Page 32 of This Life of Mine

The lock gives at the end of my pick in less than ten seconds.

I twist the doorknob and push it open. How fucking disappointing.

If you’re going to invite strangers into your house, at least make them work for it.

I slip into the house and shut the door behind me. Earlier, I double-checked, ensuring no security system was in place. Only open Wi-Fi and a guy who apparently thinks single locks on his doors count as home defense.

I make my way through the threshold. It’s dark inside the hallways. Perfect. The darkness welcomes me.

As I approach the front of the house, a blue glow of a television spills across the living room. The volume low.

I pause. Who leaves their TV on when they leave the house? Then I hear it. Snoring. Loud enough to rattle the windows.

Fuck. Of course.

He’s here, and he’s fucking asleep.

Reese will never let me live this down.

I didn’t see his car parked outside, so I assumed he wasn’t home.

Nope, he’s here. Passed the fuck out on the couch.

I stand there listening to him snore. It’s impressive, honestly. I’ve heard chainsaws make less noise. The guy sounds like he’s trying to inhale the entire room.

I glance toward the television. Some late-night infomercial is playing. An air fryer? The idiot fell asleep watching an air fryer commercial on the QVC network.

As soon as I get the feed up, Reese is going to see what’s going on.

A man spends years building a reputation. Years becoming a ghost. Years perfecting infiltration techniques. And tonight I’m breaking into the home of a shirtless gym bro who’s passed out from watching QVC.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Why am I being this careless? I’m always on top of my shit.

I know why. It’s her. She’s in my head.

Earlier tonight, I was at Lina’s bakery pretending to work while Reese sent over everything he’d managed to dig up on EJ after his text.

You won’t see it coming, baby.

The fuck? Baby? Fuck this guy.

I went through everything. Phone records. Employment history. Public records. Social media.

His social media content is, of course, painfully unoriginal. Nothing but selfies at the gym. Shirtless to show off his abs. Some with pant legs rolled up to show off his muscular thighs. Some selfies in his construction gear like it’s a costume. All typical fuck-boy bullshit.

The guy is so boring Reese managed to summarize his entire life in two pages.

EJ’s file read exactly like the man I see before me: predictable, underdeveloped, coasting on genetics and entitlement.

No real work history outside his father’s company. No college. A couple of minor drug arrests. Nothing that suggests forethought or discipline, other than working out.

He lives in the moment. He chases pleasure. He doesn’t plan beyond the next hit of dopamine. Gym bros like him don’t choose danger over indulgence.

I was halfway through reviewing his whole life when Lina emerged from the kitchen.

The moment I realized on paper that the target wasn’t a threat, my eyes locked with Lina.