by Scott, Kylie
He gives me a quick side glance. Not exactly happy, but no longer quite pissed either. Maybe I’m making some headway.
“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging like that.” My tone is filled with as much compassion as I can muster because I do feel really bad.
He sighs, his broad shoulders lowering a little. “Whatever. So, you got some work done?”
“Heaps. The book is going really well. I have a good feeling about this one. It’s like the hero and the heroine have taken on a life of their own. I’m typing as fast as I can to keep up, you know?”
“Yeah? That sounds positive.”
I smile. “Absolutely. There’s real chemistry on the page with these two. I think readers are going to dig it.”
“You writing a romance or something?” He raises a brow.
My chin juts up. It’s instinctual. People love to shit on my genre which sets me off instantly. “What if I am?” My inner scrappy brat rises to the surface, ready to go to battle.
“Nothing. Just curious.”
“Yes, Evan. I’m a romance writer. And proud of it.” I’m now projecting my voice and using the official fuck-with-me-and-die-a-slow-death tone. Reserved solely for those times when people commit a serious social faux pas such as cutting in front of me at the grocery store. Or when morons make jokes about my job. Shit not on the books I love—or I will end you. I should probably get that tattooed on my forehead. Nah, maybe a wrist or something. More feminine.
Only Evan doesn’t seem to be doing that. He just nods, expression serene. “Okay. Great. It’s good that you have a job that you love and are passionate about. I’ve never read a romance, so I can’t really comment. But it seems like you’re seriously devoted…that’s all you can hope for with a career, right?”
“Right.” So maybe I went straight to DEFCON one somewhat unnecessarily on this particular occasion. For various reasons, his opinions of me and my work apparently matter. Interesting. I stare off into space, pondering this unwelcome development. My stomach takes this opportunity to grumble loudly.
“You’re starving, aren’t you?” he asks with a chuckle. “You’re staring at my grill like it’s your long-lost lover and I could have sworn I heard that stomach growl all the way over here.” He clanks the tongs together astutely.
“I may or may not have been existing only on candy for the past twenty-four hours.”
“Candy? Sadie, we can do better than that. All of that sugar is bad for you.” His brow is pinched together, and his head is cocked to the side as he stares me up and down. “Explains the curves though.” He grins wickedly.
“As you just experienced, I apparently need all the sweetness I can get. And these curves are fine, thank you very much!” I put my hands on my rounded hips. Are they getting bigger? No? I’ve been doing yoga and running in place to keep awake. I frown.
He laughs heartily. A girl could get addicted to that sound. All deep and low and inviting. Everything in my stomach flips at the noise. My center is once again aching and wet and it’s all his fault. It’s disconcerting how easily he gets me hot and bothered. One salacious word, a lustful look, a sexy laugh, and I’m a goner. Surprises me how much I want to please him. Because you could say it’s just me recognizing that in these shitty times human interactions matter more than ever. Whether I was out here on the balcony yesterday or not, he was foremost on my mind all damn day.
The whole Evan/Eamon conundrum. When your muse and hero live so close to home it’s a little scary, to be honest. Not only am I making up rude and intimate scenarios involving the man in my mind, but I’m committing them to the page. And boy, are they explicit and filled with emotions. Social distancing on this particular occasion may not save my poor heart. Only enhance the chance of future breakage. I don’t want to be disappointed again. Please not so soon after Sean.
It’s depressing as all heck when an affair blows up in your face like that. Especially when it’s your own damn fault for ignoring the warning signs. Like almost falling asleep at the dinner table because he’s tedious as fuck. Like allowing someone who is supposed to care about you to sideline and belittle your career. And that reminds me, I need to stop dwelling on my ex.
Life would be easier if Evan was just another gym junkie himbo. Except he’s isn’t. He’s not only hot, but he’s funny and entertaining and sexy and many other things I’m still discovering.
Houston, we have a problem. I am officially experiencing feelings and I don’t like it. Make. It. Stop.
Meanwhile, Evan is loading up a plate with a huge steak, a giant cob of corn topped with butter, and half of the large container of potato salad which was sitting on the small outdoor table. The plate is heaped, bowing beneath this mighty load of assorted food stuffs. They don’t even serve meals this big in Texas.
“Wow. Do you really eat that much?” I ask, eyes wide with wonder. “Where does it all go?”
“No, this one’s for you. I’ll leave it outside your door.” He picks up a set of cutlery neatly wrapped in a paper napkin. The man is going all out with this.
“Evan, that’s very kind, but you’ve got like half a cow on that plate. There’s no way I’m going to be able to eat all of that.”
“So put the rest in the fridge for later.”
“I do have food in the apartment, you know. You don’t have to feed me.”
“It’s not a big deal. I cooked too much anyway,” he says, halving part of the bowl full of green leaves on top of the monster meal. The man is like Martha Stewart on a mission.
“But…” I try to find anything I can say that will sway him, but really, it looks so good that my mouth is already salivating.
“Let me guess. You were going to eat some crappy microwave meal? Or maybe have a bowl of sugar-coated cereal.” He grimaces.
“I’ll have you know that eating cereal outside of breakfast time is one of the true joys of being an adult. Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. Repeatedly.”
