4 weeks later - San Diego, California

Five. Six. Seven. Eight.

“Ahhh,” I grunted as I heaved the weights over my chest. They clinked as I dropped them back onto the rack, and I sat up, feeling the burn run through my arms.

I took a couple of deep breaths and stared outside into the sunlight. For the two years I spent in prison, lifting weights became a kind of mediation for me. Now that I was out and readjusting, I enjoyed my time in my brother’s garage weight room even more.

My phone buzzed on the ground and I picked it up.

Three messages, from Lucy, Lacy, and Laura.

One morning selfie in lingerie from the front, one from the back, and one sans clothing.

Well good morning ladies.

It had been like this ever since I got out of jail a month or so ago. Take Lucy’s message that went along with her quite attractive selfie:

Lucy: Hey Corbin I heard you’re back in San Diego, when can you come over?

Lacy: Hi Corbin! Thinking of you now that you’re out :)

Or just the more direct:

Laura: cum over please

Yeah, I know. This is not the average guy’s text feed. You’d think I was their dick for hire or something. Apparently there is a vast shortage of real men in the southern California area who understand how to give a girl multiple orgasms, so now that I’m back, these girls are ready for the rainy season.

I thought about responding to them, but instead I set my phone back on the ground and pounded out another set of of chest on the bench press.

My mind drifted as I pounded out a few extra reps. The truth was I had a mental block in place these days when it came to women.

And the cause of my trouble, was, of course, a woman.

Her name was Alexa, and she ghosted me.

Not even just a standard “oh maybe we’ll hang out sometime, maybe not” type of passive aggressive ghost.

After the hottest night of sex in my life, she ghosted the fuck out of me. She told me to get out, and she apparently never intended on seeing me again.

I searched high and low for all the Alexa’s in San Diego. I even used some of my shady drug connections to look for her.

You’d think in the age of social media, finding someone would be simple.

But this one was good at covering her tracks, apparently.

This was bullshit, and she was eating away at me.

Who has the fuck of their life with someone, and then tells the other person to leave?

Okay okay, I might have done that a few times. But I was at least gentlemanly about it.

Fine, I’m a total hypocrite, I admit it. But fuck this.

I’m the one who does the kicking out. Not the girl. Me.

After my workout I showered off and threw some music on my brother’s stereo, sat at the kitchen island and had some breakfast. As I was shoveling the last of a delicious omelette into my mouth, I got a text that had nothing to do with a girl. It was my least favorite DEA agent, Ned Ronin.

Ned: What the fuck Corbin. Seriously? You went to Mexico without telling me??

My heart sank just a tad at hearing that. I thought since four weeks had passed, I was in the clear.

Corbin: That was four weeks ago. I needed a little escape

Ned: Get the fuck over here right now, you’re in deep shit. We’re going to have to do the interview after all

Corbin: See you soon :)

Ned: smh

I sighed. Ned was a dick, but I couldn’t hate him too much since he was the one who got me out of prison early.

Now, instead of Corbin Young, drug dealer extraordinaire, I had to become Corbin Young, undercover agent extraordinaire.

For eighteen years off my sentence, I was willing to do what they asked of me. No fucking way was I going to spend the majority of my life in that shithole known as Folsom Prison.

Today, all I had to do was pass an interview with a lie detecting expert to assure them I wouldn’t go back to the dark side.

Piece of fucking cake.

I jumped on my motorcycle and headed over to the headquarters.

Stopping at a red light in the downtown area. I thought I saw a girl who looked like Alexa. Except this girl was blonde, not a dark-haired brunette.

Apparently I was hallucinating. I’d get a grip soon, though.

My mind trailed off again as I thought about that night in Tijuana several weeks ago.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so ungrateful about the whole deal. I mean shit, it was my second night out of prison and I went home with the hottest girl in the bar. Her dark hair and lightly tanned skin killed me, just killed me. And damn, those eyes. I was getting hard again just thinking about her.

Hearing Alexa’s moans with her body beneath me reminded me that I was, after two years locked up, a free fucking man.

Emphasis on the fucking.

Still. She didn’t even let me stick around for a round two. Now that’s heartbreak—never getting to feel her flesh on my lips again.

The light turned green. Let it go, man. It’s not like you were going to try to hang out with her. You just wanted a hot piece of ass to bang on your second night out of prison.

I had to chuckle at the fact that I didn’t even know Alexa’s last name, and here I was still thinking about her four weeks later.

It wasn’t about neediness. Hell, I could get another girl in about three seconds flat. So it wasn’t about lack of options.

What the hell was it about Alexa that made me still think about her?

Damned if I knew for sure. Maybe I just liked how dirty she was.