Love Under Quarantine_Simple

by Scott, Kylie

  I inhale fully and let it out in a long slow breath. “Yeah, but it’s boring as hell being alone all day. Though I’ve got a few distractions keeping me sane.” I glance at Sadie’s apartment. The curtains haven’t moved.

  Where the hell is she?

  “All right. Well call me when you need a breather. Keep your chin up,” he offers.

  “Thanks, Levi. Means a lot you believe in me and that you called to check in. You’re a true friend.”

  “Of course. We’re brothers.”

  Brothers.

  I guess I have one on the team when I thought I had fifty.

  “Catch ya on the flip, Sparks.”

  “You too. Bye.”

  “Later.”

  I press the off button and look up at the sky. Out of nowhere a light sprinkling starts. Fucking San Francisco weather. It can’t ever decide what it wants to be. One minute sunny and breezy. The next wet and windy. Then back to the sun or overcast, but warm.

  I head inside and make myself a sandwich, grab a bottle of water, and put on a gray hoodie, then take the entire lot back onto the balcony.

  It’s drizzling, but I don’t want to miss it if Sadie eventually comes out. I flip up my hood and hunker over my sandwich, sitting in the rain for a fucking woman I’ve known for three days. This has to be the epitome of pathetic. Then again, it’s not like I have other plans. A little water never hurt anyone.

  While waiting, I scan sports news on the Internet.

  Unfortunately, even with the virus, my doping is still heavy in the headlines.

  “Sparks is Sparking up Something Else,” one magazine headline reads alongside the picture of me out cold on a bed I don’t remember being in. A big red circle magnifies a part of the room so you can see a couple joints sitting in an ashtray. Next to that, a mirror has two lines of cut coke and a rolled dollar bill lying on its side.

  It really does look bad. The only thing I can hope is that the medical tests clear me. I don’t give a shit what anyone says. I’m going to have Polly release the full report sans my social security number. Have the club doctor share the results in a live press conference.

  Fuck yeah, that’s a great idea.

  For the millionth time today, I look at Sadie’s empty balcony. I’m now soaking wet and it’s later in the afternoon. She’s not coming and the more I want her to, the less likely she will. Good things don’t happen to assholes like me.

  My phone messages ding and I glance down.

  From: Jake

  To: Evan

  No. Sadie’s hot and sweet, but she’s a recluse. Totally not your type. She’s the kind of girl you take home to your mom. Don’t ruin her. You’d break her heart.

  Pushing off the hood of my sweatshirt, I let the rain pelt my hair and face.

  Don’t ruin her.

  You’d break her heart.

  The words soak into my soul the same way the rain is on my body. The rain should be cleansing but it only makes me feel more like a loser. Standing out in the rain to catch a glimpse of a girl I have no business wanting.

  She deserves better.

  Shaking off the rain the best I can, I go back into the lonely apartment. Once I’ve showered and changed into dry clothes, I sit on the couch and flip on the TV. Gloria comes and sits on my lap, digs her claws into my thighs, and holds on for dear life.

  Ignoring the pain, I pet the damn cat.

  * * *

  SADIE

  A neat line of M&M’s sits along the side of my work desk along with hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, and my collection of vitamin pills. Vitamin B, because I gave up bread—carbs are so yummy and evil—and I probably need the Thiamine. C, because duh. And D, because I sometimes go days without seeing the sun once the words start flowing. Candy-wise, the yellows come first because they are my least favorite color. Next comes brown, red, green, and then blue. Blue taste best. Not sure why, they just do. It’s science. This is how I get my job done—by bribing myself with a sugar fix at the end of every page.

  Here we go…

  He’s doing it again, working out on the balcony half naked. Biceps flexing as he curls the dumbbell. A subtle sheen of sweat glistens on his skin, reflecting the late morning light. His smooth tan provides the golden hues missing on this cool autumn day. It’s simply undeniable—the man is a living, breathing fire all his own. He’s breathtaking.

