Work is boring.

Yvette makes good on her word with a few clipped calls in her office. Quiet enough you can’t make out the words, but loud enough you know she’s working strings. When you pop the door open to ask her if she wants any coffee, she simply flicks her eyes towards the door to let you know she's not to be disturbed.

You take that as your cue and drift toward your desk.

Griggs walks in right as you sit down. The man looks exactly the same every day: plain clothes, scruffy beard, an expression that suggests he’s already disappointed in you for something you haven’t done yet.

“Mornin’,” he says, setting his bag down.

“Morning.”

He glances toward Yvette’s office. “She in one of her moods?”

“Working a lead for me.”

“Uh huh.” He opens his drawer and pulls out a protein bar that looks like it predates the Second Coming.

“You ready for the big romantic adventure?”

You glance up. “You mean tailing Rachel the secretary?”

He tears the wrapper with his teeth. “That’s the one. I’ll take over tonight once she’s home. You get the day shift. Try not to die of boredom.”

“Ten a.m. yoga then tail her home. Got it.”

“Yeah, unless she skips to meet lover boy. Husband’s been acting squirrely, so be careful and don't get caught.”

You nod. “Just another day in paradise.”

Griggs chews and gestures vaguely with the bar. “Try and make sure the mark doesn’t spot you this time. Some of us have reputations to maintain.”

You smirk. “You have a reputation?”

“For competence. You should try it sometime.”

“I would, but I’m still recovering from the last time I tried responsibility.”

He finishes chewing, tosses the wrapper into the bin from across the room without looking. “Smartass. So, what’s new in your world?”

“I’ve got a date tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow. “With a human?”

“Better than your date with your hand.”

“Touché.”

You grin. “We’re grabbing sushi near campus, so don’t be late relieving me. I don’t want to show up smelling like stakeout sweat. Might need a minute to freshen up a bit.”

Griggs snorts. “Some gals are into that. Just tell her what you do for a living.”

“Yeah, telling someone you spend your nights in a parking lot with binoculars really gets them going.”

He points a finger at you. “Confidence sells, kid. You could learn that from me.”

“I could also learn from a car crash. Doesn’t mean I want to.”

Yvette calls you from her office, breaking up your banter. “Ryan.”

You crack open the door to her office.

“I’ve got someone checking records in Laredo,” she says. “Might take a couple of days, but if that girl’s in the system, we’ll find her.”

You nod. “Appreciate it.”

She eyes you over her glasses. “Don’t thank me yet. Get through the day without tailing the wrong redhead again, and we’ll call it progress.”

Griggs tilts his head. “You tailed the wrong redhead?”

“One time,” you mutter.

“Twice,” Yvette corrects.

You sigh. “They had the same haircut, okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, turning back to her screen. “Try not to get arrested. I'm not bailing you out again.”

Griggs grabs his jacket. “You heard the lady. Go babysit our morally bankrupt Barbie.”

You laugh under your breath as the door clicks shut behind you.

---

You spend two hours across from the gym with nothing to note. You spend the time reading a book in your car with one eye on the front entrance.

Eventually, your mark shows up. Sunglasses on, ponytail perfect, walking with purpose like she’s got somewhere to be.

You wait for her to pull out of the parking garage, let her get a head start, then slide the Volt into gear.

She doesn’t do anything interesting. Just drives. You hang back, counting lights and keeping her two cars ahead through Austin traffic until she turns into a gated complex on the edge of the city with too much beige stucco and not a lot of character otherwise.

Her place looks nice for a secretary. Not penthouse nice, but still more than an admin assistant should be able to manage on her salary.

You wait a few minutes, then slip in behind a delivery van before parking half a block down from her building. You adjust the mirror and settle in.

Nothing. She goes in and doesn’t come out. No visitors and no movement. Just quiet.

You jot a note: Subject returned home. No contact.

The rest of the evening drags on. You eventually decide to park a street away and settle in again.

As the afternoon bleeds into early evening, and the caffeine wears off. Your neck aches from craning at the mirrors. You’ve already counted the same passing jogger three times.

Then, at 6:12, headlights flash in your mirror, one long, one short.

It's Griggs.

He pulls up behind you, window rolling down just enough for the smell of takeout to hit the air. “Shift change, sweetheart.”

You glance back at him. “You’re early.”

“Early is on time. Another thing you could learn from me.”

You pass him the clipboard. “Nothing to report. She worked out, went home, probably spent the afternoon admiring her own reflection in the mirror. I don't know, whatever pretty people do when they're home alone.”

