4. Piper
CHAPTER 4
Piper
I ’m sitting at the cute little round table on the balcony, enjoying the early morning sun and a glass of iced green tea, flavored with jasmine blossoms, while the hot air blasts on my face even though there’s no wind at all as if there’s an invisible giant hair-dryer pointed my way.
It's Sunday, and I don't plan on getting much writing done today, either.
Maybe I will only have a couple of editing sessions just to read through what I have so far in my WIP. After all, I did promise my parents to take it easy on the weekends, and I've been good so far at keeping my word. But my dedication to my work often pulls me back, even on a relaxing Sunday.
Yesterday, I got up at six, had a quick breakfast, changed into a pair of shorts and a tank, and headed out with my trusty messenger back. I spent the majority of the day walking around —at a nerd-approved pace– and stopping to take notes on my iPad or record memos for myself with my phone. I had both lunch and dinner out. The first meal in a nice little Italian restaurant around the corner, and the latter in a pub near the financial district.
By the time I got back to the apartment, I was knackered because of the insufferable heat that never seems to give this city any quarter, no matter the time of day; it's a constant unwanted companion that manages to make every step a struggle.
I took a quick shower and practically collapsed in bed.
I didn't even have to dry myself with a towel. In the time it took me to walk from the bathroom to the guest bedroom that I'm using, my skin went dry on its own as if all the moisture had simply evaporated from it. I put my hair in a microfiber turban and I guess I pretty much fainted because I don't even remember falling asleep.
And, really, it’s better this way.
Taking a bit of time off from the more intensive part of my job every day can only help my overworked brain process my story better in the long run.
Besides, I’ve still got a lot of research to do, and if I put it off, it will only slow down my writing as I go.
I fan myself, picking up my iPad from the table so I can go over my to-do list for the day.
Syl warned me that the temperature would only get higher in this period of the year, but I thought I would feel it the most around noon and in the few hours coming immediately after it, yet it’s only 9 a.m. right now and it’s already so hot I can barely breathe!
I take another sip of my cold tea and sigh, my eyes scanning the items on my list as I squint against the sun.
Note to self: either I give up on going through my list on the balcony in the mornings, or I remember to exchange my eyeglasses for a pair of sunglasses tomorrow.
The light is so intense that the glint off of the iPad screen is almost blinding. And the squiggles I made with my pencil are awash in a rainbow refraction and practically unintelligible right now, no matter how much I squint.
I huff out a breath, giving up. I better get inside for now. I can’t read out here.
I stand up, and my eyes go to my portable telescope mounted on its tripod, and I smile.
As soon as I'm done with the rough draft of Trouble By Name , I'm going to see about going camping out in the Sonoran Desert for a couple of nights.
I've got my other to-do list ready in preparation for the trip.
I'll need to lease a jeep and buy a tent and stuff, or maybe see about staying in one of those transparent bubble domes that some of the local resorts have out there.
Whatever I decide on, I did some research, and I know it will be amazing: every stargazer dream come to life. I can't wait to get out there and finally live that adventure!
I see that my telescope doesn’t have a lead on its lens, and I look around for it. I must have forgotten to put it back Friday night before I started writing.
I spot it on the tiled balcony floor, just behind the other chair, and kneel down to pick it up.
I clean the cap on the leg of my linen clamdiggers, my eyes wandering to the street seventeen floors below to the cars looking like those Hot-wheels tiny toys my dad tried to convince me where for me to play with when he would bring them home when I was a kid.
From all the way up here, people look like ants. I slightly lean over the balcony glass parapet and smile at the view.
I throw a look at my telescope, and then, putting both the cap and the iPad back on the table, I take a little peek through its lens to the world down there, pointing it at the base of the high-rise.
People-watching 2.0.
I see people walking around in their office attire while others are in their jogging clothes. There are a couple of ladies walking some of the cutest, tiniest dogs I’ve ever seen.
A sporty couple is jogging toward the park, he pushing a double running-stroller in front of them.
Aww, adorable!
I feel my brain starting to do its thing, neurons firing up as I do what comes natural to me as breathing: make up stories about all the people that cross the high-powered lens of my telescope.