  How the hell can I even begin to concentrate on my “Outlander” binge watch with this show going on outside? Eamon is his name and he has a body made for sin. Long and lean and lethal. I don’t even like basketball, but I can definitely respect the effort he puts into perfecting himself on behalf of the sport. Greek gods would be jealous. High cheekbones worthy of the catwalk and lips just made for kissing. He grits his jaw with each upward motion, the concentration on his face both deliberate and all-consuming. I cannot tear my gaze away from him. This obsession with my new neighbor will surely be my doom.

  He certainly makes swearing off men for the duration of this pandemic an issue. And here I thought self-isolation would mean no temptation. No chance of being enticed. At long last I could concentrate on my dreams of learning a foreign language and writing a film script. Perfecting the art of making chocolate chip cookies and maybe knitting a sweater or two. I had plans. Goals. Now I just have a sad and lonely fixation on my neighbor that’s slowly doing my head in.

  Oh no. Not squats! Have a heart, Eamon. Your ass is a work of art.

  But the man doesn’t even have a clue what he’s doing to me. Jogging in place in his sweatpants, his sizeable junk bounces around with joyous abandon. It’s magic, really, the ways in which his body moves. I don’t think I’ve ever been this fascinated by anything in my life. I’d feel mildly dirty if I wasn’t so damn turned on.

  Question: Is it morally dubious to order binoculars to enhance my view?

  Answer: Yes, girl. You’re a pervert. Embrace the fact.

  Though it’s not entirely my fault. Let’s be fair here. It should be illegal for a dude to be this hot. What chance do us mere mortals even have in the face of such sweaty perfection? We must drool and stare. There is no other option. For certain, his daily workout sessions have fast become my favorite offline porn. Yes, siree. The panty forecast is damp for the foreseeable future. And a girl can dream. After all, a guy like that wouldn’t even notice an IT nerd like me in the real world. Not even in the most desperate of times such as these.

  How did my ex describe me again? As being not only socially, but image-challenged too. And since that particular memory cuts like a knife, I haven’t forgotten a single damn word. Is it any wonder I’ve turned only to my steadfast and true personal massager for love and comfort over the past few months? Plug it in to charge once a week and it’s good to go whenever I am. No need for tedious conversations or awkward first dates. Not even a single unsolicited dick pic. It’s the truth. My vibrator loves and respects me for who I am while real men do little other than suck. And not even in the good way.

  I’m much better off just admiring Eamon from afar. My hopes and dreams can’t be crushed if I never actually attempt to get to know the guy. Both my ego and heart can stay safe. In my mind he can be a masterful lover, a best friend, a hero. But in real life he probably has mommy issues and an unfortunate rash downstairs. You know I’m telling the truth.

  No. I will not go out onto the balcony and introduce myself. I won’t even risk a conversation.

  My poor messy heroine, Katie, is so fucked. Literally and figuratively by the end of the book, God willing. Lucky thing. I toss a yellow M&M into my mouth. I’m like one of those trained seals. Years of practice throwing candy into the air and catching it with my mouth. If my writing career grinds to a halt, I can always join a travelling circus and take it on the road. The amazing mouth-catcher lady. Throw it high and watch her dodge and weave! Blue candy is her favorite. Watch what she can do when you offer a blue morsel of candy-coated chocolate!

  Sounds great. Not.

  Which is why
this book is so important. I’m months behind on my business plan, what with the muse going AWOL and all of the anxiety that is life in the year 2020. The fact is, you need a certain number of releases per year to stay relevant in the indie publishing world. Competition is fierce and the market is flooded. Staying on top of writing, publicity, and running a small business is no mean feat. Though the words are flowing now, and that’s what matters. Thank God.

  But back to the subject of Evan/Eamon. I’ve never actually gone for a jock. However, you’ve got to figure their stamina would feature heavily in any sex sessions—which can only be a positive. So long as they’re not a selfish lay, of course. And our hero could never be that. Who the hell wants to read about a man who doesn’t believe in the fundamental laws of foreplay or declines to go down on a lady? No. Way. There’s enough of that kind of asshole-ishness in the real-world dating scene, thank you.

