by Scott, Kylie
His sigh is so long and heavy it might carry its own zip code. Like I’m slowly crushing the life out of the poor man with my bad food choices. “Step away from your cart, Sadie.” His voice is authoritative and brooks no argument.
A little shiver ripples through me at the deep, sexy timbre.
“Ugh. Fine.” I take several steps back and cross my arms. “It’s not like I didn’t get any fresh fruit or vegetables. Crudités count.”
I glance at the clerks that are restocking each section with the fresh stuff while other patrons are grabbing what they can as soon as it’s put out.
He doesn’t even bother responding. Instead, he gets busy tossing a couple potatoes (so carby), a big bunch of kale (bleh), tomatoes, an onion, broccoli, cauliflower, and four huge cobs of corn into my cart.
“Evan, you’ve gone too far. I don’t do cauliflower.”
“We’ll bake it covered in a cheese sauce. You’ll love it.”
“You’re so bossy when it comes to food.” I grumble, but deep down, this is fun. It’s nice having him look after me like this. Having him care about my health and the contents of my pantry as opposed to just my panties like so many other men. Though if he stuck to my thong, my heart would be safer.
I didn’t really do domestic things with Sean. He had a housekeeper to deal with all sorts of necessities. Someone to handle the shopping and making meals. And then he had me to deal with his dick, and to be available as his plus one at business functions. The man sure had his life sorted into neat and tidy boxes. Pity it sucked so hard being a part of it.
“You’ll at least try it, right? For me?” Evan flashes me a smile and my knees go weak. Oh, the things I wouldn’t do for him when he looks at me that way. This is ridiculous.
“Fine,” I say, letting my head and shoulders sag for good measure.
“That’s my girl.”
Next, he fills his cart with healthy food. Way more than I could ever eat in two weeks let alone one. I push my cart a little farther away and scan the paper products aisle. It’s wiped out completely. Not a single roll of toilet paper. Thank God I buy a huge thirty-six count package every few months. Still, it takes me out of my happy little sphere thinking about all the people who don’t have any.
Powering forward and skipping that aisle completely, I move on. Pasta, rice, canned goods, and so on. There are very few options in the pasta aisle. Which I guess in the grand scheme would make sense because it lasts a long time and is filling. A good way to feed large families.
Grabbing a single box of spaghetti and a jar of premade sauce, not my normal brand, but you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit, I shift my mind back to what we talked about on the street. Namely him. My new favorite subject to dwell on. How would that affect you, losing your mom so young? Having to learn to cook and everything. Taking care of his little brother while his dad was at work. It’s obvious he’s a nurturer by nature. A giver. Despite what he says about having previously restricted sexual relations to hello/bang/goodbye.
Though if he pours all of his energy into football, then he wouldn’t have necessarily have the time or the emotional energy for a real relationship. Perhaps when he left home for college and then the big leagues, he was focusing on his first love, the game, and didn’t see any need for a second. Making up for the time he’d lost having to grow up fast after his mom died, maybe. Indulging in some of the partying he missed out on during high school.
Perhaps Eamon, the hero of my book, could be an orphan. Grew up fast in a series of foster homes, trying to protect the younger kids. Hardened to life from all of those tough times. That could work. A heart of gold hidden from the world. Buried deep behind sarcastic comments and his all-consuming commitment to the game. Hmm. It could work. An unwelcome thread of guilt moves through me. But it’s not like I’m actually writing about Evan’s life or anything. Selling his secrets. He’s just my muse.
I add a box of cornbread mix and snag the last bag of flour tortillas. Because what even is life without Mexican food? Moving along, I head to the canned soup and toss in a can of stew just in case I get desperate. Preppers buy canned food and bottled water. They also buy truckloads of guns and ammo, but I’m not going there.
“I think that in an apocalypse situation I’d last approximately five to six minutes,” I blather, knowing he’s following my every move and judging each item I add.
