Luc pulled a face and snorted a laugh at the mention of a nice car – because, yeah, it was nice, but it kind of always made him feel like a sellout. Which, he was, but y'know, he didn't like feeling like he was – didn't like the reminder. At least he could hide the eyeroll that he gave himself behind his sunglasses.
“Thanks,” he said as he tossed his gym bag into the back seat so he could fold himself into the driver's side. “They actually charged me extra for an ashtray and a lighter.” He laughed at himself for actually paying it, truthfully, just to have the convenience – even if all that he smoked in his car was weed. “Apparently they don't come factory-issue anymore.”
Behind the wheel, he felt much more comfortable. The darkly tinted windows and leather seats helped, of course. He put the key in the ignition and turned the engine on (briefly thinking of the Eddie Money song “Take Me Home Tonight” - 'let's find a key and turn this engine on' – because that's how Luc's mind worked) – which made him fiddle with his iPod before selecting this song and turning the volume to a level that they could both hear and talk over without too much effort.
A shy smile played across his lips, and he pushed his glasses up on his nose before setting the car into reverse. “I write songs, actually,” he finally answered with a sheepish chuckle. “Like, pop songs. For people like Britney Spears and Ashlee Simpson and Miley Cyrus.” He wrinkled his nose a little bit at having admitted all of that to a nearly complete stranger, but hey – it was true. And it wasn't that he was ashamed of it, he just didn't like the kinds of character judgment that (usually) followed such an admission. Like people expected him to actually be a fan of that kind of music just because he wrote it – and, yeah, he liked a lot of pop music.. but it wasn't who Luc Haust was. Definitely not. Not that he necessarily thought Sean was going to judge him on his whole life right then and there (Sean didn't seem like that kind of person, but hey, Luc had been wrong about people before) - he just liked to preempt any eventuality.
“I've actually been working with Britney a lot lately. Guess that's why I needed to come to class today.. she's kind of a pain in my ass,” he said lightly, because he was kidding.. well, at least somewhat. It wasn't like he was necessarily talking shit about what was, for now, his bread and butter – he just had to have some kind of a sense of humor about the fact that, yeah, he was working with a pretty (proven) crazy bitch. Otherwise he'd probably end up just as batshit as she was. He backed the car out of the lot and pointed it towards the PCH, figuring they could drive up and down the beach until they were done with the joint – which he pulled out of the foldaway ashtray in the front-center console and handed over to Sean. “Here, spark this.” He glanced at the other man through the side of his sunglasses briefly. “How long have you been teaching yoga?” His lips curved into a slightly-cryptic smile. “You're.. well, you're really good at it. I mean, like – you seem like a great instructor to have.” Wow, nice one, Haust. “I'd definitely be willing to come back.”
But, of course, there were many reasons for that. The important ones Sean didn't really need to know about.