  That’s probably why I stayed with Sean so long. A whole eleven months out of my twenty-eight years due solely to the fact that the dude didn’t leave me hanging in bed. You’d think I was led around by my clitoris. But the sad truth is, finding someone you’re sexually compatible with can be hard. No pun intended. And despite my mistaken attempt, you can’t base a relationship around your partner’s ability to make you come. Occasionally, you have to converse with them. Discuss your day. Share your stories. Act like you’re in a relationship outside of the bedroom. Jesus, was Sean dull. The boy was bland through and through. It’s like he actively resisted having anything interesting to talk about. Only ever read the financial news. Never stepped beyond the borders of his nice, neat, sensible, organized life. Bleh.

  Then there was the whole thing where he said he supported my career, but showed absolutely no interest in anything outside of sales figures and the like. Didn’t want to hear me talk about possible plot ideas or share a little industry gossip. And it didn’t just relate to my job, either. He wouldn’t even listen to me whine the time someone keyed my car. And while I get no one wants to hear you talk about yourself twenty-four/seven, it seems only polite to not let your eyes glaze over the minute your woman mentions something about her life. Because why would we talk about my life when we could talk about tax breaks? The excitement! Ugh.

  Now I’m actually sounding like a bitch. Sean wasn’t all bad. He was polite to my parents and occasionally held the car door open for me. A couple of times, he even bought me flowers. Maybe I’m being too harsh on him. Maybe my mother is right.

  Nuh.

  My computer chimes and a message box pops open on Facebook Messenger. And no, I wasn’t getting distracted by all of the fear and gloom on my timeline. I was watching important and educational kitten videos. For reasons. They’re so funny the way they wiggle their little butts right before they pounce. It never gets old. Instant mood enhancer each and every time.

  Zahra: You better be writing.

  Me: You know, for an editor you’re both bossy and unsupportive. I’m going to lodge a formal complaint.

  Zahra: You pay me to kick your ass. You also ask me as your friend to kick your ass. And I’m my own boss so that complaint will be lodged straight into my wastepaper basket where it belongs.

  Me: Haha.

  Me: And yes, I’m writing. I’ve got words happening! Hooray!

  Zahra: Woohoo! I’m so excited. You were really going through a dry spell there.

  Me: I sure as fuck was. Can’t tell you how relieved I am that it’s over. So, this hot guy moved next door and I’m kind of writing about him, but not really because that would be wrong. Coincidence. Fiction. Etc.

  Zahra: You wouldn’t be the first of my authors to draw inspiration from their own lives.

  Me: That’s what we’ll call it, inspiration. As Anne Lamott said, you own everything that happened to you. And boy did he happen to me on my own damn balcony.

  Zahra: So, you’re into him, huh?

  Me: No no. I’m not. I mean, I am. I have eyes, ears, and a libido. But nothing’s going to happen. We’ve only talked a couple of times. Had a beer together. He seems okay, but no.

  Zahra: Want to protest some more or are you done for now?

  Me: Shut up. I’m through with men. For now, at least.

  Zahra: Tell me, Miss DEFINITELY NOT INTERESTED IN THE NEIGHBOR. What makes him so special?

  Me: Body like you wouldn’t freakin’ believe, dude. His muscles have muscles which in turn have even smaller baby muscles that are harboring tiny soon-to-be muscles in the near future. But not steroid-y looking. Just a nice balanced level of ridiculously fit and healthy. And he has a nice face. Granite jaw. Very lush lips. Incredible ocean-blue eyes. Swoon-worthy.

  Zahra: I need a picture.

  Me: Creeper shots creep me out.

  Zahra: Say it’s for your mother and tell him to smile.

  Me: Ha! Mom is still hung up on Sean and me riding off into the sunset with a healthy investment portfolio. Don’t even get me started.

  Zahra: Ugh. How are you doing on the quarantine front?

  Me: The snack situation is kind of dire. I might have to venture out for groceries sometime soon. How about you?

  Zahra: Kids are driving me insane and we’re down to our last roll of toilet paper. At least we’re all healthy.

  Me: That’s what’s important. And if you’re gentle, kitchen paper shouldn’t chap your ass too bad. I’ll order some toys online and send them to you for the kids.

  Zahra: You don’t have to do that.

  Me: I know I don’t have to. I want to. Poor, babies. It’s not easy having to stay home. They must miss their friends something fierce. They’re not natural shut-ins like you and me.

  Zahra: They sure do miss them. And thank you. Let me know when you’ve got something for me to read.

