Page 70 of Two-Step
“When in Rome,” I say under my breath and take a bite.
Mmm. Heaven in a wrap!
Eggs, cheese, bacon, veggies. And heat. Spices smolder on my tongue.
I hum in gratitude. “Thank you. This is really good. Where’d you get it?”
I glance over at him and catch him mid-bite. I grin. He chews and swallows.
“This little place on the river. Cafe 20.3.” He steadies the steering wheel with his wrist while he peels back the foil. “They make a boudin breakfast burrito too, but I thought that might be too much for you.”
My eyes go big. “People around here eat boudin for breakfast?!” Then I cast my gaze into the middle distance for dramatic effect. “What kind of magical land have I stumbled upon?”
He laughs. “Cajuns eat boudin every chance they get, but it’s not the breakfast of champions.”
“No?” I tease.
“Not unless you’re going for the By-Pass Triple Crown.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “What’s that?”
He steers with the wrist holding the burrito and counts off on his free hand. “Boudin, Cracklin, and beer.”
I wrinkle my nose. “What’s cracklin’?”
“Pork skins fried in fat.”
“Sounds healthy,” I deadpan.
Beau shrugs. “Depends on who you ask. They have zero carbs.”
“I demand cracklin’ now.”
His laughter fills the cab of the truck. “Eat your burrito. If you’re good, we’ll get some on the way home.”
His laughter and his promise have me smiling.If I’m good.
Trouble is, I don’t want to be good around Beau. I want to take all my rules—about dating, flirting, eating, drinking, and, yes, sex—and throw them out the window.
He brought me breakfast. He didn’t have to, and it’s so nice.
I run my gaze over his chiseled profile. He looks hard. Imposing. Especially when he’s not smiling. Maybe that’s all Sally sees, but I’m beginning to suspect that his grouchy moments and sharp remarks hide something else.
Something that makes me feel warm. Like a hand on the belly. And seen. Like up close. Not what shows up from behind a camera.
Because Beau Landry might be good at scowling, but I also think he’s good at watching. He might even see things no one else does.
It makes me wonder what I might see in him that no one else does.
But I have to be careful.
Those rules, some mine and some Moira’s—okay, mostly Moira’s—are there to keep my career on track and keep me out of trouble. And trouble could mean anything from weight gain, to a bad Twitter post, to an embarrassing headline, to an accidental pregnancy, to a scandal, to a lost sponsorship, or a casting fail.
I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to be careless.
At least, that’s what Moira says. But she’s not wrong. Not about that, anyway. I’ve worked damn hard. And sacrificed a lot.
High school. Real high school, I mean. The kind with prom, parties, dates, friends. And other things most people take for granted. Sleep. Food.
