She straightens up, her face sobering. “Okay, I want to be clear about this. I’m not asking your permission. Neither is Ramon,” she says, very businesslike. “But I am going to ask that you stop interfering. We’re big boys and girls and we can totally take care of ourselves.”
I press my lips together because this is a big ask. They’re mybest friends.
Sally cocks her head to the side and gives me a meaningful glare. “Big boys and girls who want to take each other’s clothes off and—”
I shoot out of my chair “Alright! Fine! I won’t interfere. I don’t even want to know.”
She throws her head back and laughs at my squeamishness. I ignore her and pick up our empty bottles. Mica scrambles up and flanks me as all of us head inside. I lock the door behind us and switch off the porch lights.
“You’ll be okay by yourself for the weekend?” Sally asks, real concern in her voice.
I wave a dismissive hand.“Pfft.I’ll be fine.” I have no idea what I’ll do, but I’ll figure it out. “Besides, I have Mica.”
My faithful dog looks up at me, and I stroke his lovely head. “Right, boy?” I ask as we turn into the living room.
Then I stop cold.
Ramon is standing in the middle of the room, eyes on Sally. She freezes next to me.
One corner of his mouth lifts in a carnivorous smile. “I want you too.”
For a second, she just stands there, and I’m sure she’s about to melt into a mortified puddle, but then my best friend shocks me once again and launches herself at him, squealing.
Ramon catches her, and her legs lock around his waist like they’re in a movie, and before I know it, I’m watching my best friends kiss each other.
“Aaaaah!” I scream. Mica barks. And then I’m tearing from the room, Mica at my heels. “Save it for New Orleans!”
I slam my bedroom door on the sound of their laughter, reassuring myself that I’m not jealous of what they have.
Not jealous at all.
* * *
On Friday,there’s a knock on my trailer door during our abbreviated lunch break, and my heart sinks. Sally and Ramon just left to run home and walk Mica, so I know it’s not them. I look down at my barely touched cantaloupe and cottage cheese with real longing. We were on set at five a.m. for a daybreak scene featuring Raven Blackwell and a vampire vanquished by the dawn light.
So far, I’ve only had time for bulletproof coffee today. I’m. Starved.
The knocking becomes pounding. “Open up,” Moira shouts.
Hell, yes, I keep my trailer door locked. For exactly this reason. Who needs Moira barging in while I’m changing? Or using the bathroom?
Or eating?
“Coming,” I call before shoveling a heaping spoonful of cottage cheese in my mouth. I force it down just as I unlock the door.
Moira steps inside, spots the lunch on my tiny table, and waves her hand at it. “You haven’t had more than two servings of fruit today, have you?”
I shake my head. “I haven’t even had one.”
She gives me a narrow-eyed glare. “Iris, what do you call that?” She points at the cantaloupe.
“A serving I haven’t eaten yet,” I say, unable to stifle the snark, but even as I say the words, I think about the strawberries and grapes I ate last night at dance class—courtesy of Beau Landry. Moira would have flipped over the grapes. Too much sugar.
Maybe Ishouldskip the melon today.
She shakes her head like this conversation is beneath her. “I didn’t come to talk about fruit.” She crosses the trailer and collapses on the couch like she’s exhausted.
“I think you’re missing an opportunity,” she announces.
