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I cut him off. “Did you say that you’re staying by my house? Watching me? Like a stakeout, like you were doing with Mr. Webster?”
He shrugs casually, like a little mild stalking is a totally normal activity. “It’s what I do,” he explains.
A million thoughts are running through my head at once. I mean, that’s not unusual for him, professionally speaking, but it’s really weird for me. If this were one of my books, it might be darkly romantic. But it’s not. This is real, and after a lifetime of trying to be as invisible as possible, I feel seen in a way that’s startlingly uncomfortable.
Has he watched me crying? Dancing around my living room, having Angry Girl Music solo raves? Has he watched me touch myself? And so much more.
I feel exposed and vulnerable and really stupid for not noticing him right across the street. Heat fills my cheeks, panic blooms in my gut, and I need... to escape.
“I need to go.” I virtually bolt for the door, only to find it locked. “Let me out,” I say, my eyes fixated on the white surface.
Cole walks up behind me, his chest so close to my back that I can feel the heavy weight of his presence. Even now, there’s a small piece of me that wants to lean back and fall into him. But I don’t.
I can’t.
CHAPTER16
COLE
I’m an asshole.I warned her that I was, but she didn’t believe me. Hell, she had me not believing it for a while.
I let Janey out of my apartment, feeling the panic roll off her in waves. I should’ve stopped right then and there. But did I?
Fuck no.
I had to make sure she got home okay, so I followed her instead.
I watched and waited, waited and watched for two whole days. That’s forty-eight hours, 2880 minutes, or 172,800 seconds. That’s got to be a record or something, right? Not for me, I’ve done longer stake-outs, but for a man to stay away from the woman he’s obsessed with? Call up theGuinness Book of World Recordsbecause I’m pretty sure I’m destined for page twenty-two for this feat of restraint.
And what did Janey do for those two days? Nothing.
Locked inside her house for the weekend, she didn’t even order food, which made me worry whether she was eating enough because I know she can’t cook. She didn’t have any visitors, and a quick check of her friend’s social media showed that Mason was on the lake with a bunch of guys, which made me realize she didn’t tell him about my watching her. Everything she’s shared about him makes me think he’s a great friend and good guy. If he knew, he’d be busting down the door to confront me himself. But he didn’t.
She’s hiding away, alone, with the blinds closed, probably starving to death, and it’s my fault.
I need to explain to her that I wasn’t being creepy. I was... okay, am... checking on her to make sure she’s healing okay. That’s all.
So, this morning, when her front door opens bright and early, I’m ready and waiting and step outside as she’s walking to her bright yellow car.
My plan is to meet her in her driveway and tell her all the things I should’ve said but didn’t because I was so surprised to find her standing in my office—the one no one knows about but she somehow found. The things I didn’t say because it was all I could do to not gather her in my arms, kiss the shit out of her, and bury myself inside her right there on my couch.
She’s ready too, looking across the street like she expects me to be there. “I’m going to work,” she shouts across the street. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
There’s a hint of an edge in her tone, but mostly, she sounds resigned, like she’s already made excuses for me in her mind, and that pisses me off. She shouldn’t be forgiving me for this, or at least not this easily. She should be stringing me up by my balls and making me grovel for it.
Before I can begin to apologize, she gets in her car and drives off while I’m still dumbstruck and standing on the front steps, watching her go.
One of our neighbors—Jim Zadowski, according to online info—walks past, looking extremely curious. He waves and shouts, “Morning!” He’s short and heavyset, on a mission to lower his blood pressure, according to his My Fitness Pal posts, and walks with a teeny-tiny Yorkie named Captain.
“Morning,” I grumble back as I shut the door.
I sit down in the living room chair that’s become my second home over the last days because it has the perfect view of Janey’s house and an electrical outlet where I can plug in my laptop so I can watch Janey and work at the same time. I’ve got a new case that’s mostly drudging through this guy’s social media content, and if I have to watch another diesel engine overhaul or live streaming discussion about horsepower versus torque to see if he’s drinking while the kids are at school, I will yank my own eyeballs out.
I haven’t quite reached the point of talking to myself aloud like Janey does, but I’m definitely calling myself some choice names because if she won’t do it, I’ll do it myself. Fuck, I wish I had at least some basic communication skills so I could explain all this to Janey.
But I can wait until this afternoon when she gets home and talk to her then. That’s only another eight and a half hours from now. Pfft, I can do that long standing like a statue, and nearly did one time.
This’ll be easy. I can even work to stay distracted. I’ll just wait for her to get home.
