Cold Hard Cash: Los Angeles Bad Boys by Frankie Love Page B

them is his own words.
    I’ve heard him speak, heard him whisper in my ear—and none of his inflections would lead me to believe that he could translate his heart and soul into one hundred and forty characters.
    Also, he went to prison for beating a man.
    Should that scare me?
    I shut my computer.
    I take off my panties, because, after all, I promised Cassius I wouldn’t wear any and I can make good on my promise. Then I discard my maxi dress, tie my hair in a bun, and put on a fitted dress and stilettos. I haven’t worn heels in two years. They’re out of style, but I need tight clothes and sleek shoes, because I want to appear more than I am. I want to look like the sort of woman Cash Flow would sleep with, because all I want right now is to shed my skin and become something braver than I was when I woke up this morning begging my dad for a job.
    I can reclaim what I have forfeited.
    And I will.
    He’s here. I see an Uber drop him off. I told him I would drive, but we both know he’s going to take the wheel tonight.
    I will give him complete control.
    I grab my purse, lock the guest house, and meet him out front.
    “Hey,” I tell him. “You came back.”
    He looks me over, closely. Maybe too closely. Close enough that I’m second-guessing the shoes, the dress, the ruby-red lips.
    “You look different,” he says, cocking his head to the side.
    Okay, not exactly Romeo with his entrance, but I’ll take it. He’s still here. I’m no fool; if I know how much he’s not my type, I can tell that I’m not his either.
    “You don’t like my outfit?” I ask, looking down, insecure in ways I hate. I don’t want to be that girl. Not tonight. Not anymore.
    “Just looks more….”
    “I was going for celebratory.”
    “It looks very celebratory.”
    “You’re a bad liar, Cassius.”
    “I didn’t beg you for heels and tight skirts, is all.” He shrugs. “But like we discussed before, this is why we’re on a first date, to get to know one another. Maybe I read you all wrong. Maybe your anxiety attack hid parts of you that I’ll see now.”
    “It wasn’t a panic attack. You said so yourself. It was a meltdown.”
    Our eyes lock. I feel seen. I feel stupid in this dress that’s not me; I don’t even know why I own it. The tags were still attached when I found it in my closet.
    He may have gone to prison, but that isn’t why my heart is pounding, why my breath is hot, or why my pussy seems to clench in desire.
    I don’t need a dress to make me feel more than . Standing beside Cassius makes me feel like enough .
    “I’m gonna change. Give me a sec.”

    * * *
    W hen I come back out I’m in the flowing maxi dress and the sandals. My hair is loose on my shoulders. I’m myself.
    And Cassius gives me a full-on grin, the dimpled one that makes me suck in air, fast, because he seriously leaves me breathless.
    “You look divine, Evangeline.”
    I feel my cheeks redden, but I don’t look away. I only have eyes for him.
    “You look pretty good yourself.” And he does. He’s in dark jeans and a collared shirt, buttoned all the way up. His medallion is looped around his neck and he’s got rings on his fingers. His hair is slicked back. His pale eyes are like the sea: blue speckled with green, washing away any of my worries about his hardened past.
    “Wanna drive?” I ask, holding up my keys.
    He shakes his head. “I can’t drive.”
    When my eyes ask the question, he lets out a breath I didn’t know he was holding.
    “Lost my license.”
    “They can send you replacement, dork,” I tell him, tossing him the keys.
    When he tosses the keys back, I get it.
    “It was revoked.” His jaw tenses. “You sure you wanna go out with me? I’m guessing you Googled me or some shit.”
    “Did you Google me?”
    His eyes narrow. “Should I have?”
    “No,” I tell him, walking to the driver’s seat. If he knew who my dad is, he might back away from me.
    I can’t have him do that. Not before tonight ends.
    I