My eyes never settle on him, but I've not missed a single lick of his lips or brush of his fingertips against bare skin. I'm obsessed, fixated on this enigma who knows my name and hates me to the core.
I don't know him. I don't.
My jaw clenches in frustration as I order another drink, my attention focused on him through the mirror above the bar as if the simple piece of silvered glass holds the answers to my existence.
His partner, I know. As Garrett's lips tease his neck, I feel the burn of tequila in my chest.
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