Isolated Together

"Cats are fine."

"Do you want kids? Do you have salad dressing?"

"I have salad dressing. Kids have never really been on my radar. That's usually another reason why I don't get to three dates. A lot of single women my age feel like they're on the clock. Or they're already a mother of three. If my wife and I had kids, I think I'd be happy about it. But now I live a very single lifestyle, and I don't want to be a stepfather. Is that going to end our date?"

"No, I'm not letting you off the hook over that," Hank snorted. "But I appreciate your honesty. Hold on a second."

She disappeared from the screen for a moment. He heard her door open and she knocked on his.

Shannon found a small patio table outside his door which matched the one across the landing outside of her door.

Four containers sat on the table. One had some warm al dente pasta. The second was full of marinara sauce, sliced sweet Italian sausage, zucchini, and bell peppers. The third was a salad, and the fourth was a plate of warm brownies.

He took them inside and moved all the food to his own plates. He set Hank's Tupperware in the sink and washed his hands, just as the CDC recommended.

Returning to where his iPad rested on the dining room table, he saw Hank waiting for him.

"This smells delicious." He poured himself half a glass of merlot. "To the chef."

Hank raised her wine glass in return.

"What about you? Do you want kids?" he picked up their earlier conversation.

"Maybe one day. But it's not on my list of things to make my life complete." She rolled her eyes unconsciously.

"What's your third date plan?"

"Well, if a guy gets to the third date, I'm probably wearing matching underwear, perfume and a lot of make-up. I don't have either the time or energy do deal with bullshit."

"Are you wearing matching underwear tonight?" Shannon dared to ask.

"Play your cards right and you might find out," she winked.

Their conversation alternated between flirty, serious and the usual get-to-know-you subjects.

"Do you have anything else on your showstopper list?" she asked.

"Um, political extremism, religiously fundamental, doesn't believe in science, financial instability, registered sex offender, past domestic violence," he replied after a second.

"All reasonable," Hank nodded in agreement.

"What about you? What shuts you down on the spot with a guy?"

"Misogyny, homophobia, racism," she said. "Talks about high school or college all the time. I don't need to deal with a man-child who peaked when he was eighteen."

"How am I doing?" he asked with a sly smile.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Hank leaned in towards the camera on her tablet. "Most women know in the first two minutes of meeting him whether a guy has a shot or not. The fact that you've gotten three virtual dates means I not only don't think you're a worthless sack of shit, but you could get an actual date out of this."

"Someday soon, I hope."

"Me, too," she sighed. "I also appreciate that you don't seem to be staring at my chest or my backside all the time, you haven't asked me for nudes, and nothing on your list of deal-breakers had anything to do with a woman's appearance."

"It's kind of sad that you're surprised by that," Shannon leaned forward, too. "And for the record, being generally attractive is on my list of things necessary for getting a date--"

"So I'm 'generally attractive'?" Hank needled him.

"That's the minimum requirement," he replied with an eye-roll of his own. "You are very pretty."

"I just rate 'very pretty'? The guys who want to get in my pants tell me I'm beautiful," she giggled. "Your chances for a fourth date are dropping by the second."

"There are four women in my life who rate 'beautiful': my mother, my grandmother, my niece and my wife," he winked. "Everyone else tops out at 'very pretty'."

"So you still think your wife is 'beautiful'?" Hank's eyebrow shot up.

"That's 'ex-wife'," he corrected. "And objectively she's pretty, but she doesn't rate 'beautiful' anymore. The position of 'wife' is currently open."

"Nice save," Hank's crooked smile made his pulse race.

"Nice enough to get me a fourth date?"

"We haven't finished our third date yet."

"I'm being presumptuous," Shannon projected confidence while his heart pounded in his chest. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in years. "And I will cook dinner tomorrow night for you."

"That is a surefire way to get another date," Hank snickered.

When they finished eating, Shannon set his dishes in the sink. They turned on the latest episode of Westworld. He connected his headphones to the iPad and put one earbud in.

Hank didn't talk during the episode, except for the odd time when something surprising happened. Shannon dug into the brownies about halfway through.

When it was over, they talked for a little bit about the show, sharing theories and discussing what might happen next week.

"Thank you for a wonderful third date," she sighed after looking at the clock.

