19. Chapter 19
LONDYN
I GLANCE UP AT THE CAMERA for the fifth time in twenty minutes, feeling a rush like crackling fire.
Is he watching right now?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, forgetting the expense report I'm supposed to be compiling. I've mistyped the same number sequence three times, my concentration shattered by the constant awareness of that small black dome in my ceiling.
I stand abruptly, needing to move and distract myself from these thoughts. I move to the living room window and twist the blinds open just enough to peek outside at everyone going about their normal lives.
It's actually nice working at home today since the past few days I've gone into the office. My commute isn't long but it's still exhausting. Though I do have less anxiety now with Sean and Mike following like invisible shadows.
The past few days have been pretty routine. I wake up at six, do some cardio, eat, ride the subway, stop at my favorite coffee shop, go to work. At the end of the day, I ride the subway most of the way home. It's the same routine I've had for years.
The office itself has been mundane, like always. Yesterday, Josh cornered me by the coffee machine to tell me about his girlfriend's birthday surprise.
"I actually baked her a cake," he'd said, grinning. "From scratch! And it actually tasted good."
I smiled and congratulated him and, for the first time, continued with some banter. "Was the cake shaped like yoda?"
He laughed and said, "No. Just a square. But I wish!"
It was a pleasant interaction, but my mind had still been thinking of Sean.
He and Mike haven't given me any updates about suspicious people. They haven't said they've seen anyone stalking me, which means I was probably imagining it. That should be a relief. It is a relief. Mostly.
Guess I really am crazy and maybe it's time to return to therapy to talk about my paranoia.
Outside my living room window, life continues its New York rhythm. A woman pushes a stroller while talking on her phone. A delivery guy chains his bike to a lamppost. An elderly man shuffles past with his grocery cart.
A man in a navy baseball cap stops directly outside my building entrance. He just stands there, hands in his pockets, looking up at the building. Is he waiting for someone? A friend? A delivery?
He tilts his head back and our eyes seem to meet through the glass. But he can't possibly see me from this distance, through these barely-open blinds. Regardless, I duck back, my pulse hammering.
When I dare to peek again, his head is tilted back higher, like he's studying the sky or architecture.
Just as I'm about to grab my phone to text Sean, another man approaches.
The new guy is also wearing a navy baseball cap.
They greet each other with that easy familiarity of old friends, laughing about something before walking off together.
I exhale slowly, feeling ridiculous. It was only two guys meeting up. Nothing sinister. Nothing to do with me.
I close the blinds and return to my desk, but my concentration is completely gone now. I glance back up at the living room camera.
With Sean's eyes on me, it's like I'm center stage again.
Maybe I shouldn't like this so much. Maybe I should feel nervous or shy.
I've spent six years avoiding this kind of attention, because every lingering look felt like a blade against my skin—men's eyes dissecting, evaluating, wanting. Always craving.
Sean's gaze is different.
I love his eyes on me.
I keep imagining him on the other side of that camera, lounging in the metal chair looking relaxed yet always alert. Just observing. Seeing me.
What if I decided to perform for him? Would a spark of passion thrum underneath his skin? Would he get excited and let his hand drop to his thigh? Would he stroke himself?
I haven't had such sinful thoughts about anyone in so long that I feel like a woman possessed. A buzzing, sexy feeling keeps growing in my core, and I've been getting lost more and more in fantasies. I know there are huge barriers, but they don't stop the ache.
I stand again and stretch my body, then my legs carry me around the small living room in tight circles. I pause beside my bookshelf, fingers trailing over spines. I actually finished most of the quantum consciousness book. I'm getting bored of it though. I need another one, but I'm so indecisive.
I return to my desk, glancing back up at the monitor after I sit.
I can't believe they've already been here three weeks.
Just two more and then Sean's contract ends.
Then I'll be alone with all of this overwhelming desire and no one to help me feel safe.
Even if they confirm that I don't have a stalker, once Mike and Sean leave, I'm sure my brain will only create another paranoia that'll keep me indoors.
Will this ever end?
I turn back to my laptop, telling myself that Mike is on duty right now so I should stop fantasizing about Sean and just focus on work.
