Simply put, she wanted to be with him. Around him.
He’d bought a record player and hidden it.
She wasn’t buying his excuse that he’d saved it for a rainy day. A surprise to pull out of the hat after a bad day on set. No, that was total baloney—and she was pretty sure both of them knew it. This man buying anything permanent for his bare-bones apartment had significance. And Hannah could admit to being a little scared to find out more. To peel back more layers and discover if her rapidly growing feelings for this man were returned. Because what then?
Apart from the obvious obstacle—they didn’t live in the same state—a relationship between them would never work. Would it?
Fox claimed not to want a girlfriend or any commitments.
Hannah was the total opposite. When she decided to commit herself to someone or something, she went in one thousand percent. Loyalty to the people she cared about hummed in her blood. Loyalty made her Hannah.
She’d pretended the record player was cool. No big deal. A fun discovery. But her apparently self-destructive heart wanted to pounce all over the deeper meaning. Ignoring that desire burned, but she forced herself to focus on the here and now. Where Fox clearly needed a friend to distract him, to ground him, and that’s who she’d be. Refusing to allow things between them to get physical had unlocked what felt like . . . trust between them. And it felt rare and precious, a lot like meeting his mother.
Hannah traced Fox’s profile with her eyes, the strong planes of his face backlit by the rain-blurred driver’s-side window. A line moved in his jaw, that finger still tapping away on the steering wheel. There was no denying she wanted to reach over, turn his head, and kiss him, finally let the fire burn out of control between them, but . . . just this—being a true friend—was more important.
“This is my favorite sound,” she said, unhooking her seat belt and getting more comfortable in the passenger seat. “It doesn’t rain very often in LA. When it does, I go driving just to hear the drops land on the roof of the car.”
“And what kind of music do you play?”
Hannah smiled, enjoying the fact that he knew her so well. “The Doors, of course. ‘Riders on the Storm.’” She sat forward to fiddle with his satellite radio, searching for the classic rock station. “It really lends itself to the whole main-character moment.”
“The main-character moment?”
“Yeah. You know, when you’ve got the perfect mood going, soundtrack to match. And you’re on a rainy road, feeling dramatic. You’re the star of your own movie. You’re Rocky training for the fight. Or Baby learning how to merengue in Dirty Dancing. Or you’re just crying over a lost love.” She turned slightly in the seat. “Everyone does it!”
Fox’s expression was a mixture of amused and skeptical. “I don’t do it. I’m damn sure Brendan doesn’t, either.”
“You’re never on the boat, hauling crab pots, and feel like you’re being watched by an audience?”
“Never.”
“You’re a filthy liar.”
He tipped back his head and laughed. Quieted for a second. “When I was a kid, I loved the movie Jaws. Watched it hundreds of times.” He shrugged a big shoulder. “Sometimes when our crew is in the bunks talking, I think of that drinking scene with Dreyfuss, Shaw, and Scheider.”
Hannah smiled. “The part where they sing?”
“Yeah.” He sent her a sideways squint. “I’m a total Scheider.”
“Yeah, no, I have to disagree. You’re definitely the shark.”
His bark of laughter made Hannah turn more fully in the seat, leaning her cheek against the leather. Through the window, she could see the line of seniors eagerly moving inside, but Fox didn’t seem in a rush to leave the car just yet, his tension still obvious in the lines of his body.
“What is your mom like?”
The subject change didn’t seem to surprise him at all, and he reached for the leather bracelet resting in his lap, twisting it in a slow circle. “Loud. Loves an inappropriate joke. She’s kind of a creature of habit. Always has her pack of cigarettes, her coffee, a story ready to go.”
“Why are you nervous to see her?”
As if realizing he’d been transparent, his gaze zipped to her, then away, his Adam’s apple lifting and falling slowly. “When she looks at me, she obviously sees my father. Right before she smiles, there’s a little . . . I don’t know, it’s like a flinch.”
A sharp-tipped spear traveled down her esophagus. “And you still come to see her. That’s pretty brave.”
He shrugged. “I should be used to it by now. One of these times I will be.”
“No.” Her voice was almost drowned out by the rain. “One of these times, she’ll realize you’re nothing like him and she’ll stop flinching. That’s more likely.”