Neighborhood.

[Soapy]

Shordies getting turned on by guns is crazy to me, but we move.

Rare no Keshawn or Vic update.

That chokehold on Quincy ain't letting up no time soon

Oh wow Alexis is messy messy,

Quincy trying too man…addiction is a disease. Good job showcasing that Soap

Gayle getting inspired? Love to see that - wonder how things are going to go with her getting “real” with it.

As the chapter title indicates, it's going to be a busy summer in Los Angeles, y'all

[Soapy]

A Long Red Hot Los Angeles Summer Night - Episode 3
Keshawn stood at the edge of the rooftop, nursing a drink — club soda with a hint of lime — he'd barely touched, watching Las Vegas come to life beneath him.

"You good, rook?" Kobe nudged his former UCLA teammate, his grin wide under the glow of string lights that crisscrossed the luxury hotel's rooftop pool. "I know this Summer League shit ain’t stressing you out, Mr. Lottery."

Keshawn shrugged, the game from earlier in the day still replaying in his mind. He had some moments but nothing too drastic in either direction. "I’m good, just zoned out for a bit."

Jalen, Kobe's older brother who was currently on the Hawks, approached with three drinks. "You sure y’all aint breaking y’all curfew being out here?." He teased as he handed each of them a glass, his carrying a stronger scent than the others.

From across the pool, Keshawn had noticed a familiar face although he wasn’t sure if his was as familiar to her. A small stage had been set up where Kandi— the host and main attraction of the event — stood next to the D.J. as her songs were being played. It was hardly a performance as she would occasionally throw in an ad lib or sing along to a bar or two, never more than that. The crew around her were relentless, never letting a sweat linger on her forehead for more than a moment and making sure that the cup in her hand was never empty. Her outfit was hardly any different than any of the other similarly styled women that decked the outskirt of the pool but she still managed to stand out.

As her set concluded, her eyes swept across the rooftop, scanning the crowd with a practiced, calculating gaze. When they landed on Keshawn, something sparked—a flicker of recognition mixed with deliberate intent. Keshawn tried not to stare but his curiosity got the better of him, catching Kandi as she approached where they hanging out by, her crew following her every step.

"I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” she asked, more statement than question. Her voice carried a hint of playfulness, a subtle challenge underneath the casual tone.

Jalen opened his mouth before quickly realizing she wasn’t talking to him.

"Keshawn, right?"

"Yeah, we met at the video you did with Gayle. Sorry, GiGi," he corrected himself, trying to steady his breathing and ignore the smirk that was growing on Kobe’s face.

"She’s Gayle to me too," she extended her hand in greeting, "Kandi, nice to actually meet you this time, Keshawn."

As Keshawn shook her hand, its soft touch calming his nerves, he felt the staring eyes of Kobe and Jalen, "These are my friends, Kobe, Jalen."

"Big fan," Jalen smiled as he went to extend his hand but her attention was already back on Keshawn.

"We California folks got to stick together," Kandi told him, "Any friend of Gayle is a friend of mine."

"Likewise," Keshawn returned the playful tone.

"You should come out tonight," she suggested, "Just a little get together of like minded folks. No need for the entourage. Just making sure this friend of Gayle’s doesn’t end up in too much trouble."

…

Angela tapped her pen nervously against her notepad, her eyes darting to the clock on the wall. She'd been summoned to her manager’s office ten minutes ago, and each passing moment in the waiting area only amplified her anxiety. The last few weeks had been a struggle—her mind constantly wandering to Vic, to their future, if one even existed. Her work had suffered, and she knew it.

"He'll see you now," the receptionist said with a practiced smile.

Angela smoothed her blazer and entered the spacious corner office where Mr. Whitman sat behind his desk. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the Los Angeles skyline beyond.

"Angela, please, have a seat," he gestured to the chair across from him. His tone was unreadable, his expression professionally neutral. Despite him being her manager, they had barely interacted throughout her internship as the lead intern handled her day-to-day operations.

She perched on the edge of the seat, bracing herself for the criticism she felt certain was coming.

"I've been reviewing your work over the course of your internship," he began, shuffling through a folder of papers. "Your initial performance was exceptional."

Here it comes, Angela thought, the "but" that would precede her reprimand. She didn’t want this job anyway, she thought to herself. It was just a favor to Paige.

