Moonlight streams through Drake’s bedroom windows, creating a peaceful ambiance as we lie together. His bedside lamp provides enough light for us to flip through Mercy Malone’s tour pictures. Drake points out little details that I would never notice—things like faces in the crowd, inconsistencies across venues in the stage design, and the subtle interactions between the dancers and the band. His perspective is fascinating. I have to wonder if it’s because he’s used to reading plays and picking up on cracks in defenses and player habits.
My habits are more of thelet’s meet a random person at a laundromat and buy a few thousand plastic spoons that were headed for the landfillvariety. Not super helpful in any situation outside of, well, my life. Even then, sometimes my propensities are less helpful and more enthusiastic, well-intentioned calamities.
I glance up at my man, the black framed glasses he wears at night giving his features a smart, sophisticated aura. It’s myfavorite look of his, and the first time I saw him wearing his glasses, I made him wear them while I sucked his dick.
Drake’s foot crosses mine beneath the sheets, and his toes wiggle against mine every few minutes as if to remind him I’m still here. A shy grin pulls at the corner of his lips every time, and I don’t think he notices. But I do.
His phone rings, breaking the silence of the night. “Who the hell is calling me this late?” He grabs the device and groans. “It’s my sister Evie.”
“Take it if you need to. It won’t bother me.”
He kisses me quickly before answering it, immediately putting the call on speakerphone and pulling me closer to his side. Men don’t usually do this in front of me—talk so openly to a random call in the middle of the night.Probably because they’re on bullshit.It’s just another thing about Drake that I love.
“Hey, Eves,” he says.
“Hey, so, Elodie told me that she was thinking about moving to Raleigh, and you knew it, and neither of you told me.”
He chuckles softly, as if he expected this conversation to happen. “True.”
“What the fuck, Drake?”
“She hadn’t made up her mind yet and asked me not to say anything, so I didn’t.”
She gasps. “Where is your loyalty?”
“Well, at that moment, it was with Elodie.” He chuckles louder. “She’s not going, so it doesn’t matter. Relax.”
“I’m like the blond-headed baby child of this family, and no one takes me seriously.”
I cover my mouth with my hand to suppress my giggle. Drake rolls his eyes.
“I wonder why no one takes you seriously, Evie,” he says. “Is that all you called me for? Because I’m busy.”
“Doing what?”
He lifts his brows, looking over his shoulder at me with a curious look.
I shrug. “I don’t care,” I whisper, knowing he’s asking for permission to tell her that I’m here. It’s not like the world isn’t already in our business.
“Oh, I’m not doing much,” he says, a taunt in his tone. “Just lying here with Gianna.”
Evie shrieks. “No, you are not.”
“Yes, I really am.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I love that you say it like you’re surprised that she’d be with me, you little shit.”
“Did you tell her I’m a fan? That I’m obsessed with her? That my entire office listens to her every week—oh! Tell her she needs merch! Do you know how many sweatshirts, hats, and hoodies people would buy? A fuckton. I have design ideas, if she needs them.”
“More attention. Tons of branded merch.”
Evie’s suggestion brings back my conversation with Francine today, and I can feel the stress of it building in my shoulders once again—only more this time. Because if people are going to be wearing stuff with my name on it, I need to control what it says. And something tells me that if I let Canoodle rebrand me, that won’t be the case.
“I’ll let her know,” Drake says, unaware that my thoughts strayed. “She’s listening if you want to say anything to her.”
“What? Drake! Why didn’t you warn me that she could hear me?” She groans. “You really do hate me, don’t you?”
I lean closer to the phone. “Hey, Evie.”
She squeals. “Hey, Gianna. This is not how I thought we’d meet because, obviously, this is not my best look. But this is me with my brother and not me in the street. The me in the street is much cooler than the me with Drake. And please don’t judge me based on this conversation or anything that he might’ve toldyou about me. And if he’s still listening,” she says louder, “I know things about him that I could share, too.”