"Thank you for saving me from another night of boredom."

"What would your normal night be?"

"Well, tonight is Wednesday, so I have to work tomorrow. Some of my friends have a YouTube channel where we cover songs, or I'd be playing video games."

"I hope I didn't keep you from them."

"You're more fun. And prettier."

"Very prettier."

Shannon laughed. "Yes, you're very prettier than my friends. And my raid guild."

"So tomorrow night?" Her eyes lit up with hope.

"Yes, if you would like."

"I would like that very much." She set her tablet down on her coffee table and sat back on the couch so most of her body was visible. "And just so you know . . ."

She tugged at the collar of her blouse just enough to show him a hint of the black lace strap on her bra. Then she pulled down on the waist of her pants to show the top of the matching panties.

"Good night, Shannon." She blew him a kiss through the camera, and before he could respond, the screen went blank.

He went to take a cold shower before bed.

****************

"I had a dream about you last night," Hank twirled the spaghetti on her fork.

"You didn't wake up mad at me, did you?" Shannon fumbled his garlic bread, dropping it back on to his plate.

"No, of course not," she replied. "What I remember was mostly good. Why do you ask?"

"My ex-wife had a dream about me once where dream-me had sex with some alien woman, and when she woke up, she was legitimately angry for a couple of days."

Hank laughed. "That's hilarious. No, you did not sleep with some alien chick in my dream."

"Good."

"You slept with me."

Shannon nearly spit Margaret-Ann Greer's world-famous meat sauce all over his iPad.

"And you were pretty good," she winked.

"Well, crap. I guess all I can do now is disappoint you," Shannon recovered quickly.

"I haven't had a dream like that in a while," her voice turned wistful. "I haven't been in a dry spell this long, either."

"Is it more or less than a year?"

"Are you really turning this into a contest?" she teased.

"Fourteen months," Shannon snorted. "Just sayin'."

"It has not been that long, for me," she conceded. "How are you not blind?"

He raised his hand and flexed it in front of the camera on his iPad. "Check out how toned my wrist and forearm are."

They shared a laugh that was part nervous, part flirty.

"So are you a boobs or butt guy?"

"Why not both?" Shannon shrugged.

"If you're into tits, I'm sorry to disappoint you," Hank started intently into the camera.

"From what I have seen, you have very nice breasts," Shannon said. "Of course, it would help if I could get a look at them in good light while you're wearing something other than scrubs . . ."

They both laughed nervously.

Impulsively it seemed, she turned to give him a side profile. She sat up straight and stuck her chest out.

The blouse wasn't loose, but it wasn't skin-tight either. Her perky breasts would fit very nicely in his palms.

Shannon's cock seemed to spring to life.

"What do you think?" Hank asked.

"I think I'm going to be one having good dreams tonight."

"Do something for me," she said suddenly.

"What can I do for you?"

"Stand up . . . take two steps back . . . unbutton your top button . . . roll up your sleeves to the elbow . . ." Hank instructed. "Now turn around . . . very nice."

"Inspecting my dad bod?"

"If you don't have kids, it's not a dad bod," she pointed out.

"So you like pudgy guys who are old enough to be your father?"

"You are not old enough to be my father. And you're in good shape."

"My scale doesn't think so. How old do you think I am?"

Hank shrugged. "Thirty-three."

"Try thirty-seven. The last time I was in good shape was ten years ago."

"Ten years ago, I was nineteen," she snickered. "You're robbing the cradle!"

"There's no way you're twenty-nine," he said, and not because he was trying to flatter her.

"Well . . . bachelor's degree in four years, two years work experience, three years to become a CRNA and I've been working in the ER for almost two years now."

"Do you like working in the ER?"

"I do," she replied. "Every day is different. And we don't have any real long-term care obligations. If they're fine after the visit, we discharge the patient. If they require further treatment, they go on to the floor. The hours are long, but it's worth it. What about you? How's life as a purchasing agent?"

"That's 'procurement analyst'," he corrected her playfully. "It's okay. Mostly boring. But it pays the bills and funds my lifestyle."

"Your lifestyle? What are your vices, Shannon Greer?"

"I dabble in music, but I like to travel," he replied. "The Navy gave me the wander-bug."