"Which is why we'd like to offer you a part-time position with us moving forward."

Angela blinked, momentarily stunned. "I'm sorry?"

"You've shown tremendous potential," Mr. Whitman continued. "Your ideas for the Johnson campaign were particularly impressive. Fresh perspective, culturally relevant—exactly what we need more of around here."

Relief washed over her, quickly followed by a surge of pride. "Thank you, sir. I'm glad to hear.”

"Now, we understand you plan on going back to Howard for the fall," he said, leaning back in his chair. His lips twitched slightly at the mention of her university. "We're prepared to be flexible with remote work arrangements. However, I should emphasize that your ability to physically assist with event setup has been one of your strongest assets."

Angela nodded, maintaining her professional demeanor despite the growing discomfort in her chest.

"Between us," Mr. Whitman lowered his voice slightly, "A talented young woman like yourself could surely secure admission to UCLA or USC. Quality education right here in Los Angeles. No need to travel across the country for Howard, is there?"

The implication hung in the air like a toxic cloud. Angela felt her jaw tighten, her fingers instinctively curling into fists beneath the desk. The dismissal of her choice—of Howard's legacy and significance—stung with familiar sharpness.

"I appreciate your confidence in me," she replied carefully, her voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath. "Howard offers unique opportunities that align with my long-term goals."

Mr. Whitman waved his hand dismissively. "Of course, of course. Just something to consider. The offer stands regardless."

Angela nodded, forcing a smile while swallowing the retort that burned on her tongue. This wasn't the first time, nor would it be the last, that she'd have to navigate the subtle prejudices of corporate America. Each microaggression was a lesson in patience, in picking her battles.

"I'd like to accept the position," she said. "And I'm confident we can find an arrangement that works for everyone."

"Excellent," Mr. Whitman smiled, oblivious to the weight of his words. "HR will send over the paperwork so you can begin the transition from intern to employee. We're expecting great things from you, Angela."

…

Dro sat behind his cluttered desk where invoices for the auto shop had began to gather dust. Business had been slow for months, hindered by a war that he was losing on all fronts. His non-affiliated employees stopped showing up for work in fear of being caught in the crossfire and his customer base soon followed. However, this wasn’t what was occupying Dro’s minds as he leaned back in his car. The shop was just a front anyway—a way to clean money and maintain appearances.

"He’s in there almost every night," Slim told Dro, having spent the past week watching Charlene's — the mother of Trey’s child — apartment, gathering intel like he had been asked to by Dro. Dro was looking for a way, anyway, to start tilting things in his favor. A disgruntled baby mother usually got the job done.

Slim pulled out his phone, scrolling through a series of photos before passing it to Dro. "He ain't just dropping off groceries, feel me?"

Dro swiped through the images—Fat Stacks entering Charlene's apartment building, sometimes with takeout bags, other times with nothing but that familiar cocky smile Dro had grown to hate. The timestamps showed late-night arrivals and early morning departures.

"Motherfucker don't even try to hide it," Slim continued. "Stays till morning most nights. Got his own key and everything. I even seen him with the little nigga too, picking him up and shit."

Dro's expression remained impassive, but a cold calculation was happening behind his eyes as he sang to himself. "Once we delegate his bills, who gonna fuck his bitch the best."

This was part of the game and what they signed up for once they got affiliated. If you ever went inside, someone was going to be paying your girl a visit and dropping off more than just cash. Ten years was a long time and even the most solid of women would take on someone on the outside to cater to her needs that a locked up felon couldn’t. Still, though, there were rules to the game.

A thin smile spread across Dro's face as he reached for his own phone. "Get Benzo on the line, have him get to Trey, let him know we need to talk."

"You think Trey gonna flip on Stacks just like that?" Slim asked, skepticism evident in his tone.

"Man finds out his baby mama fucking his boss while he doing time for that same nigga?" Dro let out a low chuckle. "That's the kind of shit that makes a man rethink his loyalties."

…

The modern mansion nestled in the hills just off the Vegas strip glowed with soft ambient lighting, music thumping at a volume loud enough to feel but low enough to allow conversation. Keshawn stood in a corner of the sprawling living room, watching the party unfold around him. He sipped cautiously from a bottle of water, having declined stronger offerings from passing servers.

