"I've come second to organized sports once again." Ellie Bartowski thought with annoyance. This wasn't the first time Devon had suddenly cancelled their plans to go rock climbing, or BASE Jumping, or whatever would give him the biggest adrenaline rush. Part of her wondered if that's why he became a surgeon: The feeling of ultimate power in your hands as a human's life lay in the balance on the operating table.
"Bungee Jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge is gonna be so awesome babe; wish you'd come" He'd said as he was already half-way out the door. She'd declined. Somehow hoping that a giant rubber band would stop you from plummeting to your death didn't quite say recreation to her…let alone a good time. With no boys in the house, it seemed like the perfect time to catch up on some reading she'd been putting off. She sat on the little settee by the window and tried to get comfortable.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught of glimpse of her neighbor, John Casey, heading out of his apartment with a spray bottle and bucket in hand. She chuckled to herself as she remembered the care and devotion the man showered on that antique land yacht. With a shake of her head, she opened the book and hunkered down for some intense reading.
"My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue."
Twenty minutes and several grammatical errors later, she put down the book in mild disgust. "And this made the bestsellers list?" she said aloud to the apartment as if voicing her displeasure would ease her frustration which was still mainly focused on Devon. She looked out the window, hoping that there would be something that could distract her.
John Casey was indeed washing and detailing his car. The Crown Vic shone like black obsidian in the mid-day sun, but that was not what got her attention. From the time when Ellie had first picked up her book and now, her neighbor had somehow managed to lose his shirt. She could only stare as he continued on with his task, oblivious to her sudden voyeurism. Between gasping appreciatively at the musculature that his Buy More polo did a fair job of hiding, and trying not to drool as said muscles flexed and moved with determined purpose, the normally even-headed Dr. Eleanor Bartowski could only think one thing
"Now this is what I call recreation."