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But of course that was out of the question. Travel was restricted. I wouldn’t even be able to reach the border, let alone cross it. Nobody in or out.
Could I contact the American Embassy in Rome? Maybe they would find a way to send me home. That would be something to consider in a few more days. Maybe things would end naturally before then.
On my next lap, I saw a man bending down in front of my door. It wasn’t Donovan or the concierge: it was an older man dropping off our supply boxes for the day.
“Hello! Buongiorno!” I said excitedly. “Do you speak English? Do you have any new information about the hotel? Are they opening things back up soon?”
The man took a step back. “No parlo ingles,” he said. He was holding two objects in his hand. It took me a moment to recognize them.
Two single-serving bottles of wine. The ones that came in our care packages.
“Hey…” I said.
He smiled and waved goodbye, then turned to walk away.
“Did you take that from the box? You’re stealing our wine!”
The man took off in a dead sprint down the hall, then disappeared through the door to the stairwell. I didn’t bother chasing him, both because I doubted I could catch him and because I had plenty of wine in my room.
“At least he left the food,” I thought while opening the box.
I continued walking laps while eating my pitiful sandwich. Today was ham and swiss. On the third bite I thought I tasted a drop of mustard. I considered that a win.
But after eating Donovan’s pasta a couple of times, this tasted awful by comparison.
Lap number fourteen. Almost a mile done. Empty hallway, then the hall with the gym…
As I passed the gym, I did a double-take. There was movement inside. At first I suspected the delivery-man-slash-wine-thief, but then I realized it was Donovan. He was running on one of the treadmills, facing away from me. He was wearing only a pair of shorts.
I slowed down my pace to get a better look. Donovan pumped his chiseled arms as he ran. His back was covered with tan muscles which flexed and contracted with every stride.
This would be easier if he didn’t look like a snack,I thought.
I reached the end of the glass, and the view was gone.
I continued walking around my loop. I was tempted to go back to my room to avoid the awkwardness of potentially running into him, but I wanted to complete my walking goal, too. I was bored, and I only had five more to go.
Plus, deep down, I wanted to get another look at Donovan.
I slowed down when I passed the gym on the next lap. There was absolutely no denying it: Donovan was sexy as hell. I had pictured him as being muscular underneath his polo shirt, but the real thing was even better than I imagined. And I wasn’t just thinking that because I was starved for social interaction from my seclusion. If my girlfriends saw him in a Roman club, they definitely would have hit on him.
On the third pass, Donovan was glistening with sweat. It made his muscles stand out even more than before, if that was even possible. He wasn’t too bulky, either—he was chiseled. Just the right proportion to make my stomach tingle every time I laid eyes on him.
I walked faster around the other three hallways so I could get back to him quicker.
He was sprinting on the treadmill now, taking long strides and pumping his arms furiously. I could hear the thumping of his feet on the treadmill as he tried to maintain his speed. His shorts were tight enough that they left nothing to the imagination. His ass looked absolutely wonderful.
When he was out of view, I picked up my pace again. I knew it was wrong to objectify a guy. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t want some guy ogling me while I exercised at the gym. But I couldn’t help but feel excited about seeing him again.
I rounded the corner. The gym was just ahead. Before I reached it, I slowed down so that it would look like I was maintaining a normal pace…
But Donovan wasn’t on the treadmill anymore. He was standing in the doorway of the gym, two feet away from me.
I jumped back, then raised my T-shirt mask over my mouth. “You scared me!”
He leaned on the door frame and smiled at me. His chest was an oil painting of muscles, from his pecs down to a six-pack of abs. He casually used a towel to dry the back of his neck. His chest and arms were covered in a sheen of sweat, which made every nook and cranny of his breathtaking body stand out in glorious contrast.
“Getting an eyeful?” he asked in a deep, confident voice.
