mutters something under his breath. I roll my eyes.
He stands there for a minute, looking wronged and bitter, and then his head dips. “You wouldn’t give me a fiver to leave, would ya.”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
He looks down, sees the protein bar in his fist, and holds it up. “What about this? You hungry? I’ll give it to ya for a dollar.”
I almost laugh, but it’s really too sad to laugh. “Get outta here, Flip.”
He makes for his bike, and I head to my truck. Nonc is going to wonder what happened to us. Not to mention Iris’s entourage. But she’s probably already texted them. I picture her on the phone in the back of that Uber, bitching about me, no doubt.
I start my truck with that image, searching for my own irritation, but I can’t find it. In its place is a surprising relief. Relief that she’s in the back of an Uber. Relief that I didn’t leave her when she told me to.
Chapter Seven
IRIS
I press myself against the back seat of the Uber with a shudder. All I can do is pray that Beau Landry doesn’t say anything about what just happened to Ramon. And Moira can never hear about it.
It’s Ramon’s job to keep me safe, to get me from place to place. He’d be upset if he knew. But if Moira found out that not only did he leave me to ride with a stranger but that a vagrant accosted me while I waited for an Uber, she’d freak the hell out. She’d insist I fire him.
I never would, but I don’t want that battle. Not now. Not ever.
Moira already disapproves of how close Ramon and I are. How he’s my friend—true and trusted—not just an employee. She says being friends with people who work for you is a fast track to getting screwed.
I wonder how that applies to being related to people who work for you.
I close my eyes and heave a sigh of relief. Thank God Beau Landry stuck around until my ride showed. I don’t think that guy would have hurt me—not really, but he might not have been above snatching my purse for whatever cash it held. And then I wouldn’t have been able to keep it from Moira because I’d have to replace my ID, my credit cards, my SAG card, and everything else. She’d demand an explanation.
I trade this upsetting thought for another one. When I get to the hospital, Beau Landry will be there. And if he didn’t like me before, he probably hates me now. I really don’t want to face him again. If what Mr. Hebert said is true—that Beau would be my substitute dance teacher—I don’t know what I’ll do.
Please, God, let Mr. Hebert be just fine.
Maybe it’s not a broken elbow. Maybe it’s just a bruise or a sprain, and in a day or two, he’ll be fine. And we’ll be able to pick up right where we left off.
Which was still on the very basics of Cajun dancing. Because I’m a total klutz. I have the coordination of a newborn giraffe. For the three seasons of Hexed, I was able to keep my ungainly ways from holding me back. Yeah, everyone knew I was accident prone and made jokes about how all they had to do to find the trip hazards on set was to let me loose for five minutes. But that was no big deal. I don’t have a problem laughing at myself.
And while fight choreography was my very least favorite activity, it didn’t happen often. Mostly, I could get away with jump cuts and rely on my stunt double. Plus, with a fight scene, looking tough is more important than looking graceful. Even so, I’m lucky that Raven Blackwell isn’t usually called upon to fight. Most of the time, she just has to run and jump and fly on a broomstick, which really just involves me leaning forward awkwardly on a prop. Frankly, it’s easier than the running and jumping.
But nothing is as bad as dancing. Yet Mr. Hebert was really helping me. I was at least more relaxed when he taught me. I can’t see being relaxed with Beau Landry. No way.
In the thirty minutes I’ve known him, he’s been judgy, rude, and impatient—everything I hate in a teacher.
This is going to be a disaster.
I shut my eyes against the despair. But instead of imagining Beau’s scowl, I see his back. And it’s not my imagination. It’s a memory.