Love Under Quarantine

It’s my new neighbor!

I’m lying on a messy bed in a stranger’s room. We’re in his apartment, I guess. He must have carried me up the stairs in his thick, strong arms. Just the thought makes me weak all over again. How he must have held me against him. How close we must have been.

“W-what happened?” I ask in a breathy voice.

“You were mugged,” he says in his deep rough voice. “It happened on the street. I saw it all. Someone pushed you over and stole your groceries and your purse.”

“Damn. That was Dior.”

“Bummer,” he mutters.No. Okay. I’m having a little too much fun with my characters now. The last two lines can get deleted.“The last thing I remember is walking back from Trader Joe’s. I got their last roll of toilet paper!”

“I’m so sorry the bastard got away.” His expression is tortured—brow furrowed, and mouth a fine line. Is it angst or anger? The man is a complex mess of emotions that I cannot wait to untangle. Much like his beautiful mussed hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there in time.”

“You tried.” I give him a smile. “That’s all any of us can do in times such as these. My name’s Katie.”

“Eamon,” he says.

“I know. I…I heard you on the phone one day.”

His smile is wicked and knowing. More of a smirk, in truth. As if he’s aware of exactly how I’ve been spying on him. All the hours I’ve spent holding a glass to the wall, straining to hear him speak. And that expression on his handsome face, the heated knowledge in his eyes… I feel it all the way to my quivering loins.With regards to the last couple of words, Zahra will make me change it to pussy or center or something more eloquent. Still, I thoroughly enjoy strategically placing both the words loins (especially when they’re quivering) and moist throughout my work. It irritates the absolute crap out of my editor and never fails to amuse me. And when you work alone, occasionally amusing yourself is important. Bosom also warrants a small but passionate tirade from her. I’ll have to remember to include it sometime soon.

Back to the words.My nipples instantly harden to peaks sharp enough to cut diamonds. Eamon knows I’ve been a bad, bad girl. And what’s more, he likes it.“Oh, you two crazy kids. Get a room already.” I toss a Starburst into my mouth. Which is when my cell rings for the second time today. Give me strength. Since when did people feel the need to talk when they can text? Another sign that the world is spiraling out of control. Then I see the name flash up on screen. Since we just spoke a short while ago, this cannot be good.

“Mom? Are you okay?”* * *

EVAN“Polly, tell me something good.” I huff through the pain. I’d set the treadmill at an incline and have already been going for half an hour. With this rain, knowing I’m not going to be seeing Sadie for a balcony rendezvous, I’m a bit edgier than normal.

“Well hello to you too, Mr. Sparks. I can hear you working your body to the maximum. That bodes well since I do in fact have great news.”

I lower the speed to a fast-paced walk. My heart is pounding, but that could be adrenalin or the surge of fear as I anticipate whatever my publicist has to say.

“Lay it on me.”

“Received the report direct from the team doctor.”

“And?” Not that it’s going to show much of anything—because I haven’t done anything wrong. I may have smoked a little cannabis from time to time, but that shit’s legal in the state of California. And only socially after the season ended. It’s not like I’m a closet pothead. I’d never consider doing anything regularly that could affect me long term or prevent me from being in top shape come game time.

“Cleared of all steroids. No sign whatsoever that you’d been doping.”

“Thank you, God!” I smile. “And the other drugs?”

“That’s where things get a little tricky.”

“How so?” I hit the stop button and jump to the side until the treadmill stops. I wipe my face with the towel I’ve got hanging over the unit and focus on every nuance of her voice.

She hums as though she’s reading or doing something. “According to the report, it says here you had high levels of Rohypnol in your system.”

“The date rape drug?” I blurt, shock prevalent in my tone. “I don’t recall being given anything.”

“Didn’t you say the last thing you remember was going into a bedroom with a woman who handed you a glass of whiskey? In a dark liquid you may not have noticed any visible change. Especially if you were already drunk. All she had to do was slip the pill in and then offer it to you.”