Dejected, I sat in my truck for another two hours, rather than follow them. If just getting a load of her walking with some bloke tore me to shreds, I wasn’t ready to see any more. But I also wasn’t ready to leave.

Getting piss ant drunk wasn’t in my itinerary. Then again, neither was stalking until a few hours ago. I checked into a motel only a few blocks from Aubrey’s office on Jefferson and walked to the adjacent bar before even seeing my room. Now, three hours later, I was sufficiently stewed. Carla, the bartender, and I hit it off right away.

“You ready for another one, Aussie?”

I held up my glass and rattled the ice. “Keep ‘em coming, Carla babes.” She walked over, gave me a sultry smile and filled my glass. This woman was seriously sexy. Like a nineteen forties pinup model, her hair was all done in those vintage old school curls on top of her head. From the neck up she looked like an American throwback. But her arms were full sleeves of colorful ink. A modern day rockin’ Jessica Rabbit.

I was normally a light drinker, beer or wine was more my thing than hard liquor, and it had been two years since I last ingested the poison. Finishing my fourth Rum and Coke, I realized I was drunker than I thought as my words were starting to slur. And…I was unloading my problems onto a bartender I never met. I’d already filled Carla Babes in on my whole life story, in less than two hours.

“So what are you afraid of? She asked, leaning her forearms on the bar.

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“Sounds like you already did.”

She had a point.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Why else would I be here this evening?”

Carla chuckled. “I think you’re afraid you’ll get hurt.”

The next morning, I woke with a wicked hangover. Even though I had a screaming headache and it felt like the desert had taken over my mouth, I hoisted my dragging body out of bed at the ass crack of dawn. Aubrey had left with some suit, looking too comfy for my liking; I needed to see if they arrived together, too.

There was a Starbucks three doors down from her office, and I thought it was a distinct possibility she’d make a pit stop before work. So I parked with a view of the entire block and slumped into position. Three hours passed. I was in desperate need for a second cup of coffee, and there was no sign of Aubrey.

I reached into the glove compartment, pulled out a baseball hat, and slipped on my sunglasses. It wasn’t a great disguise, but the chance of running into her by now had to be slim. The moment my feet touched concrete, I saw her turn the corner. Fuck. I froze for a moment and then, luckily, instinct took over.

I hopped back into the cab of my pickup and slouched down. She was busy texting on her phone and didn’t look up until she hit the door to Starbucks. That was close.

A few minutes later, she emerged with her white venti coffee cup and never looked in my direction. Damn. She looked just as good going as she did coming. And she was alone.

I did the same thing that afternoon. The five minute glimpses of her were enough to make the whole day worthwhile. So I did it again the next day…and the day after that. Aubrey had a definite routine. I wasn’t surprised. She arrived at nine-thirty and left at seven. Two out of three of my evening stalkings, the asshat was with her when she called it a day.

I’d even settled into a routine of sorts. I reported for morning stalking at dawn and ended my day at dusk. In between, I took off for a few hours and went to a gym two towns over. The evenings, I spent drowning my sorrows with Carla Babes.

This particular morning, the hotel hadn’t set up the coffee urn by the time I was ready to leave, and I was itching for some caffeine. Seeing as I had Aubrey’s routine pretty much down pat, I snuck out of my truck and slipped into her Starbucks. It gave me a thrill to be inside, even though I was certain she wasn’t arriving for hours.

I ordered my plain old black coffee, and the young girl behind the counter smiled. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No. I’m good. Thanks.” Then a thought escaped my mouth. “Actually. Do you know a woman who comes in every morning about nine twenty? Auburn hair, probably orders a nonfat three-pump vanilla latte, low foam and extra hot?”

“Sure. Aubrey.”

I dug a twenty out of my pocket and held it out to the girl. “Her coffee is on me today.”

She looked confused.

“Keep the change. And don’t give her a description of the guy who wanted to buy her coffee, okay?”

She shrugged and stuck the twenty in the front pocket of her jeans. “Sure thing.”