Page 126 of Two Guys, a Girl, and a Tripod

It’s amazing the access I have to peoples’ whole lives. Everything is electronic nowadays–one reason for my filing cabinet in the corner. Everything is kept on paper or in one of several external hard drives, all of which are kept in a fireproof safe in my bedroom. Miles calls it paranoid. I call it being smart in this digital age.

While running an end-of-week report for myself–which will be shredded once I’ve analyzed it–I decide to try digging a little more into Caleb Davis and his life. Raised by asingle mother, one older brother in law enforcement, nothing new or of note. Nothing I haven’t seen before.

As I stare at a photo of Caleb and his brother, I start to wonder if the help he has is coming from family. If Jesse Davis has access to certain resources, he might be able to get a back way into the doorbell cam system. Illegal without a warrant, but anything can be faked.

Looks like I’m spending my Friday digging up some dirt on Asshole #2. I don’t know Jesse, but I think it’s safe to assume that, with a brother like Caleb, he’s an asshole.

It’s time to reach out to an anonymous contact from Harp Solutions. I have access to a lot, but a backdoor into a government database feels a stretch too far. I hate leaving a trail, even in our secure system, but this is still the safer route. The request takes no time at all to send and now I have no path forward while I wait. I have to find something to distract myself. It could take days to get a response and even longer to get the information or it could be a matter of hours. Every request is different so the response and delivery times vary wildly.

I stomp out of the office to the kitchen and throw open the fridge. Maybe eating something will help. I scan the shelves for several minutes, only half-processing what’s in front of me. Nothing sounds good.

The door slams shut harder than I intend, causing one of the heavier magnets to fall to the ground. I gently pick up the gym calendar it was holding to the fridge and then my fingers fall on the thick, ceramic double-decker bus. Isla brought it back for me when she studied abroad in college. The magnet isn’t what I focus on.

The gym seems like a good distraction.

The gym isnota good distraction.

Starting on the treadmill, I increase my speed and incline until I’m breathing heavily, unable to focus on anything other than not falling off. That lasts for all of five minutes before my mind wanders to the problem of the Davis brothers and what they might be planning.

Weights next. I start with squats. Those are even less distracting, so I switch between variousmachines. Worse.

I mutter a curse under my breath and lock the plate holding the weights above my body on the leg press machine. The weight is enough to challenge me, but not enough that it causes my muscles to shake. Maybe I should add more. I’m still deciding on my next step when a woman sidles up to me, a towel over her shoulder.

She’d be distracting for any man, but I’ve got my own problems and my own sexy little distraction on the other side of the country. It’s hard to miss the way her leggings hug her hips and thighs below her tight and toned torso. A sports bra covers her breasts and her black hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Wisps of hair stick to her skin where it’s shiny with sweat. Her skin is pale and flawless and her brown eyes are full of confidence.

“Almost done with that?” she asks with a glance at the plates, taking a moment to add up the weight in her head. “Impressive, by the way.”

“Thanks.” I grab my towel from where it’s hung over the top of my water bottle and dab it on my forehead. “I’m done. Let me get the plates off.”

“I can help.” She makes sure to brush past, tits facing me, just close enough to graze my arm. “Sam, by the way.” Her touch has nothing on Sophie’s.

“Brody,” I mutter.

I stack the plates on their racks and give Sam a nod before walking away. In the mirror on my left, I can see that she’s annoyed. I’m sure it’s my fault, but I’m not going to dwell on it.

I try to finish my leg day workout, glimpsing Sam every now and then, usually on a machine next to me or walking by just close enough to make contact. I grow more and more frustrated until I realize annoyance is at least distracting me from waiting on the information I requested. At least she’s been good for something.

Eventually, I have to leave. My workout is done, my legs are jelly, and if I don’t drive home now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to. As I head out of the locker room, toward the door, Sam darts in front of me. I nearly crash into her.

“Sorry.” I grab her arm to steady her but then drop it quickly.

“Oh no, my fault,” she chirps. “I just wanted to give you this.” She holds out a business card. Great. A realtor.Great. A realtor.

“You do this often?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, but taking the card. “Hand out business cards to random guys at the gym?”

“Only the cute ones.”

Before I can respond, she dances away and I’m left with my lips parted in mild shock. I have got to get out of here.

My car is on the outer edge of the parking lot, the nearest vehicle a dozen spaces away. I rack my brain for activities that will keep me from going home. A hike won’t work because if I try that, mylegswon’t work. If Miles were here, we’d binge-watch trashy movies and eat homemade nachos or some other concoction of his.

My grip on the steering wheel is tight, the veins in my arms popping out. I lean my head back in the seat, closing my eyes. Taking deep breaths through my nose and letting them out in slow, controlled exhales doesn’t seem to help. Sophie’s face floats through my mind, laughing at something I said during our first date, nervous about telling me what she does for a living on our second date, skeptical on our third before…

I can practically taste her on my lips, feel her clench around my fingers. That familiar warmth forms in my chest, radiating outward into my arms and down to my toes. My hand drops from the steering wheel to palm a rather troublesome bulge growing in my shorts.

My phone buzzes, pulling me from my thoughts. It’s a selfie from Sophie. She’s wearing averytight, light blue dress. I can’t quite tell from the angle, but it looks like it’s barely long enough to cover her ass. Her perfect tits are practically falling out of the top. I’m so focused on her cleavage that it takes me a moment to notice my best friend standing beside her. She and Miles are on the convention floor near a booth whose banner I can only see a small part of. They look like they’re having the time of their lives. The text along with it just says:Miss you.

I type out a quick response and then toss my phone into the cupholder before speeding home.

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