Getting Off His Naughty List by Layne Daniels

Nobody chooses “dancer at a nightclub” as the job they’re planning for as a kid, but once puberty delivered an explosion of curves no ballet company would tolerate, burlesque dancing became my jam. I love what I do though.
And it would seem so does someone else, but I don’t necessarily feel like whoever it is means me any harm. I feel the eyes on me more than just when I’m twirling and spinning in the platform cage under the lights at night. I feel them when I shop for groceries, when I jog in the neighborhood, and pretty much any time I step out of my apartment building. They feel protective, if a little obsessive.
My wild landlady keeps telling me in her day being followed by admirers was to be expected, but in today’s world, can I trust that the safety I feel when he’s watching me is legit?