Page 87 of Eyes on Me


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“Construction,” I mumble. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. There could be a million Drakes who work in construction.

“And we definitely haven’t met?” I ask, feeling like an idiot. I just need to be sure and other than outright asking, ‘Have you ever watched me get naked on your phone screen?’ there’s really no way to be sure.

He chuckles, sounding uncomfortable. “Not officially, but I’ve seen you around the club, and Garrett’s talked about you. A lot.”

When I don’t respond, staring blankly at the window across the room, Drake steps closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” I quickly reply, shaking my head. “I just woke up and it’s been a long day.”

“Of course. Do you need anything before I go? Isabel said to just put the lasagna in the oven for about thirty minutes to warm it up.”

“Thank you,” I say, forcing a smile.

Behind him, the front door opens, and I watch as Garrett steps into the apartment. His eyes latch immediately onto the tall construction worker standing in his kitchen.

“Drake…” he mutters nervously, his eyes dancing between me and him.

As the man turns to greet Garrett and explain why he’s here, I feel a slow tingle of dread coursing up my spine. Like a fear I’ve had for longer than I care to admit. A fear that I’ve been tricked again.

Duped. Played.

No. I shake the thought away. He wouldn’t do that. We’re good now. He’s finally opening up and committing. We made promises to each other. I finally have everything I’ve ever wanted.

When I look up, Drake is waving goodbye from the front door and I shoot him a fake smile and a curt wave. Then, Garrett and I are alone, and the tension is thick. So thick it presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to be normal and look at him and smile.

Is it just me? Can he feel it too?

I’m overthinking this, aren’t I?

“You okay?” he asks, and I glance up into his face. It’s the same face I’ve kissed a hundred times in the past two weeks. But it’s also the face of the man who used to find my misery amusing. Who I was sure would never truly love anyone because he was too caught up in himself. It’s like I’ve started to see him through a new lens, and I’m just now remembering who he truly is.

“Yeah,” I mutter, turning toward the bedroom to get my phone. “Where did you go?”

“To take my mom something to eat.”

“How is she?” I ask, making small talk as I retrieve my phone from the nightstand.

“Good. They’re keeping your dad for an extra day, just to keep an eye on him.”

Shit, my dad. I should really be focusing on him, not panicking about something like this. Because I’m probably wrong anyway.

Garrett isn’t pretending to be Drake. I’m being delusional.

But I have to know for sure.

So, as I walk back out to the living room, where he’s standing and staring at me with a hint of worry in his eyes, I pull up the app. Seeing Drake’s username sends a wave of anxiety through me.

I’m the one talking to two men at once. If I text Drake right now and it’snotGarrett, then how am I any better? I’ve been lying too, haven’t I?

Hi, I type into the box, my thumb shaking before I hit Send.

Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him. Please don’t be him.

From across the room, I hear the unmistakable sound of his phone chiming with a notification.

And everything stops. The tension is now suffocating. My cheeks grow hot with rage and my breath trembles as my gaze lifts to his face, but he doesn’t move.

“Mia,” he whispers, a pleading sound, and tears spring to my eyes.

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