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“Sorry.” I am not sorry. That is a blatant lie. “Sean and Sadie. That sounds bad anyway. For all future relationships I’m going to set a definite anti-alliteration rule. It’s just too confusing. Imagine if we’d moved in together and gotten monogrammed towels. We’d never know which one belonged to whom.”
“Now you’re just being silly. Are you sure you don’t want to come home to Texas for this self-isolation thing?”
Good Lord. She truly does not get it. “We’re not supposed to travel and I’m fine here. Really.”
“Fine. Go do some work. And don’t forget to eat properly!”
“Yes, Mother. I love you, Mother.” I glance at my snack cabinet planning my next treat. I’m thinking M&M’s this time.
At this, she laughs and hangs up on me. Just about sums up our family dynamic. A dash of humor, a pinch of obligation, a spoonful of interference, and a whole heap of love.
The rain stops and the air grows cool. I step out onto the balcony and look out over the city. Still preternaturally still with everyone on lockdown. Only the occasional vehicle in the street. People walking the recommended six feet apart carrying what I assume are grocery bags. Somewhere in the distance, laughter echoes. I hear the faint murmur of a truck a couple blocks away.
And then he had to go and make his presence known. The new neighbor.
Despite the average weather, he sits attempting to sun himself on a deck chair, sunglasses on and T-shirt off. You’d think he was at the beach or something. Boy, does he have some pecs on him. With a bottle of beer in hand, he sings the words to Kenny Rogers’s “The Gambler.” Loud. And given his limited vocal talents, way too proudly.
“Oh God, you’re getting the words all wrong.” I wrinkle my nose. Not that he could hear my constructive criticism with his earbuds in. Probably a good thing. “And you definitely missed that note. Do not give up your day job, buddy.”
“Harsh,” he comments, looking at me over the top of his sunglasses.
Oops.
He takes out the earbuds and places them in his lap. For a long moment he just studies me, as if he were waiting for something. Who knows what? Finally, he asks, “I take it you’re familiar with the tune?”
“It’s one of my father’s favorite songs.” I shrug one shoulder.
Again, he watches me in silence. Not even a hint of an expression on his handsome face. Dude could definitely beat me at poker.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb your party for one,” I mumble dryly.
At this, he chuckles, raising his beer to his lips. His neck is disturbingly alluringly, thick and strong. And the way his throat works up and down, moving with each swallow of his beer… Hmm. I lick my lips.
“You sing it then,” he dares.
“Hell no! Unlike you, I know my vocal limitations.”
Another chuckle. “What’s your name, neighbor?”
“Sadie.”
“Hello, Sadie. I’m Evan.” He actually has a nice voice when he isn’t singing or yelling. Deep and a little rough. The man definitely doesn’t lack for confidence, what with the way he tosses aside his sunglasses and blatantly sizes me up. Given I was ogling his bare chest a minute ago, I shouldn’t really complain.
“Hi.” I raise a hand in welcome. Nope. This isn’t awkward at all.
“Want to join me in day drinking, Sadie?”
“Uh, no. Thanks. It’s barely midday and I have work to do.” A whole book to write in fact, with him as the muse. But there is no need to go into details with him about that. Ever.
“Aw, I see. You’re a good girl.” He snorts knowingly. Sneers, even. Asshat. As if he knows a damn thing about me. And…his words aren’t slurred, but who knows how many brewskis he’s imbibed so far.
“And you’re kind of obnoxious,” I fire off, no longer enjoying our little tête-à-tête.
This only makes him laugh harder, his head falling back and arm going over his abs as he lets it fly. Definitely tipsy, if not actually drunk. This kind of shit I do not need. If I wanted to be judged, I’d have continued the call with my mother.
“Nice to meet you, Evan.” On that note, I head for the door.
“Wait! Please. I’m sorry.” He rises out of the chair and walks to the railing closest to my side. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
I turn back to him, arms crossed. Waiting.
“If anything, I’m a little lonely with this whole lockdown thing. It’s sort of doing my head in, having to stay indoors all the time.” He rubs at his golden chest.
I can’t help but watch the movement. His chest is massive. A smattering of blond chest hair sprinkled evenly across the expanse in just the right amount. Not too furry or caveman-like, but definitely manly. I bet it’s soft. Farther down are eight—yes, eight—visible abs. Who on earth has an eight-pack nowadays? Maybe he’s a personal trainer. Hmm… Personal trainer gets locked in an apartment during quarantine, ends up “training” the housekeeper, and they fall in love. I scrunch up my nose again. Too cliché and porn-like. Nah, I’m going back to hot jock.