“Yeah, I had an ex like that too.” He squints at the notes. “Nice handwriting, by the way. I'm surprised you don't dot your 'i's with little hearts.”

You grin, already stepping back toward your car. “Whatever you say, buddy. Don’t forget to log any visitors after dark.”

“I know how to do my job, dipshit. Don't go hitting on the wrong gal just because she has the same haircut as your sushi date.”

You pause at your door. “You jealous?”

He leans out the window. “Maybe.”

“Liar. We both know you'd eat your own shoe before you'd eat raw fish.”

Griggs laughs, a low rasp that carries down the quiet street. “Try not to embarrass the agency, Romeo.”

You wave him off, and start your car. For the first time all day, you feel awake. The thought of Alex, her half-smile, her curious tilt of the head, pulls something loose in your chest.

As the engine hums to life. You check the rearview mirror. Griggs is already munching on fries, eyes on the condo across the street.

You tap the steering wheel once, smile to yourself and pull away.

---

Alex is already there when you walk in.

She’s draped across the booth like she owns it, black dress short enough to make you wonder if it’s technically dinner attire or a test. One leg crossed over the other, heel dangling, her hair pulled up just enough to bare the smooth line of her neck.

Her eyes flick over you as you slide in across from her. “Work clothes?”

You glance at yourself. “Yeah.”

She tilts her head. “That’s cute. I dress like this, and you show up looking like you just clocked out of Home Depot.”

“We’re in Austin,” you say. “Nobody dresses up for sushi. I look like I’m supposed to be here. You look like you took a wrong flight and ended up two time zones from your Miami club.”

Her grin widens. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Glad my natural charm compensates.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s color in her cheeks.

“You could’ve tried a little.”

“I did. I tucked my shirt in and sniffed my armpits to make sure I didn't need more deodorant.”

That gets a laugh out of her, quick and surprised. “Wow. Effort. I’m flattered.”

“You should be. I don’t tuck my shirt in for just anyone. Last time I did, it was for a very important VIP. Lives in Canada. You wouldn’t know him.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

You pause, deadpan. “…Eugene... Applebaum.”

The club trash humming in the background enters the refrain.

-Shawty got low-low-low-low-low-low-low-low-

She raises an eyebrow. “Eugene Applebaum.”

“Yep.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s not. He’s very real. Big name in Canada. Big fan of tucked shirts.”

The waiter shows up before she can fire back, takes your orders. Alex keeps her eyes on you the whole time, like she’s trying to catch you breaking character. When he leaves, she leans forward on her elbows. “So. How was your day?”

“Thrilling,” you say. “Sat in my car for six hours watching a gym and then an apartment. Didn’t die of boredom. Big win.”

She perks up. “Watching for what?”

“Guy cheating on his wife. Or maybe not. It’s about as glamorous as it sounds.”

Her eyes go wide with mock excitement. “So, like, full-on PI stuff? Stakeouts? Cameras? You in a trench coat?”

“Yeah. All that. Minus the trench coat. I do own one but I only got it as part of a gag Halloween costume.”

“Ruined the fantasy,” she says. “I was picturing you in, like, a noir movie.”

“Sorry to disappoint. Mostly it’s just bad coffee and podcasts.”

“Ever catch anyone?”

You raise an eyebrow. “In the act?”

She grins. “Obviously.”

You snort. “Sure. But trust me, it’s a lot less sexy than you think. Most of the people I take pictures of? You wouldn’t want to see naked.”

She laughs, tilting her head back. “Wow. What a pitch for your job. Sounds awful.”

“It has its moments,” you say.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like when people don’t notice I’m following them.”

“That’s it?”

“Also when people pay me.”

She grins. “You’re terrible at selling yourself.”

“I’m better at selling other people out,” you say.

That gets you another laugh.

She leans back, running her chopsticks between her fingers. “What’s your boss like? You’ve mentioned her twice now.”

“Yvette? She’s the reason I’ve got a job. Took a chance on me when I got here. Smart. Runs a tight ship.”

“Hot?” Alex asks, casual.

You don’t blink. “Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Honest. I like that.”

“You asked,” you say.

Alex smirks and flicks her chopsticks at you. “And you answered way too fast.”

"I mean, she's hot. There's no way around it. She looks like a cross between an Amazon and a Barbie doll, and she wears 6" heels like they're combat boots. She's rather unforgettable."

“You know you’re not supposed to say things like that while you’re out on a date, right?”

You stab at a piece of sushi, shrug. “Recently discovered I’m absolute shit at lying. Figure honesty’s the safer play. Especially since there’s a chance you’ll meet her someday. And you’ve got eyes.”

