Page 38 of Second to None

“Yeah. I know.”

I swallowed hard, my chest split wide open, and turned to look at him. A small, wistful smile twisted his lips, and I longed to reach out and brush back the stray curl that had fallen against his temple. Instead, I tucked my hands between my thighs.

He kept driving.

* * *

Downtown LA,Sunday, August 17th

Two bodyguards met us by the restaurant. One parked the car while the other led us through the back entrance and into the kitchen, where people stopped briefly in what they were doing. Wow, yeah, I’d almost forgotten this part.

“Smells amazing!” Cass declared, and it did—garlic and olive oil and a whole range of spices I was too ignorant to name. But it was Cass’s superstar smile that trapped my attention.

“Thank you all,” I added, a little less confident, my celebrity persona a dusty mask that didn’t quite fit anymore.

Little cheers and smiles were our response, people returning to their tasks as the owner welcomed us with expansive gestures and walked us to our table. The place was warm and inviting, with just a touch of elegance that didn’t feel stifling—dark wood, glowing chandeliers, and an open bar. Some heads turned at our entrance, glances and whispers of “Wait, is that…?” trailing in our wake. Frank, Cass’s bodyguard, was seated nearby, close enough to interfere while giving us some space.

There was a lit candle flickering on our table. A rose, too—real, at that. It was like a scene torn straight out of an ancient dream, something that belonged in a previous life, yet this wasn’t that Cass. His shoulders were broader, betraying none of the tension I knew he felt, only the faintest shadow of it in the curve of his mouth.

“Hey.” I bumped our feet together under the table without letting the contact linger. “Are you still sure about this? We can leave. Grab a drive-through burger instead.”

His warm attention was like a spotlight. “I don’t want to leave. Unless?—”

“I’m in,” I interrupted. “Quit asking.”

“Okay.” The faintest hitch of a pause as he studied me. “Non-alcoholic aperitifs, right?”

I looked down at the spotless tablecloth, ironed to perfection, and nodded. “Thanks.”

“What for?” he asked, a gentle murmur.

“Understanding. Not making it a big deal.”

With our waiter hovering at a respectful distance, ready to approach, Cass settled for a quick brush of our fingers across the table. Instinctively, I glanced around—several diners quickly shifted their attention elsewhere, and the couple two tables over launched into an animated conversation too pointed to be natural.

This was for show, I reminded myself. My heart, ignorant to the distinction, still gave a painful lurch.

* * *

“You got a cat.”Cass’s grin damn near threatened to break his face, a forkful of pasta held suspended. “Yougot acat.”

“I inherited a cat,” I corrected.

“Pictures,” he said.

“Maybe I don’t have any.”

“Pictures.”

I heaved a dramatic sigh, unlikely to distract him from how I was biting down on a smile. Reaching for my phone, I was loosely aware that people were still watching us like, say, an exotic butterfly fluttering around a greenhouse. So far, no one had actually come up to us, but it was only a matter of time, and I’d seen several phones raised at suspicious angles. It just wasn’t ever as subtle as people thought.

There was a whole album dedicated to Alba—auto-generated, in my defense. But the point stood: I was a person who carried pictures of their pet around. Even if Emily had taken most of them.

I passed Cass my phone and speared a bite of lemon tagliatelle.

“Oh, she’s a beauty,” he said, delight brightening his features. In some ways, he really hadn’t changed at all, had he?

I shook my head, so damnfondof this boy. “You say that about every cat.”

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