More grateful that I feel good.
Well, mostly good.
I move through my post-game rituals. But even after a quick bike ride at the arena, and then a polar plunge for five minutes at fifty-two degrees—and doing them after nearly every home game for more than ten years doesn’t make these ice baths any easier—my muscles are still sore, and my neck is tighter than a jack-in-the-box. Nothing that some time in the hot tub at home won’t fix though.
On the drive there, my mind wanders to my cute and irresistibly sexy neighbor, who I’m meeting in a couple days about the renovation.
And I wonder, can I see her from the hot tub up on the second-floor balcony? Is there a view into her kitchen? Her bedroom? Her living room? I’ve never looked, and the whole way home, I can’t stop wondering what I’d see if I did.
The thought is entirely too tempting as I walk in the door.
With board shorts on, and Zamboni watching my every move, I grab my water bottle from my bureau—the one I keep at home that my sister’s kids got me for Christmas. They’re just as practical as their mom but a bit more creative since they put stickers of Corgis, German Shepherds, and my dog all over it.
Patting my thigh, I say to my girl, “C’mon, Zamboni.”
She trots by my side as I pad across the bedroom to the sliding glass doors, tug them open, and walk onto the balcony. I stretch under the stars, lifting my arms to the sky, shifting my neck back and forth, and keeping my gaze fixed firmly in front of me.
Not to the side. Not to my neighbor’s home.
I won’t look.
I definitely won’t look.
I’ll just enjoy the stars along with the bubbling hot tub. Setting my phone on top of a stack of towels on a small, low stand away from the water, I sink into the welcoming heat. Zamboni parks herself on the wooden deck.
As I gaze up at the inky sky and the stars winking on and off, I take a drink of water—gotta stay hydrated in the jacuzzi—then close my eyes, letting the water work its magic.
I let my mind go blank. This is owning my time, right? I’m using this moment to relax and recharge.
And it works. Hell, it’s easy to keep my focus in front of me. It’s late, nearly eleven, and I bet Skylar isn’t even up. If I did glance next door, the curtains would be closed, the house shrouded in darkness.
Don’t think about your neighbor.Think about relaxing in this final part of your post-game ritual.
But…what if I could see her?
Except, nope.
I shouldn’t do that. I really fucking shouldn’t. I don’t watch my neighbors. I mind my own damn business.
But there’s a difference between watching and just…noticing. Right?
I’m not spying. I’m just…curious.
What’s the harm, really?
We live next door to each other. We’ve seen each other a few times already. She walks her dog. I walk mine. I’m simply sitting here on my balcony. Just…checking out the neighborhood. A safety check of sorts.
I open my eyes and look.
Hmm. Just the side of her house.
I shift to another seat in the hot tub. Nope. Still just the yard, like always.
But wait.
If I lean my head to the right…
I peer farther into her yard, and there it is—the catio her brother had built over the summer.