When he'd arrived at the address Kandi had texted him, he'd expected something more intimate. Instead, he found himself in a sea of unfamiliar faces—models, musicians, and what appeared to be social media personalities, all orbiting around Kandi like planets around a sun.

Kandi herself had greeted him with a quick hug and air kisses when he arrived, her perfume lingering briefly before she was whisked away by a group of women he vaguely recognized from music videos and his explore page on Instagram. "Make yourself at home," she'd called over her shoulder, and that was the last direct interaction they'd had for the past two hours.

Across the room, Kandi laughed at something a tall man in designer clothes whispered in her ear. Her attention seemed to be everywhere except on the rookie basketball player she had personally invited. Keshawn shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he'd misread the situation entirely.

"You're a basketball player, right?" A woman with long braids and a form-fitting dress approached him.

"Thanks," he replied, genuinely surprised that anyone here would recognize him.

"I'm Zoe," she offered her hand. "You were at the pool party, right?"

They chatted briefly about basketball, but Keshawn found himself distracted, his eyes continually drifting to Kandi, who was now engaged in conversation with two women near the outdoor pool. She hadn't so much as glanced in his direction since his arrival.

After another thirty minutes of awkward small talk with strangers who seemed more interested in who he might become than who he was, Keshawn decided he'd had enough. He checked his watch—it was just past midnight. The party showed no signs of winding down, with new guests still arriving through the front door.

No one noticed as he slipped away from his corner and headed toward the exit. No dramatic goodbye, no explanation—just a quiet retreat. The cool night air hit his face as he stepped outside, immediately bringing a sense of relief.

After entering his hotel’s address in the car’s navigational system, Keshawn scrolled to Nadia's contact. He hesitated for just a moment before pressing call, not entirely sure if she'd be awake.

She answered on the third ring. "Hello?" Her voice sounded alert, not sleep-addled.

"Hey," he said as he began navigating the winding roads back toward the strip. "I wake you?"

"No, just finishing some work. Aren't you supposed to be at some fancy party with your new celebrity friend?" There was a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Something like that," Keshawn replied, watching the neon lights of Las Vegas grow larger through the window. "You won't believe what happened to me tonight."

[Caesar]

You trying to tell me this man don't want Nadia but he LEFT A PARTY WITH FAMOUS BADDIES TO CALL HER TO TELL HER ABOUT HIS MOTHERFUCKING DAY LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING BOYFRIEND?????????????????

Gonna be crazy when they go to pop Stacks at Charlene's and find Vic in the bed instead.

Angela's man goes behind her back to put a baby on a Latina and she decides that she's going to work for the white man. So much for all that Black Excellence stuff

[Captain Canada]

There's so much that happened in that update and yet nothing at all - all at once

Fuck Vic.

[Soapy]

You trying to tell me this man don't want Nadia but he LEFT A PARTY WITH FAMOUS BADDIES TO CALL HER TO TELL HER ABOUT HIS MOTHERFUCKING DAY LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING BOYFRIEND?????????????????

Gonna be crazy when they go to pop Stacks at Charlene's and find Vic in the bed instead.

Angela's man goes behind her back to put a baby on a Latina and she decides that she's going to work for the white man. So much for all that Black Excellence stuff

That's his good friend, bro.

Vic and Charlene did have that one drunk night #nooticer

She's learning to make compromises

There's so much that happened in that update and yet nothing at all - all at once

Fuck Vic.

This is the set up pitch. The first down run.

[Soapy]

A Long Red Hot Los Angeles Summer Night - Episode 4
The blinking cursor on the laptop screen mocked her like a tiny, digital middle finger. The studio's dim lighting felt oppressive now, closing in around her like the walls of her own creative prison.

"I got nothing," she finally admitted, slamming the laptop shut. "Absolutely fucking nothing."

Lamont glanced up from the mixing board where he'd been fine-tuning another artist's track. His eyes registered concern beneath the brim of his fitted cap. "Struggling to finish that song?"

"More like struggling to even start it," Gayle muttered, spinning in her chair. "Even the shit I wrote the other day that I thought was fire is fucking corny as shit to me now."

Lamont nodded, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He'd been in the game long enough to recognize the symptoms. He hit pause on the track he was working on, giving Gayle his full attention.

