He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: A Dark and Steamy Holiday Romance of Obsession and Secrets – Where Desire Meets Danger in the Heart of NYC
He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: Chapter 23

I had to leave her. I couldn’t fuck her there. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I didn’t want our first time to be at a sex club, with me wearing a mask, and her having no idea who I even am.

I’m fucked up.

But not that fucked up.

I stumble out of the club, the throbbing bass still pulsing through my veins. The cool night air hits my face as I rip off the mask, gulping in deep breaths. My head spins, a cocktail of satisfaction and self-loathing.

I lean against the grimy brick wall, trying to get my bearings. What the hell am I doing here? This isn’t me. Or is it? The line between who I thought I was and who I’m becoming is blurring more each day.

Chloe’s face flashes in my mind—flushed with arousal, eyes hungry, lips parted. She had been so willing, so eager. And I had walked away.

I push off the wall, my legs unsteady as I start the walk home.

Wait. I need to make sure she makes it home safely. I pace outside, torn between leaving and staying. I can’t let her see me—Jack—without the mask. But I can’t exactly walk the streets of New York in my demon mask either.

I settle for a compromise, ducking into a nearby alley and peering around the corner. I’ll wait until I see her leave, then follow at a distance to ensure she gets home okay. It’s the least I can do after abandoning her in there.

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?

The thought sends a bitter laugh through me. There’s no way out of this mess that doesn’t end with Chloe hating me or thinking I’m completely insane. Or both.

I drag myself to the window, peering down at the empty street where she stood minutes ago. The city never sleeps, they say, but right now it feels like the quietest place on Earth. The silence is deafening, filled only with the echo of my racing thoughts.

I’m wired, my nerves frayed and crackling with nervous energy. I need to see her, to talk to her, to explain . . . what? That I’m not who she thinks I am? That I’m both more and less than the man she knows?

I need to at least go make sure she got home okay. I’ll just stand outside her window—again—and check. Real quick.

Yeah . . . this line of thinking is what got me into this mess in the first place. But I can’t help myself. I’m already grabbing my jacket, heading for the door.

When I arrive at Chloe’s, I see a faint light glowing from her window. She’s home. She’s safe. I should leave.

But I can’t. I’m rooted to the spot.

This is how it started. There was something about her after the accident that made me want to check up on her. To make sure she was okay after her parents’ death. Could I have knocked on her door, introduced myself as the fireman who worked the scene, and then tell her that I was only making sure she was okay?

Yes. I could have.

But at the time, it seemed intrusive. It seemed inappropriate. It seemed wrong.

So what did I do?

I became a god damn stalker instead. Because that’s not intrusive, inappropriate, or wrong at all, right?

I take my usual position by her window. There’s no recent snow, so no footprints for me to worry about.

My mind drifts back to the club, to the heat of her body pressed against mine. The way her fingers trailed down my chest, how her breath hitched when I pulled her close. God, I wanted her. I still want her.

But not like this. Not with lies and masks between us.

After crawling into bed, she turns toward the window and stares out, and for a moment I think she’s looking right at me. But then she turns away, and the light to her room clicks off.

This has to stop. I can’t keep living this double life, can’t keep lying to her—and to myself.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I’ll tell her everything. I’ll lay it all out—the stalking, the club, my feelings for her. She’ll probably run screaming, but at least it’ll be over. At least I’ll have been honest.