Page 69 of Two-Step
A jaded laugh leaves me. “I’m from Hollywood.”
Theyou’re-crazylook is gone, but the frown is back. “Right.” He looks down, and I watch his throat move as he swallows.It’s just swallowing,I try telling myself. But something about it makes my lungs empty.
The man can really swallow.
“Right,” he says again. Then he looks up at me. “You don’t know me yet, but for the record, I don’t do things because people expect me to.”
I’m listening, but I don’t know what part of the sentence to focus on more: theI don’t do things because people expect me topart, or theyou don’t know me yetpart.Yetis a word with untapped potential.
It’s my turn to swallow. “Okay.”
“So if I offer to take you hiking, and I’m here to take you hiking—” The left side of his mouth tugs up, and his eyes glint. “It’s because I really want to take you hiking.”
“I’ll just get my pack.”
Five minutes later, we’re backing onto Cherry Street in Beau’s truck, with Mica secured in the backseat. Yes, my dog has his own seat belt attachment that clips to his harness. That does not make him bourgie. It makes me careful, okay?
Mica is excited. I am cautiously optimistic. And Beau?
Beau is quiet.
Yeah, he’s one quiet dude.
And even though I like my down time—porch swings and bubble baths and walks through the forest—I cannot handle road trips in total silence. Not even short ones.
“So, how far is Chicot?” I hope I’m pronouncing the name of the state park correctly. I can spell it correctly because Ramon made me text him the nameandBeau’s phone numberandmy Share My Location just in case.
If my PA/bodyguard/nutritionist/personal trainer is really worried about Beau slitting my throat in the woods, then he shouldn’t be going to New Orleans with my best friend. But I digress.
“About an hour’s drive,” he says, then he reaches down to the footwell in front of me and pulls up a paper bag. “Have you had breakfast?”
I eye him like he’s grown horns. And buck teeth. “When I could sleep all the way until seven?” I roll my eyes. “No, but I packed a protein bar.”
He drops the bag in my lap. It’s warm. “There’s two breakfast burritos in there. Would you unwrap them for us?”
For us?
“You got me a breakfast burrito?”
He shrugs. “I was hungry. Figured you would be too.”
I blink, speechless.
Beau takes his eyes off the road, finding mine. “Are you?”
“Am I what?”
His lips curl like I’ve made a joke. “Hungry.”
“I’m always hungry.” The bald admission lands like a belly flop.
“Then get busy unwrapping.”
I don’t hesitate. I reach in and grab the first, tight bundle, peel back the foil, and hand it to him.
“Merci,”he mutters.
I grin and grab the second one. I unwrap and find a steaming burrito cocooned in a flour tortilla. Under normal circumstances, I’d just eat a bit of the tortilla and hollow out the middle with a fork, since I don’t need all those carbs, but there’s no fork handy.
