Page 28 of Over & Out
Chapter 8
Chris
My first official day on the job starts out surprisingly wonderfully. Because Hopper Donnach is suffering. I was partly dreading the drive over, mostly because of my last interaction with Hopper. It threw me, hard. I think I changed about fifty times, trying to strike a balance between professional andgo to hell,if that was an outfit. I ended up giving up and dressing like myself, or at least myself these days. My colorful clothes are still shoved to the back of my closet, but I pulled out all the accessories. I’m in a gray sweater dress that covers me completely but clings to my form. On top I’ve got a giant chunky black necklace, a thick black stretchy belt, and waterfall earrings that match the necklace and dust my shoulders. I didn’t look in the mirror on the way out, worried I’d change my mind again, so I’m not sure if it all works, but I feel comfortable anyway.
Luckily I haven’t had to interact with him all morning. We’ve set up at the giant kitchen island, which isfitted with several surprisingly comfortable high-backed leather stools. Behind us is the kitchen and Hopper’s bedroom; in front, the expansive living room with plush furniture and a wall of windows overlooking the back deck, outdoor pool, and ocean beyond. And on the other side of that, a half glass wall separates us from the home gym. Behind the glass, Hopper lies on his back on an exercise bench, groaning audibly.
“I just need to grab something from the office downstairs,” Tru says. She’s adamant about needing the exercise and insists I wait here. So I let my eyes wander. But God has truly given me his toughest battles, because while Hopper is clearly in pain thanks to the first half of a grueling gym session, he’s also shirtless, which unfortunately is permissible in the gym, per our rules. Worse, he shaved his beard last night. He has a thick mustache now, which is frankly doing me in. Amustache.When I was a kid, mustaches just reminded me of my dad’s fellow firefighters. And I never understood women’s obsession with Tom Selleck back in the day. Now? I get it. It’s for the role, apparently—Hopper’s playing some kind of lumberjack in this latest movie. But damn, it really,reallyworks on him.
“To be fair,” Tru says, coming in and seeing me staring again, “it’s hour three, and his scene last night had him lifting logs out in the woods, so he’s a little tired.”
I take a sip of the latte Cindi made for me to mask the way my mouth hangs open at the glistening of Hopper’s muscles. I’ve given up trying to tell myself he’s not stunning to look at. The man’s a movie star; he’s paid for hislooks. No point in denying it. I can still hate a gorgeous man.
“And he’s in there for six hours total?” I ask, still hardly believing what I saw in the email this morning. A six-hour gym session every other day for the duration of this movie. His trainer and nutritionist, Aziz—the nicest, gentlest guy in existence, who turns into a dictator in the gym—also has him on this strict regimen of what sounds like pure protein.
“I don’t have to monitor any of that, do I?” I ask.
“No, Aziz is fully in charge of his diet. But it would be nice to keep his weaknesses out of sight.”
“Scotch?” I ask sardonically.
Tru grimaces, remembering that day too. “Actually, no. He lets himself drink some nights, but not every night, and not likethatnight. I’m not sure what was up that night, but he had it off. He was complaining about being in this town again.”
“Why would Redbeard Cove want to make him drink?” I ask, mildly insulted.
Tru clears her throat, and suddenly I remember what Mac said. How he trashed a room down in Swan River a few months ago. He must be embarrassed about that. “Never mind,” I say. “None of my business.”
“It is, actually. But honestly, I don’t know. Hop’s tight-lipped about the things that are hard for him. I wish he would open up more.”
The conversation has turned distinctly personal, and it feels weird talking about him with him right there, flopped out on the bench like a handsome puddle, even though I don’t think he can hear us.
I want to ask her more, but the doorbell chimes.
“I can get it,” I say, hopping off my stool.
She waves me off. I’ve offered to get up for every other thing she’s gotten, but she keeps refusing. She’s surprisingly nimble for a woman who’s eight months pregnant. “Walking’s good for me. I need to take every opportunity.” She presses her hand to her lower back as she heads down the hallway.
When she rounds the corner, I sneak a glance over at Hopper again. When I do, he’s looking right at me. He smirks. “It’s okay, bangles,” he calls. “You can look.”
Heat slaps through me. It’s a mixture of irritation and nerves I’m starting to get used to around him. “Hard not to stare at that runaway slug on your lip,” I call back.
“You don’t like it?” he strokes the mustache I very much like.
I ignore him.
“Is he bothering you?” Tru asks as she comes back in.
“I can handle it,” I say. “Was that the new trainer?” Aziz had a scheduling conflict today and is only doing half of today’s session.
“Yes. She’s just bringing in some equipment,” Tru says. “Chris, listen to me. I know you can hold your own. But if he ever makes you uncomfortable, tell him. He’ll listen. I promise.”
I can’t help scoffing. “Really? He’ll listen?”
“If you tell him he’s making you uncomfortable? Absolutely. He’s a lot of things, and I think he likes pushing your buttons in particular, but he takes things like that seriously.”
I frown. My buttons in particular? What does that mean?
But Tru’s leaning forward. “And Chris, I have to tell you, Hopper’s got the toughest shell. He’s brittle and hardheaded. But underneath? He’s a sap. Almost as big a softie as my husband.”
