Aight, listen—

What. The. Fuck.

Why I gotta sit here and watch the girl I got a thing for get hugged up by fucking Drake?

Man, this whole tour situation got me twisted. I had the so-called pleasure of rollin’ with Drake on his run, and it ain’t just me. It’s me, Rocky, and you. And tell me why this shit don’t feel right.

You a girl, obviously.

Ain’t even on no sexist shit, just sayin’—it’s kinda wild that Drake, Drake, takin’ a 20-year-old white girl, a brand new producer, a songwriter, on tour with me and Rocky. That’s weird as hell. Like… why? And why he all on you like that? Hugging you like y’all got some secret handshake I ain’t know ‘bout.

And nah, this ain’t just ‘cause I’m damn near in love with you. It’s ‘cause lowkey, I don’t even fuck with Drake like that. But let’s be real—this tour? This a major look for me. So I’m playin’ my part, keepin’ it business.

I clear my throat, sit back on the couch in the big lounge, tryin’ to keep my mouth shut, my eyes forward. But I glance over at Rocky—see that deep-ass frown on his face.

Yeah. Me too.