The quarterly report stares back at me from my monitor, a blur of numbers and projections that might as well be written in hieroglyphics. I've read the same paragraph six times and still couldn't tell you what it says. My brain is stuck in a loop, replaying this morning's camera conversation on repeat.
"You good, man?" TJ's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You've been staring at that screen like it owes you money."
I blink, forcing myself back to reality. Tyreese Jones, TJ to everyone who values their time, leans against my cubicle wall, his six-foot-three frame making the gray partition look like dollhouse furniture.
"Yeah, just... processing," I mutter, minimizing the report window. No point pretending I'm getting anything done.
TJ's eyebrows rise toward his perfectly maintained fade. "Processing what? The fact that Davis basically called you the messiah of financial compliance in that meeting?"
I snort despite myself. "He called the report 'adequate,' TJ. That's corporate speak for 'you barely made the cut.'"
"For Davis, that's practically a marriage proposal." TJ drops into the spare chair beside my desk, spinning it once before settling in. "So what's really eating you? You've been off all morning."
My fingers tap an anxious rhythm against my desk. Summer's face flashes in my mind, the manic gleam in her eyes as she mounted those cameras, talking about how they'd help rebuild trust. Like being under surveillance is some kind of couples therapy exercise.
"Just... home stuff," I say finally, the understatement of the century.
TJ watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable. He's my best friend at work. He knows I'm sober, but that's basically it. He doesn't know anything about summer.
TJ glances at his watch, and his eyes widen. "Shit, dude, it's 12:04."
"Oh fuck," I mutter.
TJ looks at me with an exaggerated bashful expression, his hand rising to fidget with his tie. "Uhh, ummmm," he stammers, batting his eyelashes dramatically, "would you maybe want to eat lunch with me, Scott?" He leans in, lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "It's just... I always think about how good you are at eating and..."
I cut him off, immediately joining in the bit. I grab both his hands in mine, my face a mask of earnest sincerity. "TJ," I declare, "it would be my honor to eat lunch with you." I lean in closer, waggling my eyebrows. "Maybe afterwards you can eat my…"
TJ throws my hands away, erupting into deep, belly-shaking laughter. "You always make it gay, Scott," he says, shaking his head.
I laugh as we both stand up, the weight on my chest lightening just a fraction. This is what I need right now.
"You're just such a wuss," I tell him as we head toward the elevator.
"Fuck you," he fires back, pressing the down button.
"Fuck me yourself, you coward," I reply automatically.
The elevator doors open, and we're both still snickering as we step inside. A few other employees from accounting give us side-eye glances as they squeeze in beside us. I don't care. For just a moment, I feel like myself again, not the recovering addict, not the husband trying to rebuild a shattered marriage, just Scott, making jokes with his work buddy.
The cafeteria is packed when we arrive, the lunch rush is in full swing. The smell of fried food and industrial cleaning products mingles in the air as we grab trays and join the line.
"Man, I wish they'd sell omelets for lunch," I say, eyeing the sad display of wilted salads and mystery meat behind the sneeze guard. "Like a nice Denver omelet with peppers and ham."
TJ shakes his head emphatically. "Nah, man. You need protein. Something substantial."
I turn to stare at him, my tray suspended mid-air. "Isn't egg like... raw protein? The literal definition of protein?"
We bumble through, grabbing our food.
TJ blinks at me, his expression going blank. "What even is protein?"
"I don't know, honestly," I admit with a laugh. "When I was a kid, if I looked tired, my dad would just say I needed more protein. Like it was some magical substance that fixed everything."
"That's what my mom did too!" TJ exclaims, pointing at me like I've just solved a complex equation. "Always going on about protein this, protein that."
"Hmm," I muse as we settle at an empty table in the corner. "Did your mom make you drink a lot of milk?"
TJ puffs out his chest, thumping it once with his fist. "Of course. That's why my bones are as strong as steel, baby."
I'm about to respond when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, expecting some work email, but instead see Summer's name on the screen. My stomach tightens instantly.
'Hey, I set up the cameras. Here's the link to download the app and the info with it.'
There's a blue hyperlink beneath her message, along with login credentials. My fingers hover over the screen, hesitating.
"Bad news?" TJ asks, noticing my expression.
"No, just... home stuff."
"You keep saying that," TJ observes, unwrapping his sandwich. "What kind of home stuff? Plumbing issue? Termites? Fruit flies?"
I force a laugh, picking at my food without appetite. "Nothing that exciting. Just... relationship complications."
TJ sets down his sandwich and gives me a curious look. "Wait, relationship stuff? You've never really talked about your personal life before. Are you seeing someone?"
I glance down at my phone, Summer's message still waiting for a response. What the hell. I tap the link and start downloading the surveillance app.
"Actually, it's my wife," I say, keeping my eyes on the download progress bar.
TJ nearly chokes on his drink. "Your wife? You never told me you were married!"
"Well, maybe if you'd asked..." I shoot back with a joke.
He laughs, but there's genuine surprise in his eyes. "Damn, man. That's a pretty big detail to leave out of our friendship." He leans forward, suddenly interested. "So... is she nice? Your wife?"
I pause, choosing my words carefully. "She certainly can be."
The app finishes downloading, and I enter the login credentials Summer sent me. All the different camera feeds appear on my screen, each showing a different angle of our apartment.
My breath catches in my throat. Summer is in the bedroom, lying on our bed. She's completely naked, her legs spread wide as she faces the camera directly. Her fingers move between her legs in slow, deliberate circles, and there's something in her expression, a focused intensity, like she knows exactly when I'd be checking the feeds.
As I watch, her eyes suddenly light up, her movements becoming more purposeful, more performative. She knows. Somehow she knows I'm watching right now.
"Jesus Christ," I mutter, quickly closing the app and shoving my phone face down on the table.
"What?" TJ asks, leaning forward with concern. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
I run my hand through my hair, feeling heat creep up my neck. "Nothing. It's nothing."
"Bullshit," TJ says, reaching for my phone. "What's got you so spooked?"
I snatch the phone away before he can grab it. "Trust me, you don't want to see."
TJ's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh shit. Did she send you nudes at work? That's bold." His expression shifts to a grin. "Respect to Mrs. Adams."
"Something like that."