Evan nods, scooping up a bunch of cans and some packets of quinoa. I can’t even comprehend how that is cooked. I’m not even sure I’ve ever had it.
“That sounds about right.” He snickers.
“Some friend you are. You’re supposed to offer to protect me with your rockin’ body. Shelter me by throwing footballs at our attackers and tackling them or something.” I laugh quietly. The store, the whole situation, seems too somber for anything louder.
“My rockin’ body, huh?”
“Oh, stop,” I drawl. “You already know I admire your physique. Don’t make a thing out of it.”
He chuckles. “As long as you’re not just after my mind. I hate it when chicks do that.”
“Ha.” I throw a few more things into my cart before heading into the next aisle. And here we are, nirvana. This is where I come into my own. This is where I truly belong.
Behind me, Evan groans. “Why don’t we skip this aisle?”
“Hell to the no, boy.” I park my cart to the side and wave a hand at him. “Step back. I’m in control now.”
He mutters an assortment of swear words, but does as he’s told.
When snack shopping, it’s important to cover all of your basic food groups. Three or four bags of Doritos each, because I know they’re a favorite for him. Then a selection of candy. M&M’s (with and without nuts), Reese’s Pieces, Hershey bars, and Skittles. Next come the cookies, a necessary part of any balanced crap diet.
He groans some more. Is it wrong that I like that sound? Because I really do like that sound coming from him. “Man, I can already feel my arteries clogging, my heart slowing down.”
“Hush, Evan. I’m concentrating. This is important work.”
“I can just see you in the oncoming apocalypse, going from store to store, desperately searching for your next sugar hit. Not even caring about the chaos on the streets or the cannibals hunting us down.”
“Wait. There are cannibals in this apocalypse now?” I wrinkle my nose and scan all the beautiful packages of brightly colored cookies.
“Sure, why not? Ever seen The Walking Dead?” He winks at me, unrepentant.
“Tell me, in the ruins of this forgotten city, are you valiantly protecting me with all of those muscles while I search for a Snickers? Because you know I’m dead otherwise.”
At this, he strikes an old-school Arnold Schwarzenegger strong man sort of pose and flexes. Even beneath his long sleeve Henley this is an impressive sight. I’m half tempted to fan my face. He just oozes this sexy confidence and masculinity. Help me, baby Jesus. Certain parts of my anatomy just caught on fire.
“Tell the truth. Is that your Tinder profile pose?” I ask.
“You like it?” He waggles his brows and continues to add different flexes for my benefit.
“Oh yeah, big boy. You work it.”
And he really does, which has my mouth watering and taking in his stunning form. He really is a work of art.
He laughs, watching me for a long moment. And then we just stare at each other. Everything feels warm and lovely. Until he turns away. “C’mon. We better get a move on, other people will be waiting to do their shopping.”
Shoot. He’s right.
It’s amazing how he can take me from scared to giggling in fewer than two grocery aisles. How lucky am I to have him willing to walk at my side (six feet back) and hang with me (on his own balcony) during these hard times? So many people are alone and afraid. Sick and waiting for treatment in a crowded hospital. Not even in my wildest nightmares did I ever imagine we’d be living through something like this. A pandemic. The kn
owledge of how messed up everything is right now does my head and my heart in. Just the thought wipes the smile from my face. But it’s not like anyone can see what’s happening behind the mask. Stay strong for another few aisles and we’ll be back in the safety of our homes.
“You okay?” he asks, voice concerned.
“Yeah,” I say, choked up for some reason. “We should hurry up.”
“You can always flirt with me later,” he offers sweetly.
I grab a couple of boxes of Oreos off the shelf and try for a smile. Even if he can’t see it, he’ll know somehow. I know he will.
“It’s a date, Evan.”
CHAPTER 6
QUARANTINE: DAY 6
SADIE
MY CELL GOES OFF AT some ungodly hour of the morning. I gaze blearily at the time. Seven-thirty. How uncivilized. I didn’t stop writing until well after midnight and was counting on sleeping in to recharge my body and brain.