My eye suddenly catches on a tall, muscular man jogging toward the building, and I swivel the telescope slightly in his direction.
Holy… wow!
I gulp down, my heart skipping a beat.
Didn’t know they grew them so big around here!
Sheesh!
I stare at him as he reaches the sidewalk right in front of The étoile and takes off a sweaty, tight white T-shirt revealing a built, tatted barrel-like chest before he drapes the tee over one bulging, inked shoulder.
He must have been running in the park that borders the gardens around this very building and doing it in this suffocating, sweltering heat, no less!
A feat that's nothing short of supernatural to someone like me who can stand exercising just about the same way a vampire fares when confronted with a cross.
Gee, he is so handsome, standing there fidgeting with his smartwatch as he takes off a pair of white AirPods and pockets them!
My hands grip the balcony iron railing just over the glass paneling while I zero in on his large frame with my telescope, and I gulp like a total ninny when I realize he's wearing gray sweatpants. Shouldn't there be a law prohibiting a man this hot from going around in public wearing sweats? And yummy, light gray ones that leave very little to the imagination regarding a certain area of his person, to boot?
And now he’s shirtless, too!
Oh my…
I feel my cheeks flush. Like, literally: I can feel the blood rushing to my skin and warming it from the inside out.
Hi there, Mr. Hot Stuff!
I see a couple of ladies checking him out not-so-covertly as they pass by him, and one of them almost face-plants against a pole, missing impact just by an inch when her friend pulls her into her side to save her.
I snort-giggle.
Well, it’s good to know I’m not the only one who’s been so… affected by the sight of him.
I study him some more, unable to tear myself away from the telescope even though I know it’s kinda wrong spying on him like this.
I mean, one thing is taking a furtive glance of a hunk like him on the street while out and about —especially if you don’t turn the little looksie into a full-blown slacked-jaw stare, and quite another is to take a not-so-quick peep at him through your telescope from hundreds of feet above his head.
That said, I’m still here staring, ain’t I?
Oh, dear…
Well, it’s not like he’s ever going to find out, right?
This is definitely a victimless crime. Unless you count my poor panties that have been quite destroyed by all those semi-god-like chiseled muscles.
My eyes flick back to his bearded, grumpy, sexy face and away from those sinfully hard abs of his before I combust on this stupid balcony.
Yep, totally, Mr. Hot Stuff!
He’s the whole, kill-poor-Piper-on-the-spot package: tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome to a tee.
Over six feet for sure, with a dark trimmed beard, buff and built, but without looking like someone who sleeps at the gym and pops steroids like they’re candy. He’s sporting a faint caramel-colored tan, a heart-attack-inducing treasure trail that disappears into those illegal sweats and tattoos all over. He even a pair of what look like wings inked over his chest! And that’s just too much to bear!
Then he starts to walk again, and when I see he’s directed past the entrance of this very building, I emit this strange cross between a chirp and a moan.
My blush deepens.
He must live here, too!
I've never seen him in the lobby downstairs. I would have totally remembered crossing path with him, that’s for sure, and, besides, Syl would have mentioned such a hunk if she knew him, even though she's more into blonde-haired guys, she still has eyes, right?
So, he must have gotten here in the past few days, then.
I mean, he's every romance writer's dream come to life, even just as fodder for our filthy brains, she would have totally pointed out that such a specimen lived here. If for nothing else, it would have been the responsible thing to do on her part to spare me the embarrassment before I stumbled on him somewhere, like… I don't know, the tight, confined space of an elevator car and fainted at his feet since he's the absolute definition of swoon-worthy.
Not that this kind of stuff happens in real life, I know that.
But still… fantasizing is right up my alley, and there’s nothing wrong with it.
I’m going to have to tell Syl all about this guy!
Not that there’s much to tell…
I sigh, unclenching my hand from its hold of my telescope, and put the cap back over the lens.
I stand up straight on legs that have grown suddenly weak, telling myself it’s happening from being out here in this heat and standing almost motionless for so long, but a more honest part of me knows better: it’s all Mr. Hot Stuff’s doing.
