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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.* * *
SADIEA 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?
