Page 25 of Over & Out

“So that’s it?” he asks, clearly thinking the same thing. His hands go to his hips.

“No,” I snap as I force my eyes not to follow. “That’s not it. We’re going to put some ground rules in place.”

Hopper’s hands drop to his sides. But his eyebrow goes up.

At that, to my absolute panic, the spot between my legs clenches. Itsurgeswith something warm and desperate. Because that’s a Duke expression. I look up to the sky. I can’t look at that face anymore, or risk looking anywhere else on him. All I see is the Duke. All I feel are those lonely nights feeling sorry for myself over the past few weeks, watching the Duke and his Daffodil in my bedroom, reciting every word he says. And in the steamy bits? My hand drifting down…

My insides flutter like a whole flock of birds just took off in there. The stark reminder that I have fantasized—and more—about my potential boss—isnotwhat I need.

“Well?” Hopper demands. “You going to share with the class?”

I grit my teeth.

When I look back at him, I swear he’s taken a step closer. Close enough I can see specks of gray in that sky blue of his irises.

Oh God.My pulse quickens, heat spreading even hotter down low. How does he do this? Just a look, and I completely lose my freaking mind?

You want me to share? Really? Okay, when you made your Daffodil come on screen, I came too! More than once, picturing those very hands—that very mouth—all over me!

I want to back up, but the car is there, so I lift my chin instead, hardly able to breathe. Wishing I never spottedthat slice of his vulnerability earlier. Hating everything that draws me to him, from that to that fucking brow lift.

“Ground rules,” I croak. The words are to remind myself. To come back to myself.

Chris. Come on.

I force myself to remember how Hopper had a whole entourage come into his bedroom for a meeting because he was too lazy and uncaring about my time to respond to any of Tru’s meeting time requests. How he wasn’t even going to leave his doorstop until I kept walking away.

That helps. I straighten up, returned from the spell. I’m going to do this job for Tru, just like I said. I’m going to take a bunch of his money to do it, then I’ll be gone. But until then, I’m not putting up with his entitled Hollywood bullshit. So yeah, we’re going to set ground rules.

I step forward, forcing him to pull his head back as he steps back. I hold up a finger. “One. You listen to me first. Not the other way around.”

I expect pushback, but he says, “Done.”

Bolstered, I keep going with a second finger. “Two, we’re going to have a dick jar.”

“A what now?” His expression tells me he’s seriously wondering if this is a sex thing.

“Every time you act like a dick, you’re going to write something nice on a note and stick it in a jar.”

He looks relieved it’s not a sex thing.

Why does that make me just the tiniest hair disappointed? Probably because I’m just cute, where he has his pick of stunning.

My stomach twists at the old jab of low confidence. I’m better than this now. I’m in a goodplace.

But Hopper’s moved on from the thought I lingered on. He’s frowning. “Wait, I have to write?”

“Shoot, do you know how to do that?” I ask sweetly.

Hopper levels a glare at me. “I mean,whatdo I have to write?”

“It doesn’t matter. Use your creative skills. You’re just going to write the nice things down, so that in the future, when you get that little tickle telling you to be a dick again, you’re going to go through the jar and read what you wrote.”

Hopper opens his mouth to argue, but I don’t let him.

“It’s nonnegotiable,” I say. “But it’ll be the honor system,” I concede. “I’m not going to do a bunch of emotional labor reminding you to do it. If I ask you to show it to me, you will, though. Capisce?”

Hopper’s lips quirk. “Capisce, Grandpa.”

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