Page 23 of Over & Out

“You know,” Hopper says, as if he’s about to ponder something extremely important and fascinating. “You talk like my grandpa.”

Now I’m close to grinding my teeth together. But I resist. I can’t afford dental work. “Who?” I ask coolly. “Lucifer Senior…Senior?”

Hopper’s brows drop. “Good one.”

“Move!” I say, mad I flubbed that one. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He’s not laughing anymore. His eyes have shifted downward, eyebrows furrowed.

I’m so surprised, I look down. My hands are shaking.

But before I can jerk them away, Hopper’s hands riseup. With the care of someone handling a spooked animal, he extracts the keys from my trembling hand. That briefest touch of his much-bigger fingers across my palm has my breath catching. He doesn’t give me shit about my old car not having a fob. He doesn’t say anything at all. He just inserts the key into the door and moves aside to open it for me, before holding the keys out to me.

I grab them, stuffing them into my blazer pocket, embarrassed and more than a little flushed with the sudden gentleness he just showed me. “It’s not nerves,” I say. “I’m not scared of you.”

“Good.” He stares at me, eyebrows still bunched as if he’s actually concerned. He’s probably used to women fainting at the mere sight of him. Through the lining of my blazer, I press my hand to my stomach. Even through the layers of fabric, I can feel the texture under there. The knots and bumps. The reminder that nothing—nothing—can hurt me more than the pain I’ve already endured.

“Are you okay?” he asks with surprising tenderness.

“Perfect!” I say. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to leave.”

Hopper examines me a moment longer.

I’m about to get in, to leave this asshole behind and chalk all of this up to a bizarre and hilarious story I’ll tell one day. But I pause. Because Hopper Donnach hasn’t moved. And this defiant, insatiably curious part of me can’t be contained.

I meet his eyes. “What exactly were you going to say to me?”

Hopper clears his throat. “I didn’t really have a plan.”

I don’t know why I feel let down by this. Like I’m not actually worth fighting for. But why would I be? I’m a complete stranger to him. A potential fangirl. Okay, probably pretty clearly not that.

But then his lips curl up on one side, and I’m furious at myself for watching it like a movie.

“Well,” he says, “I guess that’s not really true. I planned on begging you to stay.”

This conversation is so surreal I can’t help but let out a little laugh. “Right. Hopper Donnach was going to beg me—a random woman who chewed his face off at a diner—to work for him.”

Hopper studies me a moment. Then he says, “You think I wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

“Beg.”

For a moment, my breath stops, my pulse fluttering. Even though he’s not as close to me as he was a moment ago, he feels somehow closer. Heat rushes through me, centering lower than I’d like. But I can’t stop the wild truth from echoing through me. The Duke just said that to me.Me.My heart beats so hard I swear I can hear it.

Even though I should really,reallyget in the car, the words slip out before I can stop them. “Would you?”

“You think I’m too proud?” Hopper asks, his voice that lower, raspier version again.

“Too full of yourself is more like it.” I think the words sound weak.

But Hopper Donnach drops to his knees.

For a moment I don’t really believe what I’m seeing. I think he tripped, maybe.

“Hey!” I say. “What the hell are you doing?”

But his hands move up, and for a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s going to wrap them around my thighs. The flutter the possibility sends between my legs almost makes my knees give out. But he keeps going until his hands are steepled under that perfect jawline.

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