"When was the last time you did something that wasn't about music?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

Gayle frowned, trying to recall. The days had blurred together since "Snatch Yo Chain" blew up—studio sessions, meetings, more studio sessions. "I don't know. What you mean?"

"I mean when's the last time you went on a date? Hit up a club just to dance, not perform? Took a trip somewhere? Hung out with your girls without talking about your career?" Lamont's questions landed like gentle accusations.

The truth of his words stung. Gayle hadn't been on a date in... she couldn't even remember. After her situation with Keshawn ended, it had been a string of terrible dates, usually with guys she met at the club she used to work at before she met Lamont, and since then, it had been all about the music. All about becoming Gigi.

"I been focused," she defended, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Too focused," Lamont countered. "You can't write about life if you ain't living it. That's your problem right there."

Gayle sat up straighter, irritation flashing across her face. "So what, I'm supposed to go out and fuck some random nigga just to write a song about it?"

Lamont laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Not saying all that. But you gotta fill up your cup before you can pour for others. Right now, you running on empty."

He was right, and she knew it. In her determination to succeed, to not waste the opportunity that had fallen into her lap, Gayle had forgotten about the experiences that had fueled her initial success. She'd become so focused on being Gigi that she'd forgotten how to be Gayle.

…

The doctor's appointment had gone well—twenty four weeks along, everything developing normally. Vic stared at the sonogram picture in his hand, still trying to process the reality of it all.

"The doctor said everything looks good," Jessica said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them since leaving the clinic. Her hand rested protectively over her growing stomach. "The morning sickness hasn’t been that bad the last few days."

Vic nodded, his eyes still fixed on the grainy black and white image. "That's good."

Jessica watched him carefully, her dark eyes searching his face. The tension between them had eased somewhat over the past few hours as he picked her up for her appointment, the first time they had faced each other since everything went down, but there was still so much unspoken, so much hurt lingering just beneath the surface.

"Vic, I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought she deserved to know."

She had expected anger, resentment. Instead, Vic's shoulders simply slumped, the fight gone from him.

"I know," he said, finally looking at her. "You were in a fucked-up situation because of me. I put you there." He handed her the sonogram picture. "I ain't mad at you. Just want to make sure the baby's good. That's all that matters now."

Relief flooded through Jessica. She'd been carrying the weight of his anger, real or imagined, for weeks now. "We're good, then? You and me?"

"We're good," Vic confirmed, though his voice carried a note of resignation rather than enthusiasm. "Don't worry about all that other stuff."

Jessica hesitated, then placed her hand on his arm. "Do you want to come inside? My dad’s cooking tonight and believe it or not, he’s the best cook in the house."

The invitation hung between them, tempting in its simplicity, its promise of warmth and acceptance. For a moment, Vic considered it—stepping into that house, sitting at that table with Jessica's family, pretending that this was the life he'd chosen rather than the one he'd stumbled into.

But the image of Angela's face, hurt and betrayed, flashed through his mind. The mess he'd made was already complicated enough.

"Nah, not today," he said gently, removing her hand from his arm. "Look, Jess, we gotta focus on being parents right now. That's it. Can't make this any messier than it already is."

Disappointment flickered across Jessica's face, but she nodded in understanding. "Yeah, it’s okay. I get it."

As she gathered her purse and the folder of prenatal information, Vic found himself wondering if he'd ever truly be able to separate his feelings from his responsibilities. Being a father was one thing—something he was determined to do right. But navigating the complicated emotions between himself, Jessica, and the ghost of what he'd had with Angela was something else entirely.

"I'll text you about the next appointment," Jessica said as she opened the car door. "It's in a month."

"I'll be there," Vic promised, and he meant it.

…

The half-eaten plate of pasta sat cold in front of Angela as she pushed the noodles around with her fork. The recipe, which she found on TikTok, had been saved in her phone for weeks, waiting for the right night to try it. With Vic.

Her apartment felt cavernous tonight, too quiet, too empty. The spaces where Vic used to exist—the indent on the couch, the chair he always pulled out at the dining table, the side of the bed where his scent still lingered on the pillowcase—all seemed to mock her with their emptiness.

