Disclaimer: Twilight is owned by Stephanie Meyer, which is not me.

EPOV

It all started innocent enough, well, no. Not really. I actually turned into part stalker in my off hours. It was original and charming, at least that's what I would later tell her.

Way back in the past...

I should turn back. I want to turn back, but as I glance down at my watch I notice that it's only been 15 minutes. I usually make it to 30 minutes before the burn becomes unbearable.

I hate getting older.

I lift my shirt over my head quickly and use it to wipe the back of my neck and brow. It's disgusting, but I'm sweating profusely and need to wipe off. I can see in the distance, the far distance, another runner—it looks to be a woman, but I can't be sure yet.

Naturally, because I'm male and competitive, I pick up the pace. My legs are burning, and I can feel the muscles in my thighs clench and unclench with every step. My calves are fairing well—so far.

It's Tuesday, and I had some cancellations in my schedule. Enough for Monica to rearrange the rest of my schedule so I have the day off. This doesn't happen often, once a year maybe...and I decide to go for a run midday to celebrate? Clearly, I have no life.

I can see that the runner is female now. From this distance she looks slender, like it's possible she's a real runner. Not someone who does this on occasion, or only when their schedule clears.

I've already picked up my pace and I'm breathing more shallow than even a few minutes ago, but I can see she's flying towards me. I can see her ponytail swaying heavily behind her with her quick movement. It appears to be thick and very long. She's pale, but not in a sickly way. Her legs are flush red and I can see clearly that they are muscular and strong.

Her breasts are only slightly bouncing—they appear to be strapped down quite nicely. Round, firm and I can see her tiny tee-shirt hug them...and her waist, which is small—petite.

As fast as she's going, she appears to be relaxed, comfortable in her skin. I'm intrigued at how graceful she is, how her strides are powerful and steady. She's less than half a block away from me now and I can start to see her face.

It's lovely.

She has a heart shaped face. It's flush, and her mouth is slightly open and I imagine her breaths leaving in small, silent pants. Her eyes meet mine and stay there.

She has beautiful brown sparkling eyes...and I'm trapped. Tied down suddenly and every time my feet lift to propel me forward they feel heavier than before. It's like I'm trying to root myself here, in this moment—if she were to stay with me, but only then.

The sidewalk is narrow and I feel it polite to move to the grass so she isn't disturbed. Her cheeks are flush, but seem to blush further when she sees the gesture. She smiles politely and lifts one hand ever so slightly, as if to wave at me or thank me.

I stop completely and just gape at her. I don't mean to, but she's so lovely. I can't look away from her. She quirks an eyebrow at me, but makes no move to stop. So I watch her.

I watch her and it's more than that. It's like I can actually feel her.

As she moves fluidly past me, she turns her head inquiring with her gaze as to what the hell I'm doing there...just standing and staring. And I wish I knew, I wish I could answer her, but I don't know. I have no idea.

I just stand there, watching her run away from me. Away from this feeling, farther and farther down the road and I feel...hollow.

I just watch her go and admire the view. Her backside is firm, her calves are shapely and tone and I fantasize about having them wrapped around me intimately. I can imagine their firmness beneath my hands and I have to move now. I have to.

She turns the corner and is gone.

The next time I see her it's due to careful planning. For weeks I ran the same route, sometimes at different times, sometimes at the same time as that first day. I became obsessed and I had to see her again. I would tell myself that I'd be bolder—whatever she needed...without knowing her I'd figure it out somehow.

A small tip came in on a Monday night. Monica was getting ready to go for the evening and had casually mentioned she had started using this site for runners, . It was like a light bulb went on. Almost immediately I logged onto that very same site and mapped out the route I took that day.

I started to really browse the site and discovered that many, many people had charted the routes in their area. There were some routes that were very specific and told of the number of gravel driveways one would encounter, how many hills and at what incline—if there were mean or aggressive dogs along the way.

I came across one particular route—very similar to the one I ran, but longer—that had what had to have been a female comment posted a few miles in from where I last saw her. It read, "Large Shepard, Bear, likes sugar cubes and will stop attempting to take your head off if you throw one into his yard."

For whatever reason, I just had this feeling that it was her who had posted that note. I had had so many hours thinking of how thoughtful she'd be and this was something that had to be in her character.

I had nothing to lose. So that Tuesday, I set out—same time as before—for what I hoped would be a fruitful run.

I had failed too many times to believe this would work, but I had hoped.

I couldn't believe it worked.

There she was. Stunning, of course. Glistening with sweat and her hair was matted to one side more than the other. And she noticed me, too.

She made eye contact again and I swear she blushed. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. Just like last time, she offered me a small wave when she passed. And just like last time she didn't look back.

That was okay, however. I had plans. I was following her and keeping her stride.

Looking back it was sort of foolish of me to think it would have been that simple.

This was one of her long runs. Sadly, we would go on for miles and miles and I almost lost her a time or two when I just had to...stop. She almost killed me!

Finally, after too long, she slowed her pace in front of a quaint little drive. It appeared to be a large home converted into a duplex. She turned around to do this little jog/dance thing and noticed me there. In her drive. There for her.

A full on smile and then, "Come on in, Champ."

"But you don't know me. I could be a serial killer." I stated astonished.

"Right. Serial Killer. Okay. Are you a serial killer?"

"Well, no. But would a serial killer really tell you they were a, uh, serial killer?" I asked her completely out of breath.

"Probably not." She waved her hand in the air for me to follow her. "But, just so you know, you're not the first person to ever follow me home like this."