March
House, mouths his keys, slips on his black leather gloves, grabs his helmet from the coffee table, tucks the one end of his sunglasses into the top of his shirt and heads out to start his commute to PPTH. The weather has been warm. Warm enough to ride again. Brilliant, blinding, sunlight and in the 50’s all week, the smell of winter fading.
She pulls her hair back and through the scrunchy before pulling her dark blue Hard Rock baseball hat on, threading her long dark ponytail through the hole at the back. Grabbing her IPOD, her uncle’s house key hanging around her neck under the grey hoodie, she put on her sunglasses and heads out for her run. She needs to get a haircut. Maybe Megan has a good stylist. A good stylist is almost as hard to find as a good doctor.
Harder, actually, she thinks. She hears the squeak of the neighbors’ door as it opens behind her.
He spots the back of the new neighbor slipping through the front entrance to the building. The dark blue running pants she has on accentuates her ass in a way he can appreciate. Hugging the curves while highlighting the firmness and definition. Fabric that falls in the right way is the BEST, he thinks. He’s seen her occasionally entering or exiting about the same time he leaves for work. The oversized grey Indiana University sweatshirt has to go, though.
Maybe when it gets warmer he’ll get a nice view of the rest of her, he muses, as he pushes through the front door heading to his bike parked out front. Dark blue baseball cap, with her hair pulled through the back in a ponytail, sunglasses, and IPod in her hand, the ear buds dangling. Great ass.
She stops outside just a few feet from the entrance messing with her IPod. House lifts the helmet on with one hand as he starts the bike with the other. She lifts her head at the start of the engine. He nods in acknowledgment at her.
It’s a nod from him, and smile from Ella; she’s seen him before, coming into and out of the building. She thinks he’s musician of some sort; she’s heard the piano when she’s been up late studying or watching Letterman. He keeps odd hours. Sometimes like a regular schedule. Other times, not.
He’s older than her but she’s not sure by how much. The bike, the bike, makes him seem younger, rougher. The cane is a curious thing. Car accident? Perhaps an accident involving the bike? Nah. It’s an older injury. It’s in the way he moves.
That bike is cool though. A man on motorcycle, yum, she thinks, even if she’s not crazy about riding herself. The leather jacket is working for him too. Sexy. She’s always had a thing for the lanky musicians. Shit. Just what she doesn’t need; an attractive man living across the hall.
He flips down the visor on his helmet. She put the ear buds in and switches on the Nano. Jumpin’ Jack Flash pumping her up.
House swoops out of the parking spot and races to work.
Ella turns in the opposite direction and starts to run.