She set her fork down with a clatter, giving up the pretense of eating. The walls of her apartment had never felt so confining, yet paradoxically so vast. It had been her sanctuary, her place of independence, but now it just felt hollow. The image of Vic with another woman—a lighter-skinned woman at that—made her stomach clench with a toxic mixture of jealousy, anger, and humiliation.

Angela grabbed her phone and collapsed onto the couch, scrolling through her contacts until she found Paige's name. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she hit the FaceTime button.

Paige's face appeared after three rings, her braids piled high on her head, glasses perched on her nose. The familiar sight of her best friend, even through a screen, brought an immediate sense of comfort.

"Hey girl!" Paige's voice was bright, her smile wide. "I was just thinking about you! How's LA treating you?"

Angela forced a smile, pushing down the urge to spill everything about Vic and Jessica. "It's good. Just finished dinner and thought I'd check in."

"You know I'm always here for a random FaceTime," Paige laughed, adjusting her position so she was more comfortable. "How are they treating my girl over there?"

For the next half hour, they chatted about work, about Paige's summer classes, about the latest campus gossip, Ronnie’s new girlfriend. With each minute, Angela felt the weight on her chest lighten just a little. She didn't tell Paige about Vic, about the baby, about the way her heart felt like it had been put through a paper shredder.

"So they want me to stay on part-time through the school year," Angela explained, tucking her feet under her on the couch. "Remote work mostly, but I'd need to fly out for big events."

"That's amazing, Ang!" Paige's face lit up with genuine excitement. "Are you going to take it?"

Angela nodded, a real smile spreading across her face for the first time all evening. "Yeah, I think I am. The money's good and it'll look great on my resume."

"My girl making moves!" Paige raised an imaginary glass in toast. "We need to celebrate when you get back to campus. Speaking of which, when are you coming home?"

Home. The word hit Angela differently tonight. Howard had been her home for the past year, the place where she was beginning to find her voice again . But LA had been calling her back, whispering promises of reconnection with Vic, with her roots. Now, that dream lay in ruins, and the thought of returning to Howard—where a life was still being shaped—suddenly felt like a lifeline.

"Three more weeks," Angela said, the realization both comforting and terrifying. Three more weeks to figure out what she was going to do about Vic, about her feelings, about the future she'd been imagining.

[Caesar]

Angela going back to Howard heartbroken to get heartbroken again when Paige tell her she don't really rock, paper is sad bidniz.

When Vic ass getting popped?

[Soapy]

Angela going back to Howard heartbroken to get heartbroken again when Paige tell her she don't really rock, paper is sad bidniz.

When Vic ass getting popped?

Why do you keep inserting Vic into gang activities when he's an upstanding young man, side chick/side baby aside?

[Soapy]

A Long Red Hot Los Angeles Summer Night - Episode 5
The sound of Keshawn's locker slamming shut echoed through the nearly empty room. Three games in five days had left his body aching, muscles protesting each movement as he packed his gear. Summer League had been a blur—flashes of potential mixed with rookie mistakes, all under the microscopic scrutiny of coaches, scouts, and fans eager to label him either a gem or bust before he'd even played a real NBA minute.

"Good showing out there, Chase," Coach Burrell said, clapping him on the shoulder as he passed. "Get some rest before training camp. The real work starts soon."

Keshawn nodded, offering a tight smile. "Thanks, Coach."

As the door swung shut behind Burrell, Keshawn slumped onto the bench. The quiet of the empty locker room felt like a blessing after days of constant noise—whistles, shouted instructions, squeaking sneakers, and the endless chatter of teammates and media. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of stillness.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, shattering the silence. Fishing it out, he expected to see a text from Coach Bronstein with his flight details or maybe his mom checking in as she usually did after his games. Instead, Kandi's name flashed across the screen.

wyd tonight?

Keshawn stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Their last interaction had left him feeling like an afterthought—invited to a party only to be ignored once he arrived. The memory of standing awkwardly in the corner while Kandi worked the room still stung.

"Not doing that again," he muttered to himself, tossing the phone into his bag.

…

Tommy's sleek BMW cruised down the 405, the afternoon sun glinting off its polished exterior. Besides him, Alexis hadn't said much since they'd left the mall, but Tommy could sense there was something on her mind as her head remained buried on her phone, typing away.

"Can you drop me off at Stefan’s?" she asked suddenly, not looking up from her screen.

