He followed her, disgusted with himself for doing it.
She said she had a dinner meeting. She complained about the restaurant, having to work late, having to miss the baseball game.
"Okay," he replied.
"You are mad," she said.
"No, really, it's fine," he said. He called his mom and dad, sent them to the little league field to watch their son play, and then drove, as fast as he could, south down the freeway, using the carpool lane when he really had to. He was sitting in the parking garage by her building when she came out.
He used his phone to locate her. The two dots, blue for him, an orange dot for her sat right on top of his. He watched her get in the car but she didn't pull out. Instead, she lowered the visor and went to work fixing her makeup.
As she left that morning wearing the thin black dress she would never even wear out to dinner he had been suspicious but she had insisted until lunch she would be home early to change for baseball.
Finally, she backed out. He waited in the corner of the garage for her to start down the ramp. He checked his phone again. This time her location was not available.
He switched apps to the parental monitoring app he had installed when they bought a phone for their 12-year-old. His phone showed he was at the park, hers tracked to the street outside the garage. He followed at a safe distance.
She did, in fact, go to the parking lot of the Australian themed steak house but her dot stopped in the alley behind the strip mall. He approached from the far end. He parked behind a dumpster. It was just a white pickup, who would notice a white pick-up, ever. he pulled out the digital camera with the borrowed zoom and she filled the small screen. He zoomed out and watched her smoke.
When the other car appeared in the alley, it drove right past him, bumped over the speed humps and pulled up next to her little Lexus. It was a sort of beat up old Hyundai.
A woman stepped out.
He zoomed out for a moment, then as the two women came together he reframed the image until it was just the two of them. They stood talking. He watched his wife stub out her cigarette on the asphalt then pressed the shutter button that began the recording.
They kissed, briefly, and then the woman's head went to his wife's neck. He had a 1080p image of her smile. The woman's hands moved over his wife's body, over her dress at first, then, beneath it.
Panties were lowered to the ground. His wife stepped out of them. The small brunettes head disappeared beneath black rayon for a moment but then the woman rose and stepped back.
His wife turned.
The woman rose her dress.
He zoomed in on her ass and the little tattoo of Winnie the pooh.
The woman stuffed fingers into his wife's cunt.
Stunned, Jared watched and recorded.
It wasn't long.
The woman released his wife and stepped away.
His wife turned, the woman raised her shirt, and his wife lowered to new knees on the parking lot, her mouth fixed to the woman's breast, her hand stuffed into open pants awkwardly.
They both smoked. They kissed again. The woman got into her car and drove off. His wife stayed behind, smoking.
He watched her pull out her phone then felt the sudden vibration of his own in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked.
"How's he doing?" she asked.
He started his truck, the headlights turned on. She looked up.
His phone rang.
He drove the 600 yards to meet her. His phone stopped vibrating about half way.
"Hey," he said.
