Before I left the building I drew back the front curtains and checked the street. The past week he had taken to standing behind the huge oak across from my apartment, thinking he was hidden by the massive trunk, but the angle of my window let me spot him regardless of his skulking. Today it looked safe so I threw on my coat, grabbed my purse, and headed out to the corner convenience store. I was mentally going over the short list of what I needed and focused on not forgetting anything.

“BOO!”

I jumped about three feet in the air when he practically yelled in my ear and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. I sighed.

“Look, Sean, this has got to stop. You scared the life out of me. And it’s just not funny, or cute, or endearing, or any of that stuff. It’s just annoying as hell.”

“Aw, come on. I thought we were friends.” He tried the cute puppy dog eyes on me which looked ridiculous in a slightly pudgy middle aged man. “Come get a cup of coffee at Starbucks and let’s just talk.”

“No coffee. No talk. I have told you repeatedly that I am NOT interested in you. Besides, I thought you had a job interview at CNN today. Was that another lie?”

“Well yes and no. They called me to come in but then management heard the name Sean Spicer, and they told personnel to tell me they weren’t interested. Worst mistake I ever made was the months I worked at the White House.”

What could I say? He was right. I had known Sean briefly as a casual acquaintance in college and we had run into each other several months ago at a party thrown by a mutual friend. We both had a bit too much wine, he was seriously depressed, I felt sorry for him, and listened to him moan and whine about the White House Press and here we were.

“You have to stop stalking me, Sean.” I said with my sternest former-kindergarten-teacher voice. “There is nothing between us. No chemistry. No chance of anything between us and you are sincerely irritating. Go home. Go research jobs on your computer. Go drink. Go do ANYTHING but spend your time bugging me.”

“You mean it, huh.”

“Of course I mean it! I have meant it the last five times we have had this same discussion! Leave me alone!”

“Boy. You can sure be a bitch,” he muttered, turning on his heel and heading off in the direction of the subway. Then he stopped and turned around. “ You want to go see that new showing at Westside Gallery on Saturday? “

I just stared blankly at him, turned, and stomped off. What the hell was the matter with this guy? But then he HAD taken a job in the Trump administration so there was that. Oh. And the whole Dancing With the Stars puffy shirt fiasco. What woman could wipe that off her retina? I just hope he actually heard the finality in my voice this time but something told me this would not be the end.