Chapter 12

Culver

"Explain to me how this is an audition," I mutter.

Hannah giggles beside me. Mrs. Ford, who's standing in front of us in the line, spins around, and answers my question. "It's just Doyle being Doyle."

"He likes making things seem more important than they really are," Hannah adds.

"Exactly," Mrs. Ford agrees with a firm nod.

As far as I can tell, the audition process is pretty much what we're doing now—lining up to register our interest—since anyone who wants to take part in the festival is basically guaranteed a spot.

We shuffle forward in the stuffy community hall.

"Sorry about this," Hannah says, waving a flier in front of her face to cool down.

"Don't apologize. This is fine. At least I'm not staring intently at a naked man and counting his chest hairs to make sure I paint the correct number."

Mrs. Ford turns around again with a big smile on her face. "Ah, yes. I heard about your life drawing class last week. Congratulations on getting commended by the teacher, Culver."

"His painting was amazing," Hannah says, placing her hand on my chest. "I'm going to get it framed."

"You are not."

"I've already sent it away."

I stare down at her sparkling blue eyes, and man, nothing tops the joy of seeing her smile.

"Ooh, I'm up," Mrs. Ford says. "I'll leave you smitten kittens to it." She goes up to register at the throne—sorry, I mean desk—where Doyle sits.

Hannah quirks a brow once she leaves. "Smitten kittens?"

"I know, right?"

I smile and try to make it appear I'm brushing it off as yet another instance of look, everyone thinks we're together.

When in fact, Mrs. Ford may have inadvertently stumbled on the truth.

I think I am smitten with Hannah.

It explains why I shot daggers at Slater when he mentioned she was attractive.

Why I endured a two-hour art class where I had to stare at a nearly naked guy—he wore a flowy kind of boxer brief that covered his nether region, thank goodness—because it was on her hot girl summer list.

Why my heart thumps faster in my chest everytime she wears one of my shirts around the house.

Why I'm having the best time I've had in a very long time just hanging out with her and doing our thing.

I can't believe we're halfway through the summer already. Time really does fly when you're having fun.

But I need to remind myself that everything that's happening is because Hannah's in her hot girl summer era, and I'm simply helping out.

This isn't real life.

We're living in a bubble.

A fun, carefree summer bubble that involves kissing and foot rubs and nightly dinners and binge-watching reality TV and checking off items from a list designed to give Hannah the best time she's had.

This summer is all about Hannah.

Not me.

And not us.

Her.

Mrs. Ford walks past us. "I got in," she remarks dryly with an eye roll.

We're up next.

"All he needs is a throne and a crown, and he'd be in heaven," Hannah whispers as we approach the almighty desk of Doyle.

"I was thinking the same thing before."

He's flanked on either side by Ms. Patty, who runs the beauty clinic, and Wade Johnson, who used to be a nice guy until he sold his soul to become basically Doyle's right-hand man.

"Ah, you both came," Doyle remarks, producing two forms for us to fill out.

"Is this really necessary?" I ask, grabbing a pen. "You know our names. You know where we live. Just tell us the time and place to show up and stand still, and we'll be there."

"It is necessary, Culver, and to ensure a smooth performance free from any flinching…"

He eyeballs Hannah.

She eyeballs him right back.

"…there will be a dress rehearsal one week before the performance."

"Are you kidding me?" Hannah scoffs.

"If that doesn't suit you, please don't feel obliged to participate."

"Oh, no. I am so doing it. And I will be at the dress rehearsal."

"We both will," I say, throwing my support behind her to show Doyle I'm Team Hannah all the way.

"As you wish." Doyle gathers the paperwork from us. "I look forward to seeing you both."

Hannah rage-walks all the way back to her place, muttering about what a big stupid jerk Doyle is the entire way. I have to say, I'm impressed she knows so many synonyms for calling someone a big stupid jerk.

"Don't let him get to you." I open the front door and let her in first. The faint hint of coconut lingers in the air as she walks past me. "That's what he wants."

"I know. You're right." She kicks off her shoes, then shakes out her arms. "Okay. Doyle is officially out of my head." She smiles at me. "I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?"

She heads toward the kitchen, so I follow her. "I cooked," she says, pointing to the slow cooker on the counter.

"Oh, wow. That's so…unexpected. But nice." I make my way to the counter, and as I get closer, I can tell something's not quite right. I bite back a grin when I notice what it is. "Hey, Hannah. Come here for a sec."

She joins me. "What's up?"

"When did you put this on?"

"After you left this morning. I knew you had a physical therapy session and then you'd be hanging out with your nonna until the audition, so I thought it'd be a cool surprise. Why?"

"Oh. It is a cool surprise."

"Why are you talking slow and looking at me funny?"

"Because this is kinda funny."

"What is?"

"It's a very cool surprise." I touch the stainless steel sides of the slow cooker, and they're stone cold.

Hannah looks puzzled. "Wait, shouldn't it be hot?"

I point to the electrical outlet. "Generally, you need to plug the slow cooker in for it to, you know, start cooking."

She slaps the side of her face. "Oh, no. I can't believe I forgot to do that."

"Didn't you think it was slightly weird that it wasn't cooking at all?"

"No. I just thought it was cooking…slowly." She lets out a laugh and shakes her head. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. We can order in."

"On the bright side, I probably did us both a favor."

"How so?"

"I can't be sure, but all day at work it's been nagging away in the back of my mind that I may have used sugar instead of salt."

I laugh. "Sounds like you did do us a favor."

Half an hour later, I'm unwrapping our order of Mexican food and laying it out on the coffee table.

We've changed clothes—she's wearing my black Luke Combs T-shirt which I think has become her favorite—foot rubs are done, she's showed me the latest photos Katie and Chester have sent through, and we're about to launch into an episode of Below Deck Down Under—because yes, the show is so popular there are spin-offs.

Several of them, in fact.

"Dig in," I say.

"Mmm. This smells delicious," Hannah says, joining me on the floor since it's easier to eat this way and pressing play.

In the Coming up section of the intro, we see that in this episode, the charter guests are going to insist that the male crew members serve them dinner wearing only Speedos.

That earns an appreciative holler from Hannah.

I hit pause on the remote control. "What are you whooping at?"

"Oh, come on," she says around a mouthful of taco. "Are you telling me you don't want to see Captain Jason in a speedo?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. I've spent enough time staring at a male body to last me a while."

Hannah has been crushing on Captain Jason all season, and frankly, I don't get it. Sure, the guy is an experienced captain, a good leader, and in okay shape for a dude in his forties, but come on.

"I didn't think he could get any hotter with that Australian accent…until this. It's going to be a great episode."

I watch the episode chewing the ever-loving life out of my food and sneaking glances at Hannah whenever I can, doing my best to keep Caveman Culver at bay.

She likes a guy on a TV show, man. Cool it.

I honestly don't know what gets into me sometimes.

No, not sometimes.

Times that involve Hannah.

When I'm kissing her.

When I see her in one of my shirts.

When someone's making a comment about her appearance.

When she's making appreciative noises about a Speedo-clad Australian.

Something happens to me, something I've never felt before, and I'm overcome by this mix of irrational possessiveness and wishing she was really mine.

It knocks me off balance, and it's starting to scare me because it's not going away. If anything, it's only getting stronger the more time we spend together.

Which isn't good.

I don't know how our current closeness will impact our friendship after the summer ends, but what I am sure of is that I'm not going to let any of what we're doing now change things for the worse.

I'm the luckiest guy in the world to have her as my best friend, and I cannot—I will not—let anything jeopardize that.

I need to stay in control and make sure the feelings I'm developing for Hannah don't escalate further and ruin our friendship.

Captain Jason and his crew fill the screen with their stupid toned, bronzed bodies, wearing nothing but stupid happy smiles and the tiniest stupidest piece of nylon covering their junk.

At least I'm handling this maturely.

Hannah has stopped eating and is open-mouthed staring at the TV.

I grit my teeth and remind my inner caveman not to act like a jealous husband when I have no right to be. Hannah is free to ogle any man she likes stupid enough to wear a Speedo.

I just…I just…I just wish she were…ogling me?

Whoa. Is that what I'm feeling?

Not wanting to delve into the implications of that, I take out my frustrations by eating way too much food.

The serving dinner in Speedos scene continues for what feels like an eternity—do we really need that many close-ups, producers? I think we get the point—and yep, I think I have my answer.

I do want Hannah looking at me that way.

I'm polishing off my third chicken quesadilla when an idea strikes me.

I know how to have Hannah look at me the same way she's been staring at Captain Jason.

This weekend, I'm whisking her away to a place where we can mark off Swimming in the ocean from her hot girl summer list. She's afraid of the ocean, so I did some research and found a spot that will hopefully allay her fears.

As soon as we say goodnight and I'm in Chester's room, I'm placing an order on Amazon.

Captain Jason isn't the only one who can rock a Speedo, thank you very much.