“Hey, Jake!”

There she was, pretending to be coy, twirling her finger around a damp ringlet that had fallen free from her ponytail, chewing on her sugar-free gum, her tits practically popping out of her sports bra.

Ugh. She disgusted me, and I’d been sleeping with her for a long while, which showed how little I thought of myself.

“Hey, Camp, how you doing?” I asked as if we hadn’t run our tongues all over each other.

“Good! Hope it’s okay if I still come in and work out?” She ran her tongue over her upper lip, catching little beads of sweat.

“Of course,” I said. Sadly, I didn’t mean it, but the girl had been there for me, worked hard for the gym, and I was being a better man and all. “You worked here for almost two years, built the brand out in the burbs.”

“So, what are you up to this weekend?”

I grabbed a dumbbell and did a few arm curls while we chatted; I needed to feel the burn, needed the distraction. Otherwise, I was going to let her talk me into what she wanted. For me, it would only be a good, hard fuck. For her, it would be me conceding to more. Even I was smart enough to recognize that.

“Lane was here yesterday, and I need to make some decisions with the third location. I’m actually gonna do some work this weekend, maybe even take a ride up to see Bess and the baby tomorrow,” I lied.

“Bess. It’s always Bess.”

“I don’t know what crawled up your ass with Bess. She was your best friend in college, and then when she and Lane were apart, the two of you were taking girls’ trips and all that shit. Now you fucking despise her?” I switched the weight to my other hand and repeated the curls on the other side.

“She always gets her way,” she hissed through a fake smile. “Now she landed the rich guy and has a baby, and I’ve been waiting a long time for you to take us seriously.”

“Camp, babe, all this jealousy isn’t becoming on you. You had to know I was never gonna get serious. I can’t. It’s not in the cards for me. Let’s not rehash this, okay? You’re a good girl and you deserve a nice guy. Just not me.”

Not sure I believed that last part, but I needed to get rid of her. This whole jealousy thing was tiring. I had to admit, though, she was right. Bess was living the dream. But that was never going to happen with me.

“Have a good weekend, Jake. Hope you find peace one day, asshole,” Camper muttered and then she stalked off, leaving me to my workout.

I breathed a long sigh of relief and searched for heavier weights.

Aly

“Morning,” I called out to the receptionist as I wound my way to my tiny office in the back of the county justice building.

My mom’s rapid decline currently filled my heart with a strange combination of sorrow and peace as I walked into work on Monday. Perhaps this nightmare would be over soon. As sad as that sounded, she deserved better than to rot away in some state-funded nursing home.

I’d called Kathy on my way to work, the lovely nurse I paid on the side to spend a few extra hours with my mom each day. As long as I needed Kathy, I’d have to stay in my lousy apartment, unable to afford better. A chill of shame swept over me as I remembered Jake dropping me off in front of the run-down building.

Why did I even care? I’d been embarrassed about my home my whole life. I’d never really been able to have people over or enjoy company, and it wasn’t as if I was going to start now.

Opening my door with one hand while balancing my bag and coffee mug in the other, I found an enormous hydrangea plant on my desk. Its big blue puffballs brightened the room, their smell pungent, their beauty sensational. It was the type of plant the ladies my mom cleaned for would gasp over and then tell my mom to take care of it.

I dropped my pile of stuff into my chair and before taking off my coat, reached for the card tucked into the holder stuck jauntily in the pot.

Ms. Road (A-L-Y-S-O-N) –

I never officially thanked you for your kindness at Christmas time, so these are for you. Hope they brighten your week.

J-A-K-E (J-A-S-O-N) Wrigley

That was it. Nothing more or less said. He never officially thanked me for my kindness. I wasn’t sure I would have called it kindness, but he did and I wondered why. Had no one ever been kind to him before? I didn’t really do anything. In fact, I’d tested the limits with him, playing with his emotions and assuaging my own nerves about not pressing charges on someone who may have really deserved to be punished.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. “Want to go over the case?” my immediate supervisor asked as he popped his head in around the door.

“Sure, Barry, I’ll be right down.” I stood in front of the plant, trying to conceal the evidence of my inappropriate client interactions. Shit, I wondered who received them and put them on my desk. Did they peek at the card? I slipped the plant under my desk, hiding it from view, and went to meet with Barry.

“This is going to be a big case, Alyson,” Barry said as I entered his office. “Super big. Lots of press. Are you ready for the spotlight?”

I nodded, afraid to speak. He was right; this was definitely a high-profile case. I gave myself a quick mental pep talk, telling myself I was ready for what it would mean for my career and my personal goals, as well as for the department.

“It’s in the paper today, right here.” He folded the paper into quarters and pointed at the right corner above the fold on the first page.

Taking the paper from him, I stood in front of his desk as I scanned the article. The headline read ANOTHER BIG BREAK IN RACIALLY FUELED VIOLENT GANG CRIME, and the article started off with recent arraignments made thanks to evidence recovered earlier in the year. The story was vague, thanks to very few leaks about what the police department had on the gang in question. It did state the police got a “lucky break” on this case, “serendipitously discovering key evidence when investigating a separate unrelated crime.”

When I glanced back at Barry, he said, “Well, we knew the press was going to be following the case closely. Luckily, the judge from the arraignment—Fern Baker—appears to be following the rules and not revealing anything of importance to the media, which will go a long way in not affecting public opinion and tainting the jury pool. But I don’t think this ends pretty for our guy. Crap, we’ve got to think on this one.”

I sat down in one of the worn leather chairs across from Barry. He looked his usual disheveled self, his shirt rumpled and hair tousled, but not in a sexy mussed way, and I detected the remnants of cigarette smoke that always clung to him. If he put forth a little effort, he’d be half decent-looking, with his tanned skin and dirty-blond hair, but Barry was driven, dedicated. He was married to his job, defending criminals, and I couldn’t blame him for that—apparently, so was I.

But this case? I didn’t want it. It was the first case I’d ever tried to pass on, but I’d been overruled and couldn’t dwell on that now. The case was mine, whether I wanted it or not, so I needed to prove myself. And I would.

“I’m going to try to meet Judge Baker for a drink,” Barry said, interrupting my thoughts. “Make our wishes known, keep as many details out of the paper as possible.”

“Sounds good.” I sat back in the chair, resigning myself to digging into this case.

“In the meantime, what did Cameron say when you spoke with him last week?” Barry asked with one eyebrow raised, his pencil at the ready to take notes.

“He was vague, but still maintained his innocence. He said he didn’t like Jews, and that was his right. He agreed he could be a bit outspoken about it, but continued to argue that he wasn’t violent.”