And here I was, standing across the street in the shadows.
But I couldn't leave. Not yet.
The wind picked up, rattling a loose chain somewhere down the alley. My fingers went numb despite my gloves. I tried to count exits, assess sight lines, check for potential threats.
Didn't work. My attention kept drifting back to her. The flex of her muscles as she climbed. The confidence radiating from every movement. The way she coached her students with patience and encouragement.
She wasn't just strong. She was extraordinary.
Around nine, the lights in the studio shifted. Through the small window by the main entrance, I could see them comingdown interior stairs—Lacey and three students, laughing, gathering bags.
They emerged into the gravel parking lot. Lacey walked each woman to her car, staying until they were safely inside with engines running before moving to the next.
Smart. Good instincts.
That's when I saw him.
A figure stood beside the dumpster in the alley. Disheveled clothes, hunched posture. Male, from his build. He wasn't moving—just standing there in the darkness, eyes on Lacey as she hugged the last student goodbye.
My instincts fired all at once. My hand dropped to my duty belt.
I started forward, boots hitting pavement, but he moved the second I stepped into the street. Melted back into the alley like smoke. By the time I reached the dumpster, he was gone—over the fence or deeper into the maze of alleys.
I scanned the darkness. Listened. Nothing but wind and distant traffic.
When I turned back, Lacey was getting into her Honda. Locked the doors immediately—good—and pulled onto Highway 81.
I followed.
Kept far enough back that she wouldn't notice my headlights. Told myself I was making sure she got home safe. Ignored the fact that this was exactly the kind of behavior I'd arrest someone else for.
She drove to an older apartment complex on the west side. Parked. By nine-thirty, I was parked two spaces down. Her lights came on—second floor, corner unit.
I sat in my cruiser for twenty minutes, keeping eyes on her windows, making sure nobody else showed up.
Then I drove home and didn't sleep.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling fan. Judge's snores rumbled from the corner.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. Inverted on that pole, muscles flexing. That slow spin. The curve of her waist. The strength in her thighs.
And then I saw that figure in the alley.
Someone had been there tonight. Standing in the shadows while she walked her students to their cars.
And she had no idea.
I needed to check that building's security tomorrow.
But how the hell was I supposed to tell her what I'd seen? Admitting I'd been there meant admitting I'd followed her home. That I'd stood across the street. That I couldn't stop thinking about her body on that pole.
She'd think I was just another guy who heard "pole fitness" and immediately made it sexual. Another asshole who wanted her to perform for him.
Except I did want that. Wanted to know what those thighs felt like wrapped around me. Wanted to test that flexibility, that strength. Wanted to hear what sounds she'd make when I—
I rolled over, punched the pillow.
Focus.
