The Stalker

Death by a thousand paper cuts.
That’s what it feels like whenever we’re in the same room and I can only watch her from afar, not touch or kiss her the way I desperately want to.
I am not this kind of man. I am not someone who follows a young woman everywhere or lets myself into her place when she’s at work.
Worse, I’ve been reduced to an underwear thief, and I don’t know if I’m proud of the growing collection of lace panties I have at home.
A few months ago, the rich, powerful, and famous hired me to make sure stalkers didn’t even make it past the gate. Funny how things have turned out.
I’m well aware that this obsession is not healthy. I’m toeing the line between sane and deranged, and I’m dangerously close to gravitating towards the latter.
While I force myself to be content just staying at a safe distance, the moment she locks her gaze with me, a terrifying but exciting thought begins to tickle my brain.
What if…? What if I actually have a shot with her? Just one. I just need one.
And I swear to God, I’ll make sure she knows I’m grateful for the chance. I’ll prove it to her over and over again.
Because falling for Katherine is like drowning in horrifying, unimaginable depths … just one I never want to surface from.