I smile a little as I pick up my tablet and the glass with what’s left of my warmed-up tea and step into the air-conditioned haven of the living room.
I tap away at the iPad screen, trying to bring my head back on the program of the day, which is by no means mooning over a perfect stranger.
I’ve got work to do.
Ten minutes later, I'm walking toward the bank of elevators down the hall, mentally reviewing all the items I put in my messenger bag to ensure I didn't forget something important since my mind's been up in the clouds for the last quarter of an hour or so.
Phone, check. Power bank, check. Key-card, check. Camera, check, tablet, mini keyboard, and mouse, check, check and check. Sunglasses, check. Face sunscreen so I don’t burn to a crisp… check. Headphones… still dead.
I push the button for the lobby and fish out my phone from the bag, checking on my order’s progress.
I step out of the lift with my eyes on the screen, reading that there's not been any delay; in fact, the order has just been shipped out to me.
Good.
I put the phone away, but not in time to avoid a full-front collision with someone.
I quickly raise my head, the romance author in me half-expecting to have run into Mr. Hot Stuff, but… no dice!
Just a businessman with a sour face.
I apologize and try to walk past him, but he stands in my way, grumbling at me about seeing that I pay attention to where I'm going next time.
I don't even acknowledge his patronizing ass and move around him, walking past the reception desk, my brain once more going over the handsome, chiseled features of the hunk in sweats.
Why is it that, in real life, I don’t actually run into a man like that but only ever meet jerks?
I shake my head as I walk outside, fixing the now-crooked glasses back on my face.
I stop exactly where I saw Mr. Hot Stuff standing and smile, probably looking insane to all bystanders.
I wonder what his name is…
Probably something growly-alphaey like…
Bruce.
Or Dean…
No, Spartan!
I would definitely name him along those lines if he were one of my heroes.
I giggle as I walk in the direction of the financial district, my eyes straying toward the park's border where I first saw him running.
I pick my phone up again and fiddle a bit with WhatsApp –I’m not very familiar with this app, but my bestie said it would be more reliable than any other texting app while she’s abroad. I finally manage to send her an audio, describing Mr. Hot Stuff down to the last detail, minus eye color, of course, which is the one thing of his person that I couldn’t really make out even with my precision telescope.
This is how I conclude the voice message :
“He looked like the most alpha-male human being I’ve ever seen outside a screen or, you know, in one of my books. Or yours.”
According to my phone, it’s late afternoon in London, so I’m sure she’ll see the notification soon.
Sure enough, five minutes later, just as I realize that my legs have been taking me toward the park rather than my original destination without my say-so, my phone chimes with a new message.
On it, my friend is laughing her ass off at my antics as she tells me that she would have definitely made mention of such a fine specimen if she had seen him. So, he must be new around these parts, just like me.
I wonder which floor he’s staying at.
It’s not like it could have been coming into the building to visit someone, right? Not half-naked and all sweaty and stuff… unless his girlfriend happens to live in Syl’s building instead of him.
I can feel the pout on my face. Perish the thought!
Someone as hot as him has got to be single and in my romance-author brain he definitely is, so let’s leave it at that and spare the perfect fantasy from utter ruination.
I get another voice message from Sylvianne, who's still chortling:
"Girl. I can't believe you really spied on him through a telescope! Because that's the totally normal, non-creepy, non-stalkerish way to meet guys… to your cute-but-psycho ass, at least! You slay me! Next time you see him around, snap a few pictures, okay? That'll make the criminal sentence worth your while, at least!"
I shake my head, laughing:
“Trust me, it would be pointless. A picture couldn’t do that taut body and sexy face of his justice!”
She sends me another audio in which she’s just giggling, then follows it with a bunch of heart emojis.
I tap a quick text back in reply with a few hearts of my own and leave the park and thoughts of Mr. Hot Stuff behind.
I’ve got a book to finish that’s not going to write itself. Better fantasize about my characters than hot men I could never get in real life.
At least, that way, I get to pay my bills and spare myself the heartache that I’m sure would come from being in the same airspace as that mystery hunk.