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There. Professional.

I look down at the bag.

Roman would probably have some fancy surveillance kit with binoculars, weapons, night vision, and whatever else hitmen carry when they're spying on people. I have Cool Ranch Doritos and gummy bears.

Close enough.

I check the time. Almost 11:00 p.m.

Perfect.

Roman will probably be asleep by the time I get there.

Not that I'm going inside. Probably.

Tonight is reconnaissance.

Now that I know where he lives, I want to know more.

Which room is his bedroom?

Does he leave any lights on?

Does he lock every door?

Are there cameras?

How close can I get before he notices me?

Important questions.

I grab my keys, then pause, thinking about Roman’s nickname.

Who the hell is she?

I grab the bag harder than necessary. “She better not still be in his life.”

Did I just say that out loud?

Apparently I did.

Whatever. If she’s still in his life, she should reconsider. I'd hate to actually have a restraining order against me.

I've nearly had two. And you know what they say about the third time being the charm.

I sling the bag over my shoulder. “Alibi! I'm leaving!”

Nothing.

I peek into the bedroom.

He's lying on his stomach, chin between his paws, watching Scooby-Doo.

“Enjoy your show.”

His tail thumps.

“Love you too.”