Page 12 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

Chris

M y 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 and go 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 is fitted 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.

A mustache. 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, really works 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 his looks. 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 like that night. 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.”

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 to have 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 am so excited to work with Hopper Donnach ,” Pip says conspiratorially. She weirdly whispers his name instead of speaking it. “Like so excited. He was so nice 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’s so 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 mouths Hopper 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.