There is a fine line between serendipity and stalking.
All successful employers are stalking men who will do the unusual, men who think, men who attract attention by performing more than is expected of them.
For the first time all day I felt safe. Except that Patch had cornered me in a dark tunnel and was possibly stalking me. Maybe not so safe.
She'd always believed that people come in two varieties: those who look out the windshield and those who stare in the rearview mirror. She'd always been the windshield type: gotta focus on the future, not the past, because that's the only part that's still up for grabs. Mom throws me out? Gotta get some food and find a place to live. Husband dies? Gotta keep working, or I'll end up going crazy. Got some guy stalking me? Gotta figure out a way to stop it.
I was just about to ask you the same thing. I know you followed me. Don't look so suprised. It's called a rearview mirror. Are you stalking me for a specific reason?
Are you stalking me, Mr. Fulton?" The idea both amused and horrified Jazz.
All I need is a badly mangled, irate sentence stalking me.
Are you stalking me? Because that would be super.
The funny part is I feel like somebody is stalking me, like, at my local course and sizing up my game.
Someone had my number and they started text-stalking me. I've never replied to them. It was tempting to write back, but I resisted.
or simply:
