For as loud as some of them get, I think they’re being a bit hypocritical.
“Sure. Hopper’s upgrades mean I can make you scream, and no one will hear you.”
I laugh, hard. “Not sure you meant for that to sound as sister as it does.” I roll my eyes. “Sinister.”
“Baby, all my thoughts for you are sinister,” he growls. “In fact, I think we should go for a record.”
“A record of what?” I ask, wary. “Minutes you won’t let me come? Times you make me come, even when I swear I don’t have another in me?”
“Both.”
That one word drips with promise, and if there’s one thing I know about my man: he keeps his promises.
“Sounds like a plan.”
We say our I love yous and hang up. The engines hum beneath me, steady and familiar.
Thinking on it again, I pull up Hop’s number.
“Maverick! Are you coming into the warehouse today? Bailey wants to show you the sculpt she’s working on,” he says, his accent warm and vibrant as always.
Hopper teaches little kids how to work with clay now, and it is the funniest thing on the planet.
Even better? He’s really good at it.
He’s also shown Boone and me the basics of pottery, and Boone insists that one of these days, he and I are going to recreate a scene from some movie about a ghost.
Not sure what that means, but I’m excited to find out.
As for the kids’ classes, we’ve learned to keep Angela Lansbury home on those days, but Patch the Great Dane doesn’t mind it when the little ones hug him with muddy hands.
“Might stop by on my way home from the airport. I can’t wait to see it, Hop.” I hesitate. “I do have one question though…”
“Shoot.”
“You didn’t kill that bicycle rapist last night, did you?”
Hopper curses, and for half a second, I worry that I steered Boone in the wrong direction.
“Are you telling me,” he asks, his boots loud on the warehouse floor, “someone got to that dickhead before I did?”
My uncle created a lot of trouble with those art kills, and now he’s acting put out? Ha. We finally called Uncle Luca to get him to stop arranging the bodies into artistic poses.
Even after that, making the John the Baptist stories go away was a beast of a project, and in the end, we had to frame some rich jackass from Gina’s list.
Ugh.Thatasshole.
He made his money off forced prostitution and sweat shop labor, and he was the kind of guy who rented out galleries toshowcase his deeply mediocre paintings. His rich friends lapped it up like fine art.
Barf.
Those shitty paintings are worth a fortune now that he’s died so scandalously. I wonder how much they’d be worth if people knew he cried like a little bitch when Dad, Silas, and I showed up at his mansion.
Which reminds me…
As an official Guardian, I kickso much ass. After taking down a linebacker hopped up on meth and bad decisions, Holmes and Honoré asked me to introduce them to Professor Davi. Now he’s kicking their asses too.
Heh.