"Where will you go once all this is over?"

He thought for a second. "Well, it looks like I'm going to lose out on my trip to Florence and Tuscany in May. I was stationed in Italy when I was in the Navy, and it's always nice to go back."

"I don't think you want to be anywhere near Italy right now," Hank's eyes got dark for a second. "Where else would you like to go?"

"I like traveling anywhere. I take a backpack with some clothes in it and just go."

"Even if you don't speak the language?"

"Especially if I don't speak the language." Shannon didn't know it, but his eyes lit up when he talked. "I love just being somewhere new. Strange sounds, strange smells, strange food. I like meeting people from cultures different from ours. In most of Europe, everyone under the age of fifty can speak pretty good English."

"And you go by yourself?"

"Sure," he stopped for a second, thinking of how to say what he wanted next without offending his Facetime companion. "It's a little different traveling as a single man. I don't know that I would do this if I were a single woman. A lot of people see an American and charge double, but I don't worry about some things which can happen to women by themselves in some parts of the world."

"I wish I could travel more," Hank said wistfully.

"Why don't you?"

"I work too much. I have loads of student loan debt," she frowned. "And I don't know where to start."

"Get out a map and go."

Hank snorted. "I don't have gobs of vacation like some people."

"That is one advantage of federal employment: separate annual and sick leave. I've been there long enough that I accrue enough leave to be in 'use or lose' right now," he said. "So I can up and take a month off at a time if I want."

"And what you do? Just walk in and tell them you'll be gone for four weeks?"

"Something like that," he laughed. "If I take more than ten consecutive work days off, I have to get special permission from the director's office, but they're usually pretty good about letting me go, as long as it's not around the end of the fiscal year. Let me ask you this, Hank: If you could take a vacation anywhere in the world for a month, where would you go?"

She paused for a moment to think. "When I was a kid, we used to drive across the country in an RV. I swear we stayed at every campground west of the Mississippi where it was only us and the iron ranger. I'd like to fly to Europe, get on a train or bus, and go from Spain to Russia. Stay at little hotels or hostels in every little town along the way."

"That sounds great. Maybe when everything settles down, you'd let me take you on that vacation," Shannon said the words before he could stop himself. "If you're still speaking to me then."

"I think I'd like that," she whispered so softly, he could barely hear her. "So this is date number four."

"Virtual date number four."

"Virtual date number four," she echoed. "What would that get me? If we weren't stuck being socially distant?"

"I could knock on your door and we could find out."

"That's not a good idea," Hank got suddenly serious. She looked away, nervous. After a false start, she spoke. "Last Tuesday, someone came through the ER after an auto accident. They were admitted and tested positive for the coronavirus. I didn't treat them, but several of the people I work with did. We've got masks and gloves and all that, but our stockpiles aren't great, so they've been rationing personal protective equipment . . . We were all tested, and we're doing extra sanitation . . . but I could have this thing . . . We don't expect to get our tests back for a couple of days."

She took a deep breath and looked into the camera, a flash of fear in her eyes.

"I should have told you earlier, Shannon. . . . I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Hank," he tried to sound as reassuring as he could. "I'm sure everything will be fine."

Wiping a tear from her eye, Hank composed herself.

"Do you have any stuffed animals?" he asked.

"You have no idea," she replied.

"Go get one. Your favorite. We're going to watch a movie together. Curl up with your favourite stuffed animal and pretend it's me. The fourth date is where we stay in and cuddle. Making out is optional."

"With tongue?" she asked slyly.

"Maybe second base, too," Shannon winked. "You could even sleep over if you want."

"That sounds like a wonderful date."

In the middle of Toy Story 3, Hank fell asleep.

Shannon drifted off himself, his last sight was Hank's angelic face, her hair fallen over her eyes. In her arms, she clutched a rainbow unicorn. She looked so peaceful.

****************

Hank didn't call or ask to get together on Friday afternoon. He knew she was working three nights in a row over the weekend.

Right about the time when he was about to log into one of his online games to meet up with his raid guild, his phone buzzed.

got bored at work the text message from Hank read.

