Page 50 of Fire Fight
Pumping a barbell over his chest in time with the drumbeat of the song.
Mesmerized, I could only stand there like a creep and watch.
Fuck, he was glorious. Every inch of his body was honed and lined with strength. His biceps, shoulders, and pecs rippled deliciously with each movement. The muscles of his abdominals were carved out beautifully, and I counted eight before they flattened and disappeared into the waistband of his shorts, along with a thin trail of hair, the same shade as the dusting on his chest. I was gripped by the sudden urge to approach him, straddle his lap where his obliques cut into that sexy ass V at his hips, and lick him clean.
Shaking my head to clear those filthy images—ones I could never act on—I called his name.
He quickly racked the bar and sat up, huffing and puffing but eyes scanning me for any sign of danger or distress.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I was just coming to tell you I’m going to head into town.”
“For what?” he asked, lifting a towel that rested at his bare feet, and—Jesus Christ, he worked out barefoot? Why the fuck was that so sexy?—used it to wipe his face.
“I want to go to the library and look through yearbooks and old editions of the newspaper. Get a better feel for the victims and what else was going on in town around the times they were murdered.”
“Do you want company?” He stood, his chest level with my eyes, and I noticed with a jolt that one of his nipples had a silver hoop glinting in it.
This man was a goddamn wet dream, and I had to start looking for other accommodations immediately. There was no way I had enough control to keep my hands to myself if I was forced to live with him for any length of time. Not when I’d been celibate for as long as I had.
My toys got the job done fine, thank you very much, but I knew even one night in bed with Crew Lawless would ruin me for anyone and anything else forever.
“No, I’m good,” I said quickly. “I was thinking I’d stop at the store and pick up groceries before I came back? Restock what I used on the soup.”
“You don’t have to do?—”
I cut him off before he could finish. “I want to. Just text me a list.”
Then I hightailed it out of there before I did something we’d both regret.
The Dusk Valley Public Librarywas a gorgeous brick building attached to the high school by an enclosed walkway. More spacious than I expected, the entire back half was dominated by a media lab that had study corrals, laptops people could check out for use, and a bank of desktop computers. Row and rows of books filled the front half, the shelves pristine white and open to allow plenty of airflow.
An older woman—mid-sixties, if I had to guess—sat behind the help desk wearing a sweater and skirt set in a soft pink shade that made her creamy skin appear like porcelain. A name tag pinned to her chest readGinny.
“Hello dear,” she said warmly when I approached. “What can I help you with?”
“I was hoping to look at microfiche of old newspaper articles.”
“Are you looking for something specific?”
I nodded. “I’m Aspen McKay—” I began, ready to launch into my spiel of who I was and why I was there, but Ginny stopped me.
“Oh dear,” she breathed. “I am so sorry for what happened to you.”
“Thank you. So that’s why I’m here. I’m looking into the case, and I was hoping to comb through old coverage on the previous incidents and victims. And I was also wondering if it’d be possible to look through old yearbooks dating back to the first victims.”
Without a word, Ginny came around the counter and wrapped me into a warm, floral-scented hug. Inexplicably, my nose stung with the warning of tears, and I sniffed loudly as I hugged her back.
This sort of comfort was something I’d been sorely lacking in recent years, and it amazed me how much better such simple contact from another human being made me feel.
When she pulled back, she cupped my cheeks and said, “Whatever you need, dear. Follow me.”
She led us into the media lab and over to an iMac in the corner. “This is where we keep all theGazetteissues,” she said proudly as she pulled out the chair for me. “Dating all the way back to its conception in 1920.”
A low, deeply impressed whistle escaped me. “That’s incredible.”
“It hadn’t been easy,” she said with a chuckle. “It took me probably ten years to track down every single issue, and another two for us to digitize them. But I’m very proud of the work we’ve done. Not many towns can say they have these kinds of records.”
