Page 3 of Swept Away
If that’s the case,thatis not my neighbor.
I wish the lights inside my place were turned off so I could take a better look at the man lounging on the stairs.
He sits on the third step, to be exact, his legs sprawled over the sidewalk, his elbows propped on the concrete, his head tilted back as if life has been difficult for him lately.
I press my chest against the windowsill, and once I’m one with it, I study him while murmuring words of advice for the little orange tabby devil.
“This is not the time to meow again and draw attention to us,” I whisper, somewhat hidden behind a wall of leaves.
The man’s shoulders and biceps are covered in ink, his flat, shredded abdomen visible under the faint streetlights, his T-shirt crumpled up next to him.
It’s hot outside, but notthathot.
Still, I don’t mind staring at him, and I begin to wonder whether he’s dark-haired or brown-haired or cute looking, which shouldn’t be my business now.
I have work to do.
Freelancing is what pays my bills, not studying some stranger’s V-shaped torso who wears his pants hung low to give me a hot flash.
“Meow. Meow.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now you’re meowing?”
I flick my eyes up, forgetting about the stranger for a moment.
A flashlight would’ve been great right now to signal to the little rascal to keep his mouth shut.
I wish I could figure out where this kitty is coming from.
Truly.
Sadly, I’m just as puzzled about the stranger.
I move my eyes across the street to check on that stranger again, worried that he might see me dangling from the windowsill while trying to lure down the kitten.
The man has lifted his head and straightened somewhat, but his eyes are not on me.
He peers up the street as the headlights of a car loom in the distance and casually brings a can of beer to his lips.
He doesn’t look in my direction, and now I wish he were so I could see his face.
Inching closer, the car casts a glow over his face, and as it moves past him, the man follows it with his eyes, giving me what I want.
A glimpse of his face.
My heart stops for a second, and I forget about my work, the stray kitty, and the ragged bathrobe wrapped around my body.
He’s good-looking as only book boyfriends are.
Not much older than me–he’s maybe in his mid twenties–he has those boyish slash manly looks that stop traffic and make ovaries work overtime.
It hasn’t happened for me lately as I’ve been busy with my freelance work, school, and saving up for my new life after college.
I’m a girl with a plan, and men have never been part of that plan because they cost time, sometimes even money, and often times, lost opportunities.
They’re high maintenance even when they don’t appear to be, and I don’t have space for that shit in my life. But watching them from afar hasn’t hurt anyone, yeah?
Once the car passes by, he sets his drink down and rakes a sinewy hand through his dark hair.
