for surgery. Why don’t you stress-bake cookies instead? I know your German coffee cake is great, but you’ve got plenty of other supplies to perfect a new masterpiece of epic baking proportions.”
“But it’s your father’s favorite,” she whines.
“Pretty sure you’re also his favorite, so having you alive and well is kind of important. You can’t expect me to listen to him go on and on about golf after you die, leaving me his auditory victim. That’s just cruel, Mom.”
She sighs heavily, probably weighing the pros and cons of her daughter’s advice and finding something lacking in my lecture.
When did parents become so high maintenance? And apparently bulletproof. Just yesterday Dad went out for new gardening gloves despite the repeated warnings from the government and every medical professional and scientist under the sun. They were bored, and fair enough—I’m bored too—but holy cow. I was terrified one of them would catch the virus over something as stupid as needing an emergency Snickers bar.
“At least you have a house and yard. I’m stuck in an apartment.” So I’m not above doing a little whining myself. Such is life. It’s been raining on and off all day. The sky is gray and miserable overhead. Perfect weather for hunkering down and living in sweats. Pity about the small bout of cabin fever. “I know you’re a grown adult and I don’t mean to lecture you—”
“Yes, you do,” she retorts immediately.
She’s not wrong. I want to scare her. Them. They need to heed the warnings. “Mom, you’re in the most at-risk age group. It’s so important you and Dad be careful.”
“Have you heard from Sean lately?”
I look to heaven. It’s entirely possible my parents love my ex-boyfriend more than I ever did. They certainly aren’t above using him to stop me from lecturing them about the dangers of the pandemic. Sean p
lays golf and made partner at his accountancy firm. Sporty in a way that appealed to Dad and solvent in a way my mother could admire. Too bad he is boring as all hell out of the sack. Also, since he went through an ugly divorce prior to us dating, his views on relationships are tainted to say the least. I’m surprised the man didn’t insist on me signing a pre-nup on the first date.
“No,” I said. “So much no, Mom. The no is everywhere, spilling onto the floor, climbing up the walls…”
She huffs. “There’s no need to get dramatic, Sadie. Sean is a very nice man.”
“Sorry.” I am not sorry. That is a blatant lie. “Sean and Sadie. That sounds bad anyway. For all future relationships I’m going to set a definite anti-alliteration rule. It’s just too confusing. Imagine if we’d moved in together and gotten monogrammed towels. We’d never know which one belonged to whom.”
“Now you’re just being silly. Are you sure you don’t want to come home to Texas for this self-isolation thing?”
Good Lord. She truly does not get it. “We’re not supposed to travel and I’m fine here. Really.”
“Fine. Go do some work. And don’t forget to eat properly!”
“Yes, Mother. I love you, Mother.” I glance at my snack cabinet planning my next treat. I’m thinking M&M’s this time.
At this, she laughs and hangs up on me. Just about sums up our family dynamic. A dash of humor, a pinch of obligation, a spoonful of interference, and a whole heap of love.
The rain stops and the air grows cool. I step out onto the balcony and look out over the city. Still preternaturally still with everyone on lockdown. Only the occasional vehicle in the street. People walking the recommended six feet apart carrying what I assume are grocery bags. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoes. I hear the faint murmur of a truck a couple blocks away.
And then he had to go and make his presence known. The new neighbor.
Despite the average weather, he sits attempting to sun himself on a deck chair, sunglasses on and T-shirt off. You’d think he was at the beach or something. Boy, does he have some pecs on him. With a bottle of beer in hand, he sings the words to Kenny Rogers’s “The Gambler.” Loud. And given his limited vocal talents, way too proudly.
“Oh God, you’re getting the words all wrong.” I wrinkle my nose. Not that he could hear my constructive criticism with his earbuds in. Probably a good thing. “And you definitely missed that note. Do not give up your day job, buddy.”
“Harsh,” he comments, looking at me over the top of his sunglasses.
Oops.
He takes out the earbuds and places them in his lap. For a long moment he just studies me, as if he were waiting for something. Who knows what? Finally, he asks, “I take it you’re familiar with the tune?”
“It’s one of my father’s favorite songs.” I shrug one shoulder.
Again, he watches me in silence. Not even a hint of an expression on his handsome face. Dude could definitely beat me at poker.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your party for one,” I mumble dryly.
At this, he chuckles, raising his beer to his lips. His neck is disturbingly alluringly, thick and strong. And the way his throat works up and down, moving with each swallow of his beer… Hmm. I lick my lips.
“You sing it then,” he dares.
“Hell no! Unlike you, I know my vocal limitations.”
Another chuckle. “What’s your name, neighbor?”
“Sadie.”
“Hello, Sadie. I’m Evan.” He actually has a nice voice when he isn’t singing or yelling. Deep and a little rough. The man definitely doesn’t lack for confidence, what with the way he tosses aside his sunglasses and blatantly sizes me up. Given I was ogling his bare chest a minute ago, I shouldn’t really complain.
“Hi.” I raise a hand in welcome. Nope. This isn’t awkward at all.
“Want to join me in day drinking, Sadie?”
“Uh, no. Thanks. It’s barely midday and I have work to do.” A whole book to write in fact, with him as the muse. But there is no need to go into details with him about that. Ever.
