Page 29 of Over & Out
She smiles, clearly thinking of her husband, who I just learned is Adrian’s brother. They really are like a big, happy family here. It’s a goofy kind of smile uncharacteristic of Tru, and I can’t help the little sting of envy knowing it’s because she has a loving partner waiting for her at home. I’ve never been any good at long-term relationships—and it’s almost always been me who’s cut things off when things start to look too serious—but it doesn’t mean a girl doesn’t sometimes think about that kind of romantic fantasy. Falling in love. A wedding. A baby. It’s funny; a year ago, if you’d asked me if I wanted any of those things, I’d have laughed in your face. But now? I don’t know if it was getting knocked off my bike or some kind of hormonal clock that ticked to some kind of sudden death setting when I turned thirty, but I get the appeal. It’s still a hard no, but I get it.
I look over at Hopper, wondering, idly, if a movie star ever has those kinds of thoughts. Surely not. I’ve seen pictures of some of the most stunning women in the world on his arm. He could probably sneeze in the direction of any number of them and they’d call it foreplay. He looks over his shoulder and I whip my face back around. The last thing I need is for him to think I’m staring. Again.
When I look back at Tru, I’m worried she’s going tohave read my thoughts all over my face. But she’s looking at Hopper too, only her expression is like a mother looking at an incorrigible child.
“Well,” I say. “Should we start looking at these?—”
“Hey there!” A chirpy voice interrupts my attempt at getting us back on track. A girl so pretty and bubbly—petite and blonde, with a surprisingly ample bosom—has just come skipping around the corner from the foyer in very well-fitting workout gear. Her long ponytail swings over her pink-strapped duffel bag as she thrusts a hand out at me.
She smiles sweetly, looking genuinely excited and happy to be here. I can’t help smiling back.
“I’m Pip!”
“Chris,” I say. Pip’s energy is infectious. Everything about her is bouncy, right down to her name. She probably came down here in a bubble instead of a car. But I’m surprised at the streak of jealousy I feel rip through me. It’s unusual for me, not to mention totally misplaced here. But I refuse to make any kind of judgment toward another woman.
“I amsoexcited to work withHopper Donnach,” Pip says conspiratorially. She weirdly whispers his name instead of speaking it. “Likesoexcited. He wassonice when we met last week.”
Okay. I will judge her for that. She appears to be able to see and hear well enough, and she met him? And thinks he’sso nice? Then again, maybe he was so nice to her because she’s so sweet and bubbly with him. Unlike me, who can’t help but lob insults with my happy smiles.
“You can just call him Hopper,” Tru says as she sits back down.
“Good luck!” I say as she flounces over to him. She’s very adorable.
I expect Hopper to give her a once-over or focus on those fantastic boobs. At the very least I’m sure he’s going to flash her his Duke grin. But as he shakes her hand, he looks over at me. My stomach flips as he pins me with his intense blue eyes.
Then he says something to Pip I don’t catch, his mouth a straight line, and heads for the weights again.
Pip doesn’t seem to notice any of this. When his back is turned, she looks back at us and mouthsHopper Fucking Donnach!Then mimes freaking out.
I laugh.
Tru sighs wearily, rubbing her belly. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s try our best to ignore that nonsense and go over these lists I put together for you…”
I pay attention. I soak up everything Tru’s telling me. But I also see the way Hopper closes his eyes when Pip leans over him to reposition his weights, her breasts only a foot from his face. He politely asks her to back up as he does crunches. And when she bends over to get something out of her bag, the man actually yawns.
But when he’s finished, he looks at me. And this time? He doesn’t look away until I do.
Chapter 9
Chris
That evening after work, I head to the Bean Scene, my favorite coffee shop in Redbeard Cove. I settle myself at a rustic wooden table across from the bar, next to the wall covered with framed photos and newspaper articles about the town and its most famous residents.
Dolly, one of the owners, comes by a few minutes later with a steaming bowl of mulligatawny soup.
“God, I needed this!” I say, taking a greedy spoonful the second it’s in front of me.
“You okay, honey?” Dolly asks. She’s close to my age, with stylish pin-curled bottle-blond hair. She wears little gingham dresses and nurses’ sneakers and hums when she works. I love her style, and honestly, we’d probably be best friends if she wasn’t a homebody of almost religious proportions. Dolly lives an hour out of town in the mountains, and when she’s not at the coffee shop, she’s tending to her chickens and goats and endless projects around her cabin.
It’s impossible to be anything but honest with Dolly. She may have the body of a thirty-two-year-old woman, but she’s got the soul of a wise grandma. Or a country music singer from the southern USA.
“I started a new job today,” I say between bites.
“You forget to pack a lunch?”
“Forgot to eat it.”
While Tru took her lunch, I kept reading up on the projects Hopper has in his queue, and I kind of forgot about mine. “It’s fine. My boss is just…ornery.” That’s not quite right, but she gets the picture.
