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I twirl my hair into a messy bun and secure it into place. I slip on a pair of sunglasses and cover my ears with a fleece headband. I back out of the parking spot and follow the direction of where the student went. He travels between buildings where there is not a paved pathway for vehicles. I can see that he is making his way to the other side of campus, so I drive around.
I park at the side of the library and wait to see if I can get a front view of the student. I consult my picture I took to make sure I am actually following the right person. Designer jeans, gray hoodie, and Chucks. When the guy rounds the corner, I snap another picture of his front, even though everything about him seems nondescript. He does have a unique way he trims his facial hair, but the cell picture does not capture these details.
Adrenaline runs through me as I shut off the car and hop out. I feel invigorated, as if I am on the verge of a breakthrough. I open the back door and grab a novel from the backseat. I cringe at the cover models. The guy has his hands directly over the woman’s breasts. He is shirtless and overly sexualized. Lovely. It is like I am broadcasting porn. I take a deep breath and pretend I am absorbed in my steamy romance as I walk along the sidewalk and follow the guy in Chucks.
He walks along the path and fiddles with his phone. I keep my distance but instantly regret not being closer when I can see him hold the phone up to his ear. His other hand is animated, and I can tell by his sudden stops and nods of his head that he is stressed. He places his phone back into his side pocket and picks up the pace on his walking. When he trots up to the door of the Campus Smoothie Cafe, I debate on whether or not to enter or turn back around and go to my car.
I wait several minutes on a nearby bench, actually reading a page in the novel. After my nerves settle, I reach into my coat pocket and grab the ten-dollar bill I had left over from the coffee shop and decide it’s fate. Removing my headband, I give my head a shake to fluff my hair back to life. I jog up to the store front and enter the warm air. Several muted televisions highlight sports and local news. Techno music is playing through the sound system as groups of students gather around the smoothie bar and high tables waiting for their drinks.
I squeeze into a free spot at the bar and am greeted by a worker within seconds. Him. He has removed his hoodie and now has on a green T-shirt with the cafe logo on it. His name tag reads Paul. At least now I have a name. And a work location.
“Hey,” he says brightly. “What can I get you?”
“What’s the best option?” I ask smoothly.
“Well, now,” he smirks, “that all depends on your mood.”
“I’m feeling, hmm, adventurous,” I respond with a cheeky smile.
Paul smiles back at me and gives me a once-over—as much as he can with the bar top in the way. “Then I would suggest the Power Dragon smoothie. It has dragon fruit, peaches, fresh red raspberries, chia seeds, and apricot nectar in it. All organic.”
And sugar, I quietly hope.
“That sounds amazing.” I try my best at a throaty groan that isn’t too sexual. Pretty sure I fail. “I’ve been here a few times but never saw you working before.”
“Yeah, I recently got hired. Sometimes new employees make it through the training fine, but they fail at serving up the actual drinks and then quit.”
“Makes sense,” I say, trying my best at small talk.
“Do you live on campus?”
“Nah, I am slightly off in a townhouse with my bestie. You?”
“Frat boy house,” he says with a grin, “with eleven of my besties.”
“Sounds smelly.”
“Oh, it can be on party night when everyone whips out the AXE.”
I laugh over his response, earning a smile. I watch intently as Paul adds ingredients to the blender and then closes the lid to start the machine. I fidget on the bar stool and try to see if anything seems “off” about Paul or the facility. Resa was at the gym and here the night she came barreling into the townhouse in fear from being followed. Is there a connection? Did the police officers investigate this facility?
In front of me, Paul grabs a clear plastic cup and shakes the contents from the blender into it.
“Why don’t you join me in a sip?” I ask, pointing to the extras left in the pitcher.
“Sure, why not,” he says, grabbing a smaller plastic cup from the stack. He carefully pours out the rest for himself. “Whipped cream?”
“Absolutely.”
Once my drink is garnished, Paul secures a bubble lid to the top. I lift my beverage to cheers his.
“To…” he starts.
“To Magic Dragons.”
“Power Dragons,” he corrects.
“Sure, whatever,” I laugh.
