Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Minutes crawl by like hours. The thundering music from the club seems to mock me, reminding me of what I left behind. What kind of man walks away from a willing woman? The kind who’s too afraid to face his own desires, apparently. But this same question could be asked—and I have asked time and time again—why would I stalk her? Why would I stand outside her window night after night freezing off my balls? It absolutely doesn’t make any sense, and at the same time . . . it somehow does. At least to me.
Finally, the club door swings open. My breath catches as I spot her stepping out—alone. Where is her friend? Why would she leave and head home alone? Does she not know what the buddy system is?!
I shadow her as she starts walking, keeping to the darker edges of the street. She’s heading in the general direction of the subway but taking a route I know is less safe. She should be waiting for a cab. It’s late! Too late! My protective instincts kick into overdrive.
A group of rowdy guys rounds the corner ahead, laughing and shoving each other. I tense, ready to intervene if needed. Chloe hugs the building wall as she passes them, head down. One of them wolf-whistles, but they keep moving. Thank god she seems to have some street smarts.
I trail her for several more blocks, my heart racing every time she gets too close to someone or passes a shadowy alleyway. Why isn’t she more careful? Doesn’t she know the dangers lurking in this city at night?
Suddenly, Chloe stops and fumbles in her purse. She pulls out her phone, the screen illuminating her face in the darkness. Is she calling for a ride? Texting a friend? I strain to hear, but I’m too far away.
She starts walking again, this time with more purpose. Her pace quickens, and I have to jog to keep up. I’ve been so focused on her, that I haven’t been paying attention to exactly where we are going. It’s not the subway station it’s—
As we turn onto my street, I hang back, not wanting to risk her seeing me. She reaches my building and pauses at the entrance, looking up toward my floor as if I’m up there and by chance looking down.
Why am I not up there looking down? Crap! She’s here to see me, and I’m not here.
I freeze, my mind racing. What do I do? I can’t simply waltz up to my own apartment building while she’s standing there. What would be my excuse for being out so late? And I’m still wearing this damn cloak.
Chloe pulls out her phone again, probably to text me. My pocket vibrates—thank god I had the presence of mind to silence it earlier. I watch as disappointment flashes across her face.
She lingers for a few more minutes, shifting from foot to foot, occasionally glancing up at my dark windows. I’m torn between wanting to comfort her and knowing I can’t reveal myself. Finally, she sighs and turns away, shoulders slumped.
As she walks back the way we came, I trail her again, making sure she gets to the subway safely this time. Only when I see her disappear down the steps do I finally head back to my own apartment.
I take the stairs two at a time, bursting through my door and immediately pulling out my phone to text her when I notice a missed call and voicemail. Who leaves voicemails anymore?
My thumb hovers over the play button, both dreading and longing to hear her voice.
“Hi, Jack. It’s Chloe. I know it’s late, and you may even be at work, but I was in the neighborhood and thought . . . Well, never mind. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Jesus, she was just with another man. Wait . . . no. She was with me. But she didn’t know it was me. And then she leaves one man to come to me. This twisted mess is getting more tangled by the second. I collapse onto my couch, head in my hands. What am I doing? What is she doing? This double life, this obsession—it’s consuming me.
Am I jealous? Jealous of myself?
I replay the events of the night in my mind. The way Chloe looked at me in the club, not knowing it was me behind the mask. The heat of her body as we nearly fucked. The disappointment in her voice just now, thinking I wasn’t home.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep living two separate lives, torn between the man she thinks I am and the man I become in the shadows. But I’m in too deep now. How can I possibly explain any of this to her?
Oh hey, Chloe. Guess what? I’ve been stalking you for years. Yeah, no big deal. I’m not a psychopath. Promise. But anyway, wanna date now?