Tommy nodded, swallowing the words he really wanted to say. He'd known Alexis since high school, had been there through countless boyfriends, always the reliable friend, always waiting for a moment that never seemed to come.

"You’ll need to text me the address," he replied, keeping his voice casual despite the jealousy churning in his stomach, "I don’t know his new apartment."

"Not that one," she replied, "On Long Beach."

Tommy's brow furrowed. "Long Beach? What the fuck are you doing out there?”

Alexis rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh my God, Tommy. Don't be such a racist. Long Beach isn't just some dangerous ghetto.”

"Come on, Lex," Tommy protested, feeling heat rise to his face. "I'm just saying…it ain’t exactly Malibu."

"Please," Alexis scoffed, her laughter light and dismissive. "Stefan knows everyone there. Nobody's going to mess with me when I'm with him. Besides, he's got protection."

Tommy didn't miss her meaningful glance, and his concern deepened. "Protection? What does that mean?"

"It means I'm safe with him," Alexis said with finality, turning up the music slightly. "Can you just drop me off, please? I don’t feel like driving all the way back home just to come back this way anyway.”

…

Keshawn gripped his steering wheel, second-guessing his decision to respond to Kandi's text after all. Something about her inviting him again, despite ignoring him that first night, had sparked his curiosity enough to overcome his initial reluctance. Besides, another night in his hotel room binging Netflix didn’t seem that much more promising.

The front door opened before he could even knock. There stood Kandi—or rather, a version of her he'd never seen before. Her face was clean of makeup, hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, dressed in baggy gray sweatpants and an oversized Stanford hoodie. The transformation was striking.

"You actually showed up," she said, a genuine smile spreading across her face. "I wasn't sure you would."

Keshawn hesitated at the threshold. "I guess my judgment can be shaky some time."

She stepped aside to let him in. "Can't blame you after last time. Come on in."

The interior was nothing like what he remembered from the other night. Comfortable but not flashy, with warm lighting and minimal decor.

"Hope you're hungry," Kandi said, leading him through the living room. "Trevor is making his famous jerk chicken."

In the kitchen, a middle-aged man in casual clothes nodded at Keshawn while working over several pans. No entourage, no crowd of hangers-on—just the three of them.

"This was not what I was expecting," Keshawn remarked, unable to hide his surprise.

Kandi laughed, the sound more natural than the practiced giggle he'd heard at the party. "Yeah, I figured this was more your speed. You want something to drink? I've got water, juice, wine if you're into that."

"Water's good," he replied, still trying to reconcile this laid-back setting with the chaotic party from before.

As the chef continued cooking, Kandi leaned against the counter, studying Keshawn with curious eyes. "So, I should probably explain the other night."

"So it wasn’t just me," Keshawn said, a hint of edge in his voice.

"It was a test," she admitted, holding his gaze. "And you passed."

Keshawn's brow furrowed. "I didn’t know I was taking a test.”

"I wanted to see what kind of guy you are," Kandi explained, accepting a glass of water from Chef Marcus with a grateful nod. "Put you in a room full of Instagram models and bottles, see if you'd turn into every other athlete I've ever met."

A flicker of annoyance crossed Keshawn's face. "So you invited me somewhere just to ignore me all night?"

"Pretty much," she said with a shrug, not looking apologetic. "But you didn't try to flex, didn't chase clout, didn't even drink. Just stood there looking uncomfortable for two hours, then left without making a scene. That tells me something."

Keshawn wasn't sure whether to be flattered or irritated. "I'm not really into tests. I’m not at UCLA for a reason."

"Nobody is," Kandi replied, her expression softening. "But in my world, you learn to be careful about who you let in. You can call me Candace, by the way. One of the perks of passing this test."

Chef Trevor placed two plates before them, the food artfully arranged. "Jerk chicken with coconut rice and grilled vegetables," he announced. "Enjoy."

As they began to eat, the tension gradually eased. The food was incredible, a welcomed change from the meal prep the Blazers had been feeding him, and Keshawn found himself relaxing despite his initial irritation.

"Pretty good, huh?" Candace looked up with a smile that made Keshawn self-conscious of how fast he was eating.

"This is amazing," he covered his mouth with a napkin, tapping at the corners of his mouth.

"Trev has been cooking for me since my first tour," Candace explained. "He's family at this point."

