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He nods, jotting down some notes on his paper as he and Hunter discuss some more ideas for the space. Pulling back from the conversation, I try to calm my nerves from knowing the club is suffering. My anxiety can’t grab onto the idea that we’re going under or I’ll be a mess. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Emerson watching Charlotte as she scribbles notes on her notepad.
“You getting all this?” he asks, placing his hand on her knee under the table.
She glances up and gazes into his eyes with a warm expression full of love. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good girl,” he whispers, before pulling her close and pressing his lips against her forehead.
I glance away, noticing the new ache in my chest from watching them. Before I left for the lake, I thought Emerson was crazy for giving in to this relationship so willingly, for being vulnerable and opening up his heart to possible damage down the line, not to mention the overall stress of having another person to please and keep happy.
But then I think about how easy things were between me and Mia over the past week. How easily we laughed or even when we were tormenting each other, how there was still something satisfying there.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly send her a message.
Hope you’re having a beautiful day, Kitten. I miss your smile.
This is insane and I’m going to pay for this later, I know that. But pretending to be someone else makes typing these things a little easier. Like I can convince myself that none of it is actually real. I can tell Mia how much she means to me as Drake. It’s not like that’s how I really feel. Right?
RULE #19: DON’T CRY FOR MEN WHO DON’T CRY FOR YOU
Mia
“Ilove it,” I say with a smile, posing in front of the camera for Gregg as he proudly admires the shimmery metallic-looking fabric of my dress. It’s a dress for a stripper, literally. I’m not even being facetious. This literally came from a shop for pole dancers and performers, but he doesn’t know the difference. To him, skimpy dresses on women is more natural than a suit on a rich man.
“It looks beautiful on you. I’m so glad you like it.”
“I do. And it’s good to see you smiling like that.”
“Then, don’t leave,” he replies, and my fake smile falters.
“I wish I didn’t have to, but I have class in fifteen minutes. We can have a real chat later maybe.”
It’s a lie. I don’t have a class. In fact, I don’t have anything, but I’m forced to make up lies to cover up the fact that I can’t seem to do this anymore. Whether it’s for Drake or Garrett, I don’t really know. I just know that until I figure out who I’m with—if I’m even with either of them—I can’t get naked for men on the internet. That’s something I should discuss with them first.
If only I could bring it up with them.
He made it very clear yesterday before we left that things between us were done. It was just physical anyway. Playing, as he called it. Even if he is avoiding the truth that sometimes it felt like more than playing.
It was fun, but it was also…something real. There was a connection there. Real chemistry that I have never felt with a man before. And I know he felt it too. But Garrett is afraid of commitment, and he seems to have it in his head that he’s not cut out for relationships. He gave up on us before there was anus.
And it’s hard to make Drake a realistic priority in my life when I’ve never even seen his face before, and he’s clearly hiding something from me. If he didn’t have a secret, then why wouldn’t he video chat with me? Show me photos of himself? How come he can express these deeply personal secrets but he can’t let me see him? It doesn’t change the fact that I feel a connection with him that I don’t feel with Garrett. As if they both give me something different, and if they could just morph into one person, they’d be perfect.
“I’m proud of you for going back to school, sweetheart,” Gregg replies, distracting me from my complicated thoughts.
“Thanks, baby. I’m really excited about it.”
Lies, lies, lies.
“Send me more pictures when you have some free time. I miss you.”
I smile at him, leaning close to the camera. “I miss you too.”
Then, we hang up. I flop onto the couch in the basement of my parents’ house, and I let the feeling of guilt wash over me as I accept Gregg’s payment for the hour-long chat—plus tip. I didn’t even show him my tits. I can’t keep doing this.
I either need to stop worrying about Garrett and Drake and get back to work, or I need to quit entirely.
Both sound awful.
Before closing the app, I get a text from Drake.