“Aw, I see. You’re a good girl.” He snorts knowingly. Sneers, even. Asshat. As if he knows a damn thing about me. And…his words aren’t slurred, but who knows how many brewskis he’s imbibed so far.
“And you’re kind of obnoxious,” I fire off, no longer enjoying our little tête-à-tête.
This only makes him laugh harder, his head falling back and arm going over his abs as he lets it fly. Definitely tipsy, if not actually drunk. This kind of shit I do not need. If I wanted to be judged, I’d have continued the call with my mother.
“Nice to meet you, Evan.” On that note, I head for the door.
“Wait! Please. I’m sorry.” He rises out of the chair and walks to the railing closest to my side. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I turn back to him, arms crossed. Waiting.
“If anything, I’m a little lonely with this whole lockdown thing. It’s sort of doing my head in, having to stay indoors all the time.” He rubs at his golden chest.
I can’t help but watch the movement. His chest is massive. A smattering of blond chest hair sprinkled evenly across the expanse in just the right amount. Not too furry or caveman-like, but definitely manly. I bet it’s soft. Farther down are eight—yes, eight—visible abs. Who on earth has an eight-pack nowadays? Maybe he’s a personal trainer. Hmm… Personal trainer gets locked in an apartment during quarantine, ends up “training” the housekeeper, and they fall in love. I scrunch up my nose again. Too cliché and porn-like. Nah, I’m going back to hot jock.
“You’re usually out and about, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah. Training, work, catching up with friends…different things. You know.” His smile is small, but seems sincere. “How about you?”
“I normally work from home so it’s not quite as big a difference for me. And I love my apartment and the view.” It is one of the reasons I didn’t move back to Texas after finishing my English degree at Berkeley. I fell for San Francisco. The bay and the bridge and the nightlife and everything. The hills and the trams and the little restaurants down by the water. I adore it all. “Annoying not to be able to just go out and do whatever you want, though.”
“It sure is,” he agrees.
“I talked to my family and FaceTimed one of my friends earlier, but just going to grab a decent coffee and a pastry or going for a walk or hitting the gym…”
“Tell me about it.” When he leans on the railing, the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms flex in a fascinating manner. “I’m usually there a couple of hours a day. Push-ups and sit-ups in the living room don’t really have the same effect. There’s a treadmill and a bike in the spare room, but it’s not the same.”
“And we’re only on day two.”
“Shit. Don’t remind me.” He runs a hand through the dark blond waves at the top of his head. The layers scatter and fall back in place, like he intended it that way.
“So, you’re apartment-sitting for Jake?” I ask. Because I’m nosy. Most of us writers are.
Evan looks away for a moment, taking in the overcast sky and empty city. “Yeah. I, ah…I’m just looking after the place for him while he’s overseas working.”
“Okay.”
His response sounds off somehow, but I’ll let it go for now.
A fluffy ginger feline appears and winds herself around his legs. Evan glares down at the animal, his brow deeply furrowed. The man is seriously perturbed.
“Gloria,” I coo. “How’s the little fur baby?”
He raises a brow. “You like the cat? You want it?” His words are flat and emotionless. He’s serious and something about that has me chuckling.
“Give Jake’s cat away and he might not be so interested in letting you use his apartment again.”
“Hopefully I’m not going to need it again anytime soon.” His big shoulders drop as if he’s suddenly carrying the weight of the world. “She doesn’t
even like me. She’s just putting on a display for you. Evil little devil-kitty.”
“Oh, poor Gloria. She probably misses her daddy.” I smile. “You’re not a cat person, huh?”
“Apparently not.” He grimaces at the cat.
I laugh. The expression of disgust on his face is hilarious. And Gloria just went right on rubbing her sweet little head against his calf muscle without a care in the world. Cats are awesome. All of the attitude in the world and then some. Such champion nappers, too. “I’m allergic or I’d happily have Gloria over for a holiday.”
“Why don’t you have a dog? You seem like an animal lover.”
“Too high maintenance. They need walks and sometimes I’ll go ages without going out. If I’m working on something, really in the right headspace for it, then I don’t want to have to stop just to take a pooch for a walk.”
“They’re loyal and fun.” He is trying to make it sound more appealing.
“They do dog biscuit farts, Evan.”
He throws his head back and laughs. My God, he’s pretty. Somewhere low in my belly tenses in the most pleasurable way watching him laugh. Those muscles flexing and moving deliciously. So, apparently my loins still work. Nice to know. Flirting with my new and temporary neighbor, however, would be bad. Unwise. For reasons my lusty brain will figure out any time now.
How the man goes from being a drunken ass to prime eye candy within the space of a few minutes is disconcerting, to say the least. Though, to be fair, I was eyeing up his impressive body before we even exchanged words. All of those hours he spent in the gym showed just fine, thank you very much. Not that I’d ever be interested in a gym rat. Nope. Not me. Not after Sean with his ironclad routine and high expectations. Constantly working overtime and on call around-the-clock.
Next time I’m going to go for a more free and easy man. Someone I can just relax with who makes me laugh. Someone who doesn’t grill me about my 401k. I bet my new neighbor never even eats ice cream. Sure as hell, there isn’t an inch of body fat on him. Meanwhile, my ass owes a debt to cookies that can never be repaid.