Page 65 of Two-Step
Which would mean Iris is going to be alone this weekend.
“I don’t really think you could get to any of them in an Uber. And even if you could, you probably wouldn’t have much luck getting back.”
What I don’t say is that she really shouldn’t be hiking anywhere alone. Anything could happen. Louisiana forests are home to feral hogs, black bears, and snakes. Wildlife usually keep their distance, but a lone hiker can still find herself in a bind with a mama bear or a one-hundred-seventy-pound hog.
And animals are one thing. Human predators are another.
“Oh well.” Disappointment clouds her face for just an instant, and then she’s shaking her head. “I’ll just have to save it for another ti—”
“But I could take you.” The offer is in the air between us before my judgement or sanity even has a say.
Her mouth opens and closes. She blinks at me like I’ve just told her I see dead people. What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a French teacher and part-time dance instructor in Lafayette, Louisiana. She’s a movie star. Not to mention she’s known me for all of ten minutes. She doesn’t want to go into the woods withme.
I need to amend my words. “You probably don’t—”
“You’d want to do that?” she asks, disbelief clear in her eyes.
Without warning, I picture her in shorts and hiking boots, grinning up at me with the cypress trees of Chicot State Park surrounding us. No one else around. Just listening to her talk about damn near anything.
Hell, yes, I want to do that.
“It would be fun,” I admit, “if you’re interested.”
My words and my tone are casual. Because this is nothing. Nothing. It’s certainly not a date. She’s a client. And a celebrity. And—just—no.
“Yeah,” she says, beaming. ”I’d love that.” Her tri-colored eyes spark. One look at them, and I know I’ll have to be careful with her in the woods. Sparks like those could start a forest fire.
Chapter Fourteen
IRIS
“I’ll admit,he’s not the jerk I thought he was when we first met him, but I still can’t believe you’re going hiking with him,” Sally says to her reflection in the hallway mirror. She’s touching up her lip gloss while Ramon loads their bags into the car.
I snort. “Well, I can’t believe you’re going to New Orleans withhim,”I toss back. “So we’re even.”
Mica sniffs my hiking boots as I lace them. He’s wagging his tail because he knows. He knows what the boots mean. We’re going to have fun in the woods.
With Beau Landry.
Who’s picking me up any minute. And, no, butterflies are not descending in my stomach in dizzying droves. Not at all. Not even a little.
Sally turns from her reflection, her brows drawn together, a sultry look on her face. “Yeah, but I want to…” she trails off and shrugs pertly,“do thingsin New Orleans—”
“Thank you for not elaborating,” I interject in a rush.
She rolls her eyes at my squeamishness.
“I don’t get it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I see the way he looks at you—“ I want to grab her by the shoulders and interrogate her:How? How does he look at me?But I stifle the urge because that would be ridiculous. Beau doesn’t look at me in any special kind of way.
“But you’re the life of the party wherever you go. He’s…” She trails off, wrinkling her nose.
Thoughtful?
Insightful?
Soulful?
“…grumpy,” Sally says finally.