“Hello?” I rasp, my voice thick from sleep.
“Sadie?” The sound of Sean’s voice on the other end of the call is as unwelcome as fuck. “Is that you?”
“No, Sean. It’s an alien pretending to be me, wearing me as a skin suit. How are you?”
He sniffs. “There’s no need to be like that. I just wanted to check you were okay.”
I slump back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling. Rain is coming down hard, rattling the window. My linens are happy shades of blue and I’m surrounded by about three billion pretty decorative pillows. It’s the Disney princess in me. Beauty and the Beast was my favorite growing up. I always wanted the library and the huge dramatic bed. So now, books line a whole wall of my living room and my bed is an extravagant California King. It’s a lovely sight. But not even my beloved bedroom can make this phone call a happy one.
“Sorry,” I lie. And I don’t even put much effort into the fib because he just doesn’t deserve it. “You know I’m not a morning person.”
Another sniff.
“Are you sick? What’s with all of the sniffing?” Shit. Does he have the virus?
“I am not sick,” he snaps. Good Lord, this conversation is off to a great start.
“It would be okay if you were, Sean. It’s not actually a moral failing. Germs happen, you know?”
“I’m not sick.” I can almost hear him grinding his teeth. “I’m in perfect health.”
“Okay. Great. Well…I’m fine too.”
“Good.”
Silence.
“Was that all you wanted?” I ask, on the verge of death from lack of caffeine. If I’m awake, then the coffee should be flowing. It’s the law.
“Work has been busy, though we’ve all relocated to our home offices along with the rest of the city. The initial upset was challenging, but we’ve all settled back into the flow of things now.” Of course, he wants to talk about that. He always wants to talk about work in the most patronizing and supercilious tone possible.
“Yeah? My writing is going well too.”
“A lot of clients are taking the opportunity to catch up on things while the market goes through this lull. Shore up their defenses and evaluate their finances to better weather the upcoming storm.”
“The words have just been pouring out of me.” Since he completely ignores my contribution to this conversation, I ignore his. Childish maybe, and yet, I don’t care in the slightest.
“I seem to go from one online meeting to another lately. Some of it’s just hand-holding, but almost all of our clients are seeing a sharp downturn due to current events. You can’t blame them for being concerned. And if they’re willing to pay my hourly rate then I’m happy to listen to them worry and whine.”
“And my characters are coming along great. Thank you for asking.” I yawn overly loudly in the hopes that he’ll get the hint.
Nope. He continues undaunted.
“I trust you’ve made plans to ensure your finances will survive a possible recession?”
Here it is. The big reason he called. Probably wants me to invest with him. Been there. Done that. Threw away the frickin’ T-shirt, thank you very much. “I’m not going to discuss money with you, Sean. You know that. That’s a hard boundary.”
“A sensible person would make use of help when it’s offered by an expert.”
We’ve only had this argument a thousand or so times. It’s as old as Moses so I keep my trap shut.
He sniffs again. “Anyway, things have been quite shaken up by all of this. It set back our trials of a new accounting program which is disappointing.”
“I’m thinking my hero and heroine will bang soon.”
Insert dramatic pause here. “I’m well aware of what you write. There’s no need to be crude, Sadie.”
Every time we speak, I swear to God I should get down on my knees and give thanks that I dropped this loser. “You know, Sean, as I recall, we fucked a time or two. More even. Most people do. It’s an important part of relationships and how couples communicate physically. For sure, it’s the only thing that kept us together so long. But go ahead, dismiss me and my interests and life, talk at me some more about you and your work. You do you.”
“There’s no need to be like that. I merely wanted to check on you and see if you’re okay.”
“What would you do if I wasn’t?”
He stutters for a moment. I actually used to find it endearing, the way certain things would throw him. Things usually having to do with emotions and humanity and other items outside his comfort zone of topics. Truth is, Sean lived his life behind some mighty high, anally retentive, self-involved walls long before the lockdown happened.