He shakes his head and if he had a hand free, I think he would have waved a pointy judgey finger at me too.
“Well, now you can sit outside in the sun with me and eat a decent meal. Doesn’t that sound nice? You can’t live on candy and cookies, Sadie. Shit food like that doesn’t fuel you. Like Cookie Monster says, they’re sometimes foods.” He flashes me a grin and disappears through the slider, I assume heading back into the apartment to deliver the food.
Before long, I hear two loud knocks at my door.
Gloria blinks her gorgeous green eyes at me expectantly before settling herself in a sunbeam for a nap. Tail curled around her. Head resting on her sweet little paws.
“He’s feeding me. I’m not sure a male has ever actually cooked for me before. Do you think this is part of some sort of mating process or just a friendship sort of thing? What’s your opinion, fluffy baby?”
Only the cat is already fast asleep. I’m on my own with this one.
* * *
EVAN
After I knock twice, I set the food down in front of her door. It’s definitely piled high, but that woman needs to get some real food in her belly.
I make my way back into my home away from home, grab a couple cans of beer, and bring them outside. The grill still smells amazing. I set the remaining New York strips on the higher half to ensure I don’t overcook them. Plans for a steak and egg scramble for tomorrow have me doubling up on the beef today. And if I was being truthful, something I’d never admit to Succulent Sadie, I did hope the scent of grilling meat would bring her out of her hidey-hole.
Grinning like a loon, I make my way back onto the balcony where Sadie is already chowing down.
“Didn’t your mama ever teach you any manners?” I tease.
She stops with her fork halfway to her mouth. Her plump, pink, soft-looking mouth. Mr. Happy once again takes notice. Sweet Jesus. Every time I look at this girl, I have to fight a stiffy.
“What?” She shovels the bite into her mouth and chews, then closes her eyes and moans.
Loud.
Tonight’s spank-bank material just came to life right in front of my eyes. My dick hardens painfully in my jeans as I memorize her gorgeous face and that heavenly sound.
I hiss, adjusting myself while gathering what I need to pull the remaining steaks off the grill. I set all but the one I plan to devour into the ceramic dish I brought out. Then using the tongs, I take my cut of cow off the fire and wedge it onto my already stuffed plate.
“You’re supposed to wait for everyone to get their meal before eating,” I admonish playfully.
She frowns and purses her lips. “Says who?”
“Everybody.”
“Well I’m somebody, and I say ‘to each his own.’ And, I like my food hot! And, thank you, Sparky. This is incredible. Where did you learn to cook?” she asks before sinking her teeth into her corn.
I cut a piece of meat and stick it into my mouth. The savory flavors of the meat and rub I used mingle together on my tongue. “Damn, this is good.” I mumble around my food, and then finish chewing and swallowing. “Dad taught me. And Curt, my little brother, from the time we could peek our heads over the Weber.”
She laughs sweetly and it sounds like a song. Or maybe it’s just that I’m into this girl. Really into her. I haven’t so much as touched a hair on her head or held her hand and I can already feel my need to please her. To make her laugh. To feed her.
“Well I’ll have to send a thank you card to the man because this,” she points to her plate with her fork, “is amazing. Even the ruffage is tasty. Did you make the dressing?”
I grin. “Yeah, but it’s just a touch of olive oil and balsamic. Healthier.”
She pokes several leaves and a tomato. “Do you always eat healthy?”
I sip my beer and hold it up. “Not always.”
“Besides beer. I think enjoying beer might be part of the male DNA.” Her eyes sparkle as she smiles.
“When I’m training day in and day out, I can take more liberties, because I need a lot of calories. But if I don’t want to spend extra time in the gym, I try and eat right.”
She nods and continues eating.
“How about you. Any siblings?” I ask, eager to find out any little morsel about my mysterious neighbor.
“Only child. My dad is a dentist in Dallas. My mom works in his office as his receptionist and office manager. He has two hygienists and a couple office assistants. Unfortunately though, he’s only supposed to go into the office if there is an emergency. He cancelled all his clients for the next three weeks—thank God!”
“Why you thanking the big guy upstairs?”
She blows a breath of air over her forehead which pushes a blonde lock of hair off to the side. “They haven’t been taking this as seriously as they should. I’m worried about them. They’re in their early sixties and, well, they just don’t listen.”
I nod. “Yeah. I read online that the virus is really dangerous for people with compromised immune systems. I’ve been telling my dad to stay home but he works in a cannery that makes food. They’re considered essential employees.”
“And your brother?” She sips from a glass of water.
“Manages a bar in the same town. The state hasn’t required shelter-in-place yet, but Dad says it’s coming. Curt is freaked. It’s his only income and he only gets paid if he works.”
“Oh no. That’s really scary. I’m sure there are so many in his position right now. What about you?”
“Oh uh, I’m good. I’ve some in reserves and plan to send home a few thousand to my bro to cover him for a month or two.”
“Wow. That’s awfully nice of you.” She sets her elbow on a tray table she brought out and rests her pretty face in her hand. “What did you say you do for work?”