Her grin spreads. “Bold of you to assume there’s going to be a second date.”

You meet her gaze, deadpan. “I’ve got eyes too. I can tell when someone’s into me.”

That earns a scoff and an eye-roll, but the pink in her cheeks doesn’t argue. “Wow. Confident much?”

“Confident? No. Observant? Absolutely.”

She leans on her elbow, smirk sharpening. “I bet you say that to all your sushi dates.”

“I don't exactly do a lot of these. Not really my scene.”

“Oh, so I’m special.”

“I'd say so.”

She laughs, the sound bright enough to turn a few heads. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah, I do get that a lot.” you say, grinning.

“Cute. Don’t push your luck too much.”

You don’t. You just watch her over your drink, let the quiet stretch into something easy.

Dinner winds down with more soft jabs and lingering glances, the kind of back-and-forth that makes the whole thing feel less like a first date and more like something you’ve done before. As the meal nears it's end, neither of you are ready for the date to be over, and you agree to head over to a campus bar a few blocks down the road for a drink afterwards.

Spider House is half‑bar, half‑carnival. Neon beer signs hum over mismatched couches. The smell of fried food mixes with cigarette smoke wafting in from the patio. Conversations rise and fall around you. College kids in loud debate, couples pressed close over cheap cocktails, a man in a cowboy hat arguing with a jukebox like it owes him money.

Alex steers toward the bar like she owns the place. You follow.

“Two whiskey sours,” she tells the bartender without glancing back.

“You remembered.” you say.

She leans against the counter, giving you a sideways glance. “Figured you might be in the mood to start off with something familiar.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Then I’d be disappointed.”

You snort. “Can’t have that.”

The bartender slides two short glasses across the scarred wood. Alex takes hers and hands you the other, her nails grazing your fingers just long enough to register.

You head for a booth in the corner where the noise softens to a low hum. She slides in across from you, chin propped on one hand, tracing the rim of her glass with a fingertip.

“So. Ryan.”

“So. Alex.”

She smiles at you.

“Tell me what you do when you’re not fighting evildoers or following your boss around on PI jobs?”

You return the smile over the rim of your glass. “That’s basically it. Sprinkle in some college courses for balance.”

She hums, unimpressed. “You’re really selling me on the thrill‑ride of your life right now.”

“Hey, some of us peak quietly.”

“Sure.” She takes a slow sip, eyes still on you over the glass. “And why community college? You seem… sharper than that.”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. “It’s cheaper. Closer. Gets me where I’m going.”

“Which is?”

“Firefighting. Eventually.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as someone who wants to run into burning buildings for fun.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why?”

You give her a small, easy smile. “Because somebody has to.”

That earns you a long, measured look. Then: “Okay. Point to you.”

“I didn't know you were keeping score?”

“Sometimes.”

Her foot brushes yours under the table. Not by accident.

“So what about you?” you ask, leaning in slightly. “Besides sushi dates with wannabe firefighters?”

She shrugs. “Already told you. Criminal justice major. Working part‑time at a legal office. Still trying to figure out if I actually want to be a lawyer or just like winning arguments.”

“Bet you’re good at both.”

She laughs lightly at that. You like the way her smile reaches her eyes.

“Flattery will get you... places.”

You let the small talk breathe for a bit, then tilt your head. “But that’s not why you’re here, right?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I think,” you say, leaning back, “you’re the kind of person who doesn’t do anything without a reason. So why criminal justice and not pre-law? What’s the story there?”

She studies you, weighing whether to bother answering. Then: “My brother. Older. Got wrapped up in some ugly stuff. Wrong side of a courtroom. I wanted to… I don’t know. Learn how the system chews people up so maybe I could keep it from doing that to someone else.”

There’s a sharpness under the casual tone. A bruise she’s not inviting you to touch.

“Sorry.” you say softly.

Her mouth twists. “Yeah. Well, it is what it is.”

You let that hang. “Still planning on trying for everyone else?”

She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Somebody has to.”

You nod once, and it’s quiet between you for a moment, save for the hum of conversation and clink of glasses.

Her gaze lingers on you a little too long to be casual. “How about you, Ryan Gallagher? Do you have a sad origin story that led you to choose being a fireman as a career path?”

“Nothing so noble.” You sip your drink. “I heard it makes you popular with the ladies.”

She scoffs like she doesn’t buy it but doesn’t press, either.

The conversation drifts easy for a bit. Jobs. Professors. That one weirdo at your boxing gym that insists on doing full splits during warm‑ups.

