Cassius

She’s way out of my league. I’m dissing Gina when I say that, and I swear I’m gonna stop thinking about my ex, but Gina is more than an ex ... Gina is part of the fabric of my life. I’m not someone who’s okay with shredding that, even if she was the one who made every last tear.

But right now, Gina’s with Chad on the eightieth floor, and I’m in a pale blue convertible Mini Cooper with a girl named Evangeline whose eyes look like a storm and whose words are almost too soft for me to hear. A girl whose hand held mine on the busy street corner, like she was holding on for dear life.

Maybe we both were.

“So, you grew up here, but don’t live here now?” I ask, as she heads down the freeway toward Malibu. Fancy shit.

“Yeah, I go to college in New York, but I’m home for the semester. My dad lives here, so.”

I try not to be an insecure ass, but I already know this girl is way too sweet, way too rich, way too fucking hot to be driving me to her house. And now I know she’s in college. It makes me really fucking wish I had more than a goddamn GED—and that I hadn’t spent a year in prison. Makes me wish I were something more than a line cook.

And that’s just a promotion I got a few months ago. Before that, I’d been washing dishes for two years.

It takes me a second to remember that I’m not a line cook anymore. Now I’m a rapper with a record contract, and studio time next week. And a national tour.

“Where do you go to school?” I ask, trying so damn hard to play it cool.

“Uh, Julliard?” She says it with a lilt to her voice, ending in a question, as if I’d never heard of the school.

“Shit.” I exhale slowly, because, damn. “And what do you do there, Evangeline?”

“I play the piano. Sort of.”

I can tell she’s trying to dismiss her talent. I roll my eyes, shake my head and smirk at her. “I see. So you’re one of those students who got into Julliard even though they weren’t hot shit? I didn’t know they existed.”

“I’m not being modest. I knew a guy.”

Now I full-on laugh. “Girl, when you say it like that, it’s like you’re friends with the mob boss. Like your connected.”

She flips on her turn signal, giving me a sidelong glance. “I am Italian.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Yeah, I am. But I do know a guy. My dad’s brother is, like, on the board of admissions. I didn’t even audition.” She presses her lips tight, giving a nearly silent squeal. “I can’t believe I told you that. I’ve never told anyone that. It’s the most embarrassing thing about me, actually.”

“You’re a lucky girl, Evie.”

“Why? Because I didn’t have to try to fake-impress a room full of critics who knew I was slightly above average?”

“No, because if that’s your most embarrassing truth, you’re lucky. “

“Oh, yeah?” She turns off the freeway and we’re careening down a palm-lined street, where you can’t even see the homes because they’re so far behind massive gates. “What’s your most embarrassing truth, Cash Flow? I mean, besides your rapper name.”

“You don’t like my rapper name?” I laugh, appreciating her honesty—because I fucking hate it, too.

“You’re getting off the subject,” she scolds. “Back to the embarrassing stuff.”

“Girl, there’s way too much stupid shit to even begin.”

“Try.”

“Uh, one time I got arrested for stealing Slurpees at a 7-11.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know, right? I’m an original gangsta.”

“Did that really happen?” she asks, punching in a code on a panel next to a wrought iron gate.

“It happened. I was in ninth grade. First time I got handcuffed.”

“They seriously handcuffed you over flavored ice?”

“Well, we had a bunch of pot on us.”

“Oh, now there’s an us involved. The plot thickens.” She laughs, and her laugh is so surprisingly refreshing, so clear and clean and true, that I feel myself get hard. When the fuck have I ever gotten hard over a girl’s laugh before?

The gate slides open, and a mansion sprawls before us.

“Yeah,” I say, feeling like I should have picked a story that painted me with a bit more badassery. God knows there are a fuck-ton; my brother and I were idiots. The boys we rolled with were as stupid as we were. And the sad truth is, I’d still be with those boys if they hadn’t ditched me first.

“So, my room’s out back, in the guest house,” she says, getting out of the car.

I follow her, checking my phone as I do, because it’s been buzzing for the past five minutes.

Chad: where the fuck did you go?

Me: Out. I’ll catch up later at home.

I silence my phone. I can’t stand being around Chad right now. He wants to micro-manage the fuck out of me and I can’t go there. The high I should be on for signing this contract is non-existent. And it’s not about him and Gina—honestly, ending things with her is good. I’ve finally been forced to drop the baggage I couldn’t let go of on my own.

I’m grateful to have this contract, but I need to find a way to put my heart and soul into the music. Right now it’s a struggle to connect my public persona—this ex-con rapper—and who I really am. Who I am right here, right now.

They’re two different people.

“You coming?” Evangeline asks, and I nod, dropping my phone in my pocket.

I smile, letting her lead the way. My stomach clenches, because shit, I’m uncomfortable as hell with this sort of money.

“Your pops must have done something right,” I say as she leads me around the yard, where a massive infinity pool draws my eyes to the Pacific Ocean.

It’s insane—the view, the space, the girl next to me. I might have just signed a quarter-million dollar contract, but the money’s already divided a hundred fucking ways. My mom, mostly, then taxes, and Chad, and Gina, and me.

I’ll have plenty, but a place like this is half a billion dollars, or some crazy-ass shit. I don’t know. I live in a goddamn apartment, not even a house. Certainly not a castle on the coast of California.

She sidles up next to me, and we look out at the sprawling ocean. It’s crazy, but I’ve never been to this part of LA before today, never set foot in this neighborhood. But here I am, with Gentle Evangeline.

“Yeah, my dad’s good with business. But family? Not so much.”

“So you have some daddy issues, that’s what you’re trying to tell me?”

“Oh, major daddy issues.” She gives me that laugh again, the one that makes time stop and my heart race and my hand clench, wishing it had a pencil in it so I could write something down about this moment, because I swear her laugh is like a song. Her laugh is why music was made. Her laugh needs to be remembered.

I swear, I won’t forget.

“So,” she says, “can I get you lunch?”

She looks at my hand and hesitates, and that’s when I’m reminded that this girl is hella sweet, and hella good. And I know I’m all wrong for her.

Still, I can tell that she’s way too tentative to reach for mine, and that inviting me here may have been the most reckless thing she’s ever done in her life.

I take her hand, and it fits mine in a way we both know it shouldn’t: perfectly.