The chef smiled warmly from where he was cleaning up. "Someone has to make sure this girl eats something besides takeout."

Conversation flowed more naturally as they ate.

"Santa Clara actually recruited me out of high school," Keshawn added upon learning that she was from there. He paused, wondering if he was laying it on too thick or if that could be interpreted as him trying to brag about his athletic exploits, "I never visited though, how is it out there?"

"Depends," she explained, "It was fun growing up but the last few years were rough."

"What happened?" Keshawn asked.

"2008 happened," Candace said with a wry smile. "My mom had her real estate business popping and everything but once the housing market crashed, she lost everything. Went from selling million-dollar properties to barely making rent."

Keshawn nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Yeah, went through something like that."

"From riches to rags to riches again," Candace said, raising her glass in a mock toast. "I don’t know, I don’t want to sound spoiled or anything but I feel like going from having it all to not having it might be worse than never having it."

"I don’t think you sound spoiled," Keshawn shrugged, "You wouldn’t have made it back if you were."

Chef Trevor quietly excused himself, mentioning something about prep for dessert, though both suspected he was giving them privacy.

"How’d you end up in Los Angeles? or Vegas? Not really sure where you call home these days."

"Los Angeles is home, most of the time," she replied, "I always had to come to L.A. for meetings or studio sessions, video shoots, hosting’s so I figured why not."

"When’d you start rapping?"

"Out the womb basically," Candace laughed, "I always loved music, thought I was going to be a singer for a while but then when everything went down with my mom, I don’t know, I just started writing and doing freestyles. I really thought I was going to get us out the trailer park with one!"

"You sort of did," Keshawn shrugged, "This place doesn’t look like a trailer to me."

"It wasn’t that simple," she smiled, "I didn’t 'catch one' like our girl Gayle. No, it took a while. A lot of remixes that no one heard, a lot of songs that people told me they were going to listen to and never did. I started getting more work being in videos than rapping so I thought I was going to do that for a while but then I met Lamont and next thing I knew, I was on Cardi’s album."

"You weren’t kidding," Keshawn nodded, "That’s a lot of work."

"You know what's funny?" Candace said as they moved to the living room with dessert—bread pudding. "Everyone thinks they know me from my songs, my videos, my Instagram. They just think I batted my lashes and got to be where I am. I don’t know, I guess it’s party my fault, it’s part of the brand, never letting people see behind the veil."

"Why the unveiling?" Keshawn asked, "To me?"

Candace considered him for a long moment before answering. "I don’t know, you seem like the kind of guy that looks behind that. Most people…they just see the packaging and that’s what they want anyway."

The honesty in her voice resonated with Keshawn. He'd spent years being valued for his athletic promise, his potential NBA contract. Few people looked beyond those surface attributes to see who he really was.

"I get that," he said softly.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the pretenses and personas they both wore for the world seemed to fall away completely. They were just Keshawn and Candace—two people from similar backgrounds, navigating worlds that constantly tried to define them by their talents rather than their true character.

Chef Trevor discreetly appeared to clear their dessert plates. "I'll be heading out now," he said. "Everything's cleaned up in the kitchen."

"Thanks, Marcus," Candace said warmly. "See you tomorrow?"

"You know it," he confirmed with a nod to Keshawn. "Good meeting you, young man."

After Trevor left, a comfortable silence settled between them. Keshawn glanced at his watch, surprised to see how late it had gotten. "I should probably head out too. Early flight tomorrow."

"Back to LA?" Candace asked.

"Yeah, get ready for the actual season," he replied, standing reluctantly.

Candace walked him to the door, their steps slow, neither seeming eager to end the evening. "I'm heading back in a few days too," she said. "Maybe we could..."

She left the invitation open-ended, and Keshawn found himself nodding. "Yeah, I'd like that."

At the door, there was a moment of uncertainty—a handshake would be too formal after the evening they'd shared, but anything more seemed presumptuous. Candace solved the dilemma by stepping forward and giving him a quick, light hug.

"Thanks for coming," she said as she pulled away.

"No problem," Keshawn replied with a smile. "I liked this time a lot better."

Keshawn smiled to himself as he settled into his car seat, no phone call needed this time. Perhaps some tests were worth taking after all.

[Captain Canada]

Nadia somewhere swinging at air huh