Chapter 40
Ethan
Keeping my promise to that prick, Clark, I walk straight to the small office at the back of the gym and use my key to unlock the door.
I tap the space bar as I drop into the chair, waking up the computer.
Then I type in my password and open the video feed.
The live view of the door shows that the walkway is empty.
I click on the parking lot feed, confirming that Clark’s truck is gone. But I also don’t see Tilda or her truck.
Maybe she parked on the side street, not knowing the lot was behind the building.
Clicking back to the front door feed, I rewind it.
Only I don’t make it to the spot where Clark reaches for Tilda. Because the sight of us… entwined…
I hit Play.
The camera is in the eaves above the door, so the angle shows my back.
My size blocks most of Tilda from view, but her hands…
I lived it.
I felt it.
But seeing it… seeing the way she was grabbing at me.
I watch as her hands slide around to my back.
I can still feel it. Can still feel her hands on my skin.
Can still fucking taste her.
If I’d remembered to lock the door to my office, I’d be tempted to beat one off right now.
But I didn’t lock the door.
And I can bring this video home.
It only takes a few clicks for me to download two videos.
One that shows the seconds before and after Clark tried to touch what’s mine. And the second is everything that happened after.
I email them to myself, then shut down the computer and exit the office.
I’m tempted to go straight home, so I can watch the second video at my leisure, but I go back to the free weights.
I’ve done plenty for the day, but the adrenaline boost of having Tilda’s tongue in my mouth is making me feel twitchy. And I want to burn off that energy before I drive home.
My gaze automatically moves to the mirror, my eyes searching for that purple braid. But she’s not here.
She’s gone.
She’s…
I narrow my eyes.
What the hell?
Turning so I can look directly out the front windows, I watch Tilda walk out of the laundromat across the street.
Her arms are full with two laundry baskets stacked on top of one another.
She stops at the driver’s door of her truck, which is parked in plain sight in the laundromat lot.
Why is she using a laundromat?
Tilda sets the baskets on the ground, opens her door, lifts the top basket, sets it on the bench seat, then leans into the truck as she pushes the basket across to the passenger side.
All I see is her ass.
Her shirt is still bunched up at her lower back. And even from across the street, those damn blue shorts demand my attention.
Flame. Moth.
One foot pops up off the ground as she leans in as far as she can.
I take a step forward.
Her foot lowers, and she pulls herself back.
Then she picks up the second basket of laundry, sticking her butt out.
I think I groan.
This time, Tilda doesn’t have to lean in as far, since she’s only sliding the basket into the middle seat. And my balls thank her for it.
With her laundry situated, Tilda follows the baskets into the truck and closes the door behind her.
Confused, I stay where I am and watch her drive away.