I clench my teeth and look out over the view trying to figure out a way to avoid it. Though if I do, all she has to do is go online and search for my name. My ugly mug is still plastered across the celebrity sites—even with the virus making more headlines every day.
“I didn’t say.” I tip my beer back and glug down the rest.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t have to tell me. Though I did tell you what I do.”
“What do you think I do?” I grin and run my hand over my hair, loving watching her consider the question.
“Something physical.”
“Oh?”
“Your body is ridiculously built. That takes a lot of work and constant upkeep. The obvious guess would be a fitness trainer.”
I tip my head back and laugh. “Obvious, huh? I could train you. I saw you doing yoga the other day. Looked like you could use a spotter, all that wobbling around on one leg.” I tease her and watch while her face turns bright pink.
“It’s a new thing I’m trying! And I’ll have you know, Mr. Muscles, not everyone can spend their life in the gym.”
“True, true. And I don’t spend my life in the gym, but I am required to spend a lot of time exercising. What’s your next guess?”
She pouts and then narrows her gaze. “Basketball player.”
“Basketball, huh? Ever played?”
“No. Have you?” she fires back instantly.
I snicker. “Yeah, babe, I have played. And I’m not a basketball player. Close, but no cigar.”
“So, if not basketball, then what?”
“Football.” I watch her face to see if there is any hint of recognition or a spark of any kind.
She wrinkles her nose. “I don’t watch sports. And if I did, it would have to be a live game. Then it’s an event. Something you’re going to and experiencing with the players. On TV it just seems so…” She shrugs. “I don’t know, boring.”
“Boring? You think professional football is boring? Aw man, you got me!” I cover my heart and tip my chair back pretending to have been shot in the chest.
She laughs and continues to eat her food, though she seems to be slowing down. I glance at her plate. “Girl, you were hungry. Your body is probably starved for real vitamins and nutrients. What did you eat for dinner last night?”
Her eyes widen. “Dinner?”
“Breakfast?”
She winces and scrunches that nose again.
“Sadie, babe, this is not good. How are you able to work without fuel in you?”
Pressing her plate back away from her, she pulls one foot up into the chair and I can see her brightly painted pink toes. “It’s always been like this. Ever since college. I’d study all night, go to school, then finally come home, eat, and crash. Then repeat. When I started writing novels, I just put my fingers to the keys and let my mind wander.”
“And why does that prevent you from eating?”
“It’s not intentional. But when the muse is active and going, we writers take advantage. Get as much down before it’s gone, in a way. And before the quarantine, I was having a pretty serious case of writer’s block. Now I’m not.”
“Basically, you get lost in it.”
She smiles wide. “Yes, exactly. The characters start talking and I get to typing.”
“I can understand. When I’m on the field, everything but the players, the opposing team, and the ball disappears. We can have an entire stadium filled with fans screaming their hearts out and it all just fades away the second the ball is snapped.”
“Totally.”
“It’s really neat what you do though. I couldn’t imagine attempting to write an entire story from start to finish. Are you at a loss for ideas?”
She hums and it’s almost as sexy sounding as the moan from earlier. “Sometimes. Ideas come and go rather quickly. It’s the ones that really stick with you that you have to pay attention to. I can have an idea going to the mailbox to get my mail, but if it’s not meaty enough, or speaking loudly to my muse, then it’s nothing more than a passing thought. Does that make sense?”
“Not really.” I laugh. “What’s the new story about?”
Her face pinches and her eyes fill with something akin to fear. “A man and a woma
n.”
“I figured that since it’s romance. Not that it couldn’t be two dudes or two chicks. Love is love, as they say.” I hold my hands out in a placating gesture to ensure she understands I’m cool with people being people. Doing their own thing. Loving who they want to love. No skin off my nose one way or another.
She covers her mouth while laughing at my backpedaling.
“What’s the plot?”
“It’s still formulating,” she says quickly. “What team do you play for?” She is changing the subject. Maybe she’s one of those writers who works on masterpieces and won’t share until it’s just right? That’s the way it looks in the movies.
Deciding to give her a get out of jail free card, I move on to her question. “Oakland Marauders.”
“Cool,” she says, as if it’s all the same to her, poking at the small amount of scraps still left on her plate.
“So, what do you plan to have for dinner tonight?” I ask.
She leans back and covers her belly. “I can’t even think about dinner with this much food in me. It will definitely be light if I eat anything at all.”
I cover my ears and sing, “La, la, la, la la,” until I can see her laughing but not hear her. “Don’t say it. My heart can’t take it. How about tomorrow we venture out together to get some groceries? I’m getting really low as I wasn’t planning to stay quarantined here.”
“We’re not supposed to leave for much and we’re definitely not supposed to go together.”
I smile and tilt my head. “Do you always do what you’re told?”
Her brow furrows. “Yeah, if it’s going to save my life and the lives of others. You bet your ass I do.”
I stand up and clear my plate. “Okay, Crazy, settle down. I was merely suggesting we go together. Doesn’t mean we have to hold hands while doing it.” Not that I wouldn’t like holding her hand. I’ll bet she’s chilly-cold and needs a warm-blooded man like me to keep her from freezing. Probably has cold feet too. Boy, would I love to find out.