Three hours later, I've somehow finished the expense report. My boss will definitely find errors. But my workday is finally done so I can stop battling with my attention.
I want to see him. I need an excuse. Something casual and normal so he doesn't sense how obsessive I'm becoming.
Books. Books are our connection and our mutual territory.
I scan my shelves again with a new purpose, looking for anything he may not have read. My fingers hover over a slim volume of love poems. Is that too intimate? Maybe, but this is one of the few books I've actually finished.
It's decided.
I clutch the hardcover to my chest and leave my apartment. I knock softly on Mike and Sean's door, three gentle taps that feel loud in the quiet hallway.
When the door opens, I'm immediately disappointed to find Mike there. I mean, there's nothing wrong with Mike because he's a sweet guy. He's just not Sean. Will I be disappointed with all men in the world now because they're not Sean? That's how strong this attraction has become.
"Hey there!" Mike's warm, dad-energy smile usually brings me comfort, but right now it only amplifies the ache in my chest. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, um..." I hold up the book awkwardly, words suddenly tangled in my throat. "I just thought Sean might like this. For our, uh, book club."
Mike's smile doesn't falter as he holds out his hand. "He's out grabbing dinner, but I can give it to him."
I squeeze the book tighter; my plan so far is backfiring. "Is it okay if I wait?"
It's then that I notice a tightness around Mike's blue eyes. He's always so friendly and warm that this discovery is jarring. Does he not want me here? He gives an even tighter smile and steps back to let me in. "Sure."
I hesitate, then walk inside. The apartment mirrors mine in layout but feels drastically different. It's mostly bare except for a couch and TV, along with security equipment dominating one corner. There's the lingering emptiness of something that's only temporary.
Temporary.
Sean is only temporarily in my life and that thought haunts me between heartbeats. The countdown until our contract ends feels like watching the fuse burn on something important I've only just discovered.
How silly is that? Getting attached to my security guard? I'm paying him to be here, to notice me, to care about my safety. Yet here I am, aching at the thought of his absence like a child losing their favorite blanket.
Mike gestures to a chair beside a card table they've set up as a dining area.
"So…" I perch on the edge of the chair, turning the book in my hands. "How's your family?"
He sits across from me. The cautious angle of his shoulders opens up and he straightens; this is his favorite subject.
"Oh, wonderful. Mona loves community work, so she took the boys to volunteer at a pet adoption event.
They had a blast. Though Noah threw a tantrum when he wanted one particular dog and Mona said no.
I agree. It's not the time for a dog, but I think when the boys are older. "
"What about an older dog? I had one growing up and she was my little best friend."
"If the boys help take care of it, sure. But we don't trust them." He laughs. "Both of them space out so much and forget things. They're like old men already."
Mike pulls out his phone and shows me pictures from the volunteer event. After talking about it for a bit, our conversation finally lulls. I mindlessly flip through the poetry book, eager to switch to a topic that's becoming my favorite.
"How long have you known Sean?"
Mike leans back, his broad shoulders making the metal folding chair look like doll furniture. "We served together for a bit. Reconnected here and there throughout the years."
"What was he like in the Marines?" The question feels invasive even as I ask it, but I'm so curious about the man I can't stop thinking about.
Mike smiles, a gentle curve that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
They remain open and watchful, calculating my intentions.
"Capable. Intensely focused. The guy you wanted beside you when things went to hell.
" He chuckles, shaking his head. "He's always had this uncanny ability to sense trouble before it happens.
Some guys called him 'The Oracle' for a while, but he hated that and chewed them out one day. They stopped after that."
I smile, imagining a younger Sean getting annoyed at the nickname while secretly living up to it. "So if I call him that, will he bite my head off?"
"Probably."
We both laugh, then my mind drifts to our only book club meeting.
He said therapy helped him process his experiences in the Marines, but I got the feeling there was something else bothering him.
Maybe I'm prying too much, but the way his demeanor changed had worried me.
I know what it's like to be carrying the weight of tragedy around and how heavy it becomes.
"What about after the Marines?" I ask.