Then Alex tilts her head, prodding her fork into the lettuce like she’s thinking through her next move.

“You've got something on your mind.” she declares.

“I didn't take you for a mind reader.”

“No. But I could tell you've been holding something in the whole night. A pause, then the faintest grin. “Come on, spill.”

You sip the whiskey, let the burn sit in your chest.

“I met someone. The same night we met at Shangri La.” you say.

Her eyebrow arches. “Explain.”

You lean back in the booth and breathe deeply before continuing. “Her name’s Mariana. She’s staying at my place.”

There’s no flash of jealousy, no theatrics. Just a measured blink, like she’s cataloging that piece of information. “Staying at your place as in…?”

“As in,” you say, “When I got home, she was hiding in the bushes in my back yard. She needed somewhere safe. She’s been through some shit. I didn’t feel right leaving her out there.”

Alex stirs her drink, lets the ice rattle. “And what do you get out of that?”

You meet her eyes. “Company, mostly. Then it turned into more than that.”

She swirls what’s left of her drink, then fixes you with that criminal‑justice‑major stare that probably makes liars wish they’d gone into witness protection. “So. More than company,” she says, voice even. “Spell it out for me.”

You are suddenly very aware of how small this booth feels. “You want explicit details?”

“I want context,” she says, slow and deliberate. “There’s a difference.”

“Context,” you echo, buying yourself a second. “Alright. She’s… not just some random houseguest. Things got physical.”

Alex doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. “Physical like you’re sleeping together?”

“Yeah.”

“And she’s living with you.”

“Yeah.”

Her tongue clicks softly against her teeth, like she’s turning the facts over in her head. “You collect strays often, or just this one?”

You smirk despite yourself. “She’s the first.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“Was hoping.”

Alex leans in, elbows on the table, chin resting on her interlaced fingers. “So you’ve got a woman in your house, in your bed, who you barely know… and you’re here, on a date with me.”

“Correct.”

“Help me understand why.”

You take a sip of water, mostly to give yourself time. “Because I like being here with you. And because she and I… what we have, it doesn’t change that.”

Her brow arches. “That’s awfully convenient.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t do labels well.”

Alex watches you for a beat that stretches longer than it should. Then: “She know about this?”

“Yes.”

“Does she care?”

“She... approves.”

Alex studies you, head tilted, the kind of silence that feels like she’s running a cross-exam in her head. “Does she?” she presses. “Or does she just think she’s supposed to? You know, gratitude, survival, whatever you want to call it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the table. “You think I **** her.”

“I think you’re the one holding all the cards,” she says evenly. “And women in her position… sometimes they learn fast what keeps them safe.”

You let the words hang. You don’t blink.

“It's not like that.” you say finally.

Alex’s smile is thin, dangerous. “Are you sure? You might believe so. But does she know that? Enough to risk her safety to test that theory?”

Your hand curls loosely around your glass. “You always dig this deep on first dates?”

“You should have seen this coming.” she answers, and that sharp smile spreads a little. “And I haven't walked out on you yet, so lets say for the sake of argument that I might still be interested. I tend to like being with men that look like they enjoy being in charge.”

You snort softly. “That what you think I am?”

“I think you like control,” she says, casual but deliberate, watching for your reaction. “And I think she gives it to you.”

You don’t answer, because she isn’t wrong. The silence is answer enough.

Her head tilts, eyes narrowing like she’s examining a particularly interesting specimen. “And you like that.”

You swirl what’s left of your drink. “That doesn't scare you?”

“Should I be scared?” she asks, all bright and sharp, like she already knows the answer.

“Probably,” you say, because it’s true.

That earns you a grin. The kind you’d expect from someone who likes fire and hasn’t decided if she wants to touch it or throw gasoline on it.

“Sounds like you like it when a girl 'knows her place',” Alex says.

You let that sit. “You say that like it doesn't bother you.”

“Oh, no.” Her smile widens, wolfish now. She leans in, close enough that you feel the heat of her breath when she drops her voice. “I think I’m just trying to picture it. Her. You.” A beat. “The dynamic.”

You meet her eyes. “You’re curious.”

“Curious,” she echoes, tasting the word. Her teeth catch her bottom lip for the briefest second. “Maybe more than that.”

You arch a brow. “More?”

She leans in, elbows on the table, chin in her hand like she’s sharing a secret. “I mean, if she’s so… accommodating.” Her voice drops. “Maybe there’s room for an audience.”

The air between you goes still.

“You want to watch,” you say.

