Page 53 of Over & Out

I follow him around the corner toward the garage, my insides feeling like melted butter.

The garage is massive. Way bigger than the one in Redbeard Cove. That’s what I try to focus on as we walk. Instead, as we round the corner, I find mystupid eyes lingering on the way his back muscles move under his shirt. The way his mustache tilts with his little grin as he looks over his shoulder at me. “I know. It’s like an airplane hangar. I have a few cars.”

Even after everything we’ve been through these the past few weeks, I guess I’m still not beyond being swept up by Hopper being Hopper.

I know I have a crush on him. How could I not? He’s him. But I also know he has a hard and fast rule about dating his employees, and I know he’s a movie star and I’m justme.I don’t have mile-long legs or a team of hairstylists or people who scream for my autograph like he does. I’m a small-town girl who’s cute more than pretty. I wear silly clothes and make dick jokes with my friends probably more than I should.

But I also can’t shake the feeling that Hopper feelssomethingfor me. I was sure it was just his charm, that everyone must feel that when they’re in his proximity. But now I’m not so sure. The way I sometimes feel like he’s looking at me longer than other people do. The way he grins when I laugh at his jokes. My face on his phone screen. And now this drive?

Come on.Even if any of that meant anything, we’re completely incompatible.Right, Chris?And I don’t fall for people. I just don’t. Not even…

Hopper stops, and because I haven’t been paying attention, I bump into him a little, losing my balance.

My brain goes kind of haywire as he casually reaches a hand out to steady me.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

I don’t think he feels the same jolt of heat that goes through me when we come into contact, because he drops his hand fast, clearing his throat. “Walk much, bangles?”

“Shut it,” I say weakly. Because I’m all out of witty comebacks at the moment.

Hopper chuckles, but focuses on pressing some buttons next to the door he’s stopped in front of. The door beeps and softly pops open. Thankfully, when Hopper flicks on the lights, I’m sufficiently distracted.

“Holy shit,” I blurt out before I can stop myself. This garage is the size of the gymnasium at the Redbeard Cove elementary school. Only instead of ropes and balls, most of the room is taken up by a sea of cloaked vehicles. “Nice lair,” I say, because I realize belatedly most of it is inside the slope of the hill beside his place.

“It’s a lot, I know,” he says. “Are you judging me?”

Maybe if I didn’t love cars so much, I would. But I understand the world he’s a part of. I’ve also seen his accounting. Only a fraction of his money goes here. “No,” I say honestly.

But as fascinated as I am, my eyes are drawn to a simple silver stand a few feet away. On the lone hook near its top, a silver triangle hangs. As in the instrument.

“You never told me you were a musician,” I joke, walking over and picking up the stick that hangs next to it. When I test it out, the ding rings through the open space.

Hopper sighs. “That was another gift from Tru.”

“Am I supposed to be getting you gifts?”

“No,” he says firmly. “Anyway, this one was just to rub it in.”

“Rub what—” I frown, remembering. “She called you triangle that first day we met. Is this why? Are you really good at it or something?”

“Can anyone be good at the triangle? It only makes one sound.”

I make the sound. Then he sees I’m biting my lip to stop from laughing.

“Oh. I see. You too, huh?”

“I’m just going to keep playing it until you tell me the story.”

Ding.

He sighs, walking around to a smaller draped thing toward the side of this forty-seven or whatever car garage.

Ding.

“All right! You’ve made your point.” He sighs. “There was this rumor about me being a secret member of a”—he grimaces—“a traveling triangle band. It came out just before I came to Redbeard Cove.”

I snort with laughter. “Wait, a wholebandof triangle players?”

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