Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters #2)

“Oh, come