Her grin turns sly. “Maybe. Maybe I’d even want to participate.”

You study her, long enough for the silence to sharpen, long enough for her to know you’re not dismissing it.

“Careful,” you murmur. “You sound like someone volunteering.”

“Maybe I am,” she says, and leans back, utterly unapologetic. “Maybe I like the idea of seeing you in your element.”

You can’t help the grin that tugs at your mouth. “You don’t even know what my element is.”

“Oh, I’ve got a few guesses.”

And the way she says it leaves no doubt: she isn’t bluffing.

“You want to know my guesses?”

“Do I?”

“Oh, I think you do.” She leans in over the table, elbows on the scarred wood, voice dropping into something you feel more than hear.

“You like having people where you want them,” she whispers, each word deliberate, “doing exactly what you tell them. That girl at your place? You didn’t take her in out of kindness. You took her in because she could be yours. Because she stays when you tell her to stay.”

She drags a fingertip slowly along the rim of her glass. “And when she’s on her knees, I bet you don’t just let her do it. You hold her there. Make her take you exactly how you want. Until you’re done. Until she can’t breathe without tasting you.”

You could shut her up. You don’t.

Her lips curve, emboldened. “Bet you don’t even need to say anything anymore. Bet she knows. How deep you like it. How long you want it. Bet she waits for you to let her stop.”

The air between you feels heavy.

“See, I keep wondering,” she says, voice lighter now, like she’s playing with her food, “if you’d do the same to me. If you’d pin me down and make me find out how far I’d go for you. If you’d make me behave the way you want. Hold me there until I do.”

Your grin comes slow, dangerous. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe,” she says, shameless. “Maybe I like the idea of **** on you while you decide when I get to come up for air.”

The silence after that is sharp enough to cut.

“Careful,” you murmur, finally. “How does the saying go, be careful what you wish for, you might just get it?”

Her smile is all teeth. “Mhm.”

She thinks she’s clever. Like she hasn’t just handed you the match and the gasoline.

You lean in, resting your forearms on the table, voice dropping low enough that it cuts through the bar noise just for her.

“Show me.”

Her grin falters for the first time. “Here?”

“Here.”

The pause stretches. She studies you like she’s waiting for a punchline. It never comes.

“You’re serious,” she says finally.

You tip your head. “Or you can admit you’re just talking.”

Her grin doesn’t fade this time. If anything, it dares you.

You lean across the table, not rushing, just closing the space until there’s nowhere else for her to look but you. “Open,” you murmur.

Her breath catches, but she does.

You slide your thumb past her lips, slow enough to make it clear this isn’t a joke, pressing against her tongue. She’s warm and wet, and she doesn’t pull back.

You drag your thumb along the roof of her mouth, then press down on her tongue, just enough to feel the muscle flex under the pressure. Her eyelids flutter, but her gaze never leaves yours.

The background noise fades. There’s only her lips around you, soft and deliberate, and her tongue curling against your thumb like she’s tasting you.

“Good girl,” you say, low enough only she can hear.

Her cheeks flush. She doesn’t break eye contact when you twist your wrist, letting your thumb trace along the edge of her teeth, then retreat just enough for her to close her lips around it and suck.

It’s obscene, quiet and filthy, and you know she’s doing it because she wants you to see it.

When you finally pull your thumb free, it comes out slick, and you wipe it casually on your napkin like you didn’t just make her blush in front of a bar full of people.

She exhales slowly, steadying herself. “You’re trouble,” she whispers.

“And you like it,” you reply.

That earns you a well deserved eyeroll.

“Haha. Don’t make it weird by gloating now.”

Outside, the night’s cooled off, the city humming low around you. You walk her to her car, an easy pace that drags like neither of you want this to end.

At the curb, she turns toward you. “Thanks for dinner.”

“I really enjoyed spending time with you. Thank you for coming out,” you counter.

She grins, steps in close, and kisses you. Slow, deep, lingering just long enough to make you forget every good decision you’ve ever made.

You slide a hand toward her waist, testing.

She catches your wrist before you get too far. Not pulling away, just holding you there. Her grip lingers, firm enough to feel deliberate. “Mm‑mm,” she murmurs against your mouth, soft and smug. “First date, kiss only.”

You huff a breath that’s half‑laugh, half‑groan. “Cruel.”

“Rules,” she says, finally breaking the kiss. Her eyes are bright, teasing, but there’s heat there too. “But I’d be happy to see you again.”

“Friday?”

She pretends to think, then nods. “Friday.”

You watch her go, still feeling her kiss like she left it branded on your mouth.