A second later a picture text came through. Her face wasn't visible in the selfie, but she had pulled up her scrub top so her flat tummy, fitted pink tank top, and sports bra were visible.

slow night? he sent back.

the ER is. corona has fewer people out running around and doing stupid shit.

i guess slow is good. For a second, Shannon thought to ask about her COVID-19 test, but decided against it. She'd tell him if she wanted to talk about it.

About twenty minutes passed before she responded.

sorry. department head just stopped in.

you don't have to apologize for anything. ur at work. i'm just goofing off.

sorry i fell asleep on you last night.

i'm not offended. u missed me crying at the end of TS3 like i always do

the girls here want a picture of u. they said to make it sexy.

Shannon thought for a minute about what kind of "sexy" picture to take. He was wearing an old t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms.

Inspiration came after a second.

The Prince Charlie jacket and vest fit a little bit tighter than the last time he had worn it, but he put it on over a dress shirt and tie, along with his kilt and sporran.

He snapped a couple of pictures of himself in the mirror before settling on one he liked. He didn't bother with the hose, flashes and brogues, so he cropped the picture from the knees up.

A few minutes after pressing send, a Facetime request came through.

"Wow, you really clean up well!" Hank giggled. She was wearing a surgical mask and a face shield, as were most of the staff milling around in the background.

"Give me some warning next time, and I might even shave."

"Sami wants to know what's under the kilt." There was laughing in the background.

"There's one way for you to find out," Shannon winked, causing Hank to blush.

"I have to ask: Why do you have a formal kilt?"

"My cousin got married a few years ago and since we're of Scottish descent, everyone in the wedding party went all-out."

"Scottish? Really?"

"Clan Greer. Look it up."

"I'll take your word for it." He noticed several of the other nurses moving in and out of the picture. It looked like they were in a break room and she was calling away from any patients or patient charts.

One of the nurses came up behind Hank and winked. "He's a cutie in the kilt, Hank. And you said he cooks? Marry him faster."

She waved at Shannon and then left before Hank could smack her.

Of course, Hank just blushed that much deeper.

The intercom came on and said something that sounded medical.

Hank frowned. "Sorry, got to go. I'll call you later."

"Okay, I understand."

She made the motion of blowing him a kiss, and then the screen went blank.

Before he changed back into his flannel pajama pants, he took one more picture of the kilt hiked up. Not enough to be truly revealing, but from the belt down, and far enough up the hip to show he was going "traditional".

It was about four in the morning when his guild finished their Friday night raid and he logged out. Hank wouldn't be getting off work for another three hours.

The picture went out with a short text. going to bed. sweet dreams.

When he awoke the next day, there was a picture text for him. He could tell the selfie was taken against the door to her apartment from the waist to her knee. Hank had pulled her scrub pants down to show her skin-tight lycra shorts that covered her shapely rear end.

i'll be thinking of you when i go to sleep this morning.

****************

Shannon woke up on Sunday morning to the sound of someone pounding on a door.

Not his door.

Hank's.

He stumbled out to his living room, thinking there might be some emergency. He heard a woman's voice out on the landing.

"Hank, are you okay? Open up, honey!"

Panic.

Reaching for his phone, Shannon started to dial 911, but a call from Hank's number came in at the same time. He pressed the "accept" button. "What's wrong?"

"It's my parents!" Hank wailed. It was obvious she had been crying.

"What can I do?" he asked immediately.

"I can't let them in!" she sounded distraught. "I'm sorry for dragging you into this . . . I got my COVID test back yesterday; it was positive. They won't let me come in to work. I have to quarantine for at least two weeks . . . and . . . and Daddy's heart . . ."

Her voice trailed off, as she started to cry.

"I made the mistake of telling them yesterday . . . they drove all night, and I can't see them! They can't come near me!"

"Are you okay?" It was everything he could to do sound calm. The last thing Hank needed was for him to flip his shit in front of her or her parents.

"Yes," she sounded both relieved and frustrated. "I'm asymptomatic. Not even a fever. But they ran two separate tests, and both were positive for the virus."

"Well, 'asymptomatic' is good," Shannon chewed on his lip for a moment, keenly aware the people on the landing were still pounding on Hank's door. "What are your parents's names?"

"Howard and Brenda . . . Why?"

"I need you to trust me." A plan formulated in his mind quickly. "I need them to trust me."