“What if I was sick?” I ask.
“I’m not going to play games with you, Sadie. I don’t have time for that.”
“You know, a new guy moved in next door. We’re getting along so well. In the few days I’ve known him, he’s been more of a friend to me than you ever were. More supportive and sweet and funny. Oh my God, he’s so funny. We always wind up laughing when we’re together, even with everything so dark and scary these days. He’s just more everything, you know?”
“You’re seeing someone new?” he asks, and I can just imagine the expression on his handsome face. Because Sean is hot in his own buttoned-down way. If only his personality wasn’t the worst.
“Okay. Thanks for calling, Sean. This was actually really enlightening and reinforced all the reasons why I dumped you in the first place. Just on the off chance I was having second thoughts. Which I wasn’t.”
“Sadie, if memory serves, you said we could still be friends!”
“When you’ve worked out what it is to actually be someone’s friend, Sean, feel free to give me a call. Stay healthy and safe, okay? Bye.”
And that’s that. Phew.
I tie back my messy hair in a ponytail and empty my bladder. Then I wash my hands while singing the first half of “Don’t Start Now” by Dua Lipa because girl power and you can’t be too careful. You got to spend quality time with the soap and water these days.
Next, I wander through the living/kitchen/dining area straight to the glass doors leading out onto the balcony. It’s wet as heck out there. Raining cats and dogs. No sign of Evan. Sad face emoji. Probably for the best given I’m only in my panties and a faded old tee. Bet I look stellar. Given the time, he’s probably still sleeping. Or maybe he’s on the running machine, what with the crap weather. It’s not like he can do his workout on the balcony today.
In a just and humane world, if I have to be awake at this hour, I should at least get to witness the splendor that is Evan performing lunges. The man has the most amazing thighs. Yesterday he invited me to time my workout with his at nine o’clock. Which I thought was an excellent idea. I could do my yoga while he lifted the weight of all my expectations, emotional baggage, and sexual needs.
All right, so there’s a little dark cloud hanging over my head today and it has nothing to do with hearing from the ex. Mostly. It’s just that for some reason, I have the worst fee
ling Evan has friend-zoned me. It’s nothing he’s said or done exactly. Just this weird feeling I have. Our flirting is all playful and fun, but… I don’t know. Is it actually going anywhere?
Maybe I’m overreacting. It is a hobby of mine. Not to be indelicate, but the boy is making me horny and it’s not like you can invite someone over for intimate relations these days. Six feet of separation doesn’t allow for anything. Evan and I have talked more than the ex and I ever did and I’d very much like to get closer to him. Problem is, it’s not allowed.
How do you date during quarantine? I guess you don’t.
With a sigh, I head over to my coffee maker. Time to pull my head out of my panties and start my day. First up is to check on Mom and Dad to make sure they’re not planning on inviting anyone over to play cribbage or something. Then answering e-mails, checking messenger, and catching up on social media before I start getting the words down. I may also stress-buy a pair of new jeans or a couple of bottles of wine somehow. You never know. There’re a lot of great sales on right now and it’s important to support local businesses! I also love getting packages in the mail. It feels just like Christmas.
It doesn’t even occur to me until later that I actually chose catching a glimpse of my neighbor over getting an immediate caffeine fix. Huh. How about that? Not many things come between me and my coffee.
A cool wet cloth slides across my fevered brow. That’s the first thing I feel upon waking. A sharp pain fills my head, wiping out all chance of coherent thought. When I open my heavy eyelids, it’s to the sight of a handsome chiseled jawline and worried blue eyes.
It’s my new neighbor!
I’m lying on a messy bed in a stranger’s room. We’re in his apartment, I guess. He must have carried me up the stairs in his thick, strong arms. Just the thought makes me weak all over again. How he must have held me against him. How close we must have been.
“W-what happened?” I ask in a breathy voice.
“You were mugged,” he says in his deep rough voice. “It happened on the street. I saw it all. Someone pushed you over and stole your groceries and your purse.”