Page 39 of Second to None

“And it’s always true.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

As soon as he’d said it, we both froze for a fractured second, staring at each other across the table. Just a joke. Just ajoke, but neither of us was laughing.

“Sorry,” Cass said, too quiet. “I obviously didn’t mean—I know you don’t. Not anymore.”

I couldn’t fuckingbreathe. Forced myself to do so anyway, forced myself to think and smile. “You broke our deal.”

“Deal?” His eyes were wide and confused, more grey than blue in the muted light.

“No more apologies.”

His smile, when it came, tipped my world on its side. “Yeah, all right. Just forgot, for a second there.”

‘I know you don’t. Not anymore.’

I didn’t know a damn thing.

Or—some things I knew. Like that this date wasn’t real. That even so, it was messing with my mind. That a part of me would always love Cass because I didn’t know how to stop. Because maybe I didn’t want to.

Since I couldn’t say any of that, I shifted the conversation to easier ground—how Emily had once convinced me to let her stay up late by arguing that she was practising her negotiation skills, and how she’d tried to train Alba to fetch socks. Cass laughed in all the right places, listening with his whole body as though I were the only person in the room.

“You know,” I told him in a near-whisper after we’d finished our mains, the plates cleared off the table, “it’s a good thing this date isn’t real.”

He leaned back in his chair. The collar of this shirt gaped open just enough to draw my eye, and I almost missed his low, “And why is that?”

“I’d never talk this much about Emmy during an actual date. Not that I’ve had much time, or interest.” I shrugged. “Like, a couple of times in the last twelve months—bit embarrassing, now that I think about it.”

Christ, why was I still talking? We’d not had a drop of alcohol even though I’d told Cass to go ahead, I didn’t mind if he ordered some wine for himself. He’d declined like it was really no big deal, but anyway, the point was that I’d just admitted to a pitiful love life while he was bound to have his pick. After all, LA’s closets were roomier than most.

“Why would you not talk about Emily all the time?” he asked. “She’s the most important person in your life.”

“Yeah. And that’s the thing, isn’t it?” I paused. “Like, ‘sorry, but you’ll never be my top priority—if that’s a problem, there’s the door.’ Let’s be real, not the best start to a date.”

“If you ask me, anyone who doesn’t get that isn’t worth your time.” Cass sounded serious in that way he had sometimes, when he really wanted to be heard but worried people wouldn’t listen.

“Maybe,” I replied, just as serious. “Doesn’t mean it’s always easy, though.”

Cass’s response got stalled when Frank got up, speaking into his earpiece, then headed over to us. “Time to leave,” he said, quiet but firm.

“But what about dessert?” Cass asked even as he rose from the table.

“Take it to go,” Frank told him. “Someone posted your location and a picture, and there’s a crowd gathering outside.”

Fuck, I hadn’t missed this part of my Neon Circuit past. Goldfish trapped in a bowl, strangers’ hands beating against the glass.

I got up as well and joined Cass, acutely aware of the sudden change in atmosphere. Other diners no longer pretended they weren’t staring, phones out in the open now. Good thing I’d already swiped my credit card earlier. The couple two tables over jumped up to ask for a photo, polite but determined, and we stopped just long enough to lean into each other, smiling, Cass’s hand low on my back. More people came over and wanted photos too, voices starting to blend together. “I saw you in concert last year, Cassian,” and “My baby sister was a huge fan of you guys,” and “Is it true, is there gonna be a reunion?”

“Let’s move,” Frank said a minute into this. And again, more emphatically, “Let’smove!” a couple of pictures later.

So we moved.

Since the back exit was narrower, Frank herded us out the front. The noise hit first—shouts that felt too close, too loud. Warm evening air mixed with the flash of phone cameras, a neon sign buzzing faintly from across the street, its pink glow catching on Cass’s jaw. Car horns. A sea of half-heard words that overlaid each other.

“Cassian! Over here! Just one picture!”

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