  Me: Will do. E-mail should be hitting your inbox in a day or two. I just want to get the first few chapters down while I’m on a roll. <3 Get it, roll. As in toilet paper roll. Something you don’t have. lol

  Zahra: Bitch! I see this book will be funny. Keep up the good work! I’ll look forward to it! xx

  I toss another M&M into my mouth feeling incredibly proud of myself. Mm. Yummy. And setting things up with my beloved editor basically qualifies as finishing a page of writing. Sort of. Don’t question me. I’m the boss here.

  “Gonna need more snacks,” I mumble, turning back to the computer screen. “Time for you to accidentally burn your dinner and be forced out onto the balcony due to the buildup of smoke in your apartment so you can properly meet the hot neighbor, my voyeur heroine. And of course, all of this will happen when you’re chilling at home wearing just a T-shirt and panties. Skimpy lace panties that let him catch a glimpse of your ass cheeks. Yeah…you saucy wench. Go get him, girl. Grr.”

  With my brain engaged, my butt in the chair, and my fingers on the keyboard, I get back to work. This story is shaping up great. Just great. Thank you, Evan Sparks.

  CHAPTER 4

  QUARANTINE: DAY 4

  SADIE

  IT’S ONE IN THE AFTERNOON when I stumble out onto the balcony with a cup of coffee in hand. Ah daylight, my old frenemy. I squint and slide on my sunglasses. I pulled one hell of an all-nighter, writing until four in the morning. But when the muse is on a roll, you’d have to be stupid to get in her way. And when it comes to my career, I try very hard not to be stupid. Smutty? Yes. Smartass? Hell, yes. But stupid? No, thank you.

  The yummy scents of food and the lure of fresh air beckon me outside. Along with a healthy dose of curiosity regarding the welfare of my neighbor. Oh, fine. So, I want to ogle him again. Hear him laugh and listen to him tease me. He’s a fun guy to be around and it’s not against the law to have a tiny crush on the new guy next door. Seeing him brings the added benefit of aiding my writing process. Hanging with him could even be considered research. Therefore, necessary to the development of my plot… along with being a good time. Win.

  “Hey!” I grin, giving him a wave.

  Evan stands at a grill, a plain black apron on
and tongs in hand. He is not smiling. In fact, his granite jawline seems set in especially cranky and unimpressed lines this afternoon.

  “Hi,” he mumbles, without looking at me.

  “How are you doing? Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”

  A grunt from the big man is all the reply I get.

  Maybe he didn’t sleep well or something. These are stressful times all around. I lean on the railing, taking another sip of coffee. “I got so much work done yesterday. My word count is dazzling, I tell you. Didn’t get to bed until almost dawn.”

  Evan flips one of the slabs of beef and turns a couple of cobs of corn. My mouth waters from both the view of him in a tee and jeans—I know it’s his usual, but he wears them so damn well—and the scents of real food. Unfortunately, he doesn’t even look at me. My new friend is distinctly unhappy.

  “What did you get up to yesterday?” I ask.

  He just shrugs.

  Ruh-roh.

  Gloria slinks out of the apartment and up to the railing on my side. Giving me a loud meow in welcome. At least someone seems happy to see me.

  “She missed you.” He waves the tongs in the cat’s general direction.

  “Precious floofy girl. I missed her too.” I smile at the ginger cat, wishing I wasn’t allergic.

  “Then why didn’t you come out all day? I was waiting for you,” he says, then freezes and frowns. “We were waiting for you. I mean…I was just keeping an eye on her. Idiot cat, standing out in the rain, getting all cold and wet. It was pretty fucking pathetic.”

  Huh. “I’m sorry.”

  Another grunt. As if he could not care less about my apologies. Oh boy. His shoulders are up, his scowl fierce. I’ve really stepped in it. Everyone’s toughing it out right now. Having to stay indoors, not being able to visit with friends and family. I’m the closest thing Evan has to real human contact with a pal and I let him down. I didn’t mean to, but still.

  “I, um… Sometimes when I get all caught up in a story I kind of lose track of the outside world,” I explain. “But if I’d known you two were waiting for me, I’d have definitely taken a break and come and said hello.”