Love Under Quarantine

Now I’m actually sounding like a bitch. Sean wasn’t all bad. He was polite to my parents and occasionally held the car door open for me. A couple of times, he even bought me flowers. Maybe I’m being too harsh on him. Maybe my mother is right.

Nuh.

My computer chimes and a message box pops open on Facebook Messenger. And no, I wasn’t getting distracted by all of the fear and gloom on my timeline. I was watching important and educational kitten videos. For reasons. They’re so funny the way they wiggle their little butts right before they pounce. It never gets old. Instant mood enhancer each and every time.

Zahra: You better be writing.

Me: You know, for an editor you’re both bossy and unsupportive. I’m going to lodge a formal complaint.

Zahra: You pay me to kick your ass. You also ask me as your friend to kick your ass. And I’m my own boss so that complaint will be lodged straight into my wastepaper basket where it belongs.

Me: Haha.

Me: And yes, I’m writing. I’ve got words happening! Hooray!

Zahra: Woohoo! I’m so excited. You were really going through a dry spell there.

Me: I sure as fuck was. Can’t tell you how relieved I am that it’s over. So, this hot guy moved next door and I’m kind of writing about him, but not really because that would be wrong. Coincidence. Fiction. Etc.

Zahra: You wouldn’t be the first of my authors to draw inspiration from their own lives.

Me: That’s what we’ll call it, inspiration. As Anne Lamott said, you own everything that happened to you. And boy did he happen to me on my own damn balcony.

Zahra: So, you’re into him, huh?

Me: No no. I’m not. I mean, I am. I have eyes, ears, and a libido. But nothing’s going to happen. We’ve only talked a couple of times. Had a beer together. He seems okay, but no.

Zahra: Want to protest some more or are you done for now?

Me: Shut up. I’m through with men. For now, at least.

Zahra: Tell me, Miss DEFINITELY NOT INTERESTED IN THE NEIGHBOR. What makes him so special?

Me: Body like you wouldn’t freakin’ believe, dude. His muscles have muscles which in turn have even smaller baby muscles that are harboring tiny soon-to-be muscles in the near future. But not steroid-y looking. Just a nice balanced level of ridiculously fit and healthy. And he has a nice face. Granite jaw. Very lush lips. Incredible ocean-blue eyes. Swoon-worthy.

Zahra: I need a picture.

Me: Creeper shots creep me out.

Zahra: Say it’s for your mother and tell him to smile.

Me: Ha! Mom is still hung up on Sean and me riding off into the sunset with a healthy investment portfolio. Don’t even get me started.

Zahra: Ugh. How are you doing on the quarantine front?

Me: The snack situation is kind of dire. I might have to venture out for groceries sometime soon. How about you?

Zahra: Kids are driving me insane and we’re down to our last roll of toilet paper. At least we’re all healthy.

Me: That’s what’s important. And if you’re gentle, kitchen paper shouldn’t chap your ass too bad. I’ll order some toys online and send them to you for the kids.

Zahra: You don’t have to do that.

Me: I know I don’t have to. I want to. Poor, babies. It’s not easy having to stay home. They must miss their friends something fierce. They’re not natural shut-ins like you and me.

Zahra: They sure do miss them. And thank you. Let me know when you’ve got something for me to read.

Me: Will do. E-mail should be hitting your inbox in a day or two. I just want to get the first few chapters down while I’m on a roll.

Zahra: Bitch! I see this book will be funny. Keep up the good work! I’ll look forward to it! xx

I toss another M&M into my mouth feeling incredibly proud of myself. Mm. Yummy. And setting things up with my beloved editor basically qualifies as finishing a page of writing. Sort of. Don’t question me. I’m the boss here.

“Gonna need more snacks,” I mumble, turning back to the computer screen. “Time for you to accidentally burn your dinner and be forced out onto the balcony due to the buildup of smoke in your apartment so you can properly meet the hot neighbor, my voyeur heroine. And of course, all of this will happen when you’re chilling at home wearing just a T-shirt and panties. Skimpy lace panties that let him catch a glimpse of your ass cheeks. Yeah…you saucy wench. Go get him, girl. Grr.”

With my brain engaged, my butt in the chair, and my fingers on the keyboard, I get back to work. This story is shaping up great. Just great. Thank you, Evan Sparks.