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“Do what everyone else is doing,” she offers unhelpfully.
“And that would be?” I chuckle and watch as the blonde stretches her arms out in a T, legs in a wide stance, and bends over giving me an incredible view of her rounded ass. I bite down on my lip and squint to get a better look.
“Take up reading, lifts weights, do a puzzle, surf the net, and the best and most consistent way to burn time…Netflix and chill.”
“Netflix and chill?”
“Yep! I recommend Point of Interest or Lucifer or maybe True Blood if you’re into vampires.”
“Vampires?” I shake my head and rub my palm over my tired face. “I’m gonna let you go.”
“Call you in a few days unless something else comes up.”
“Great, thanks.”
“And Evan?”
“Yeah?”
“You haven’t been taking steroids. Have you?” Her voice is direct and devoid of emotion.
My stomach sinks. Even my own publicist is questioning the truth. What the hell does that say about me?
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then what’s in the past is in the past. Now, we move forward.” Her tone is chipper and upbeat. The exact opposite of everything I’m currently feeling.
“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.* * *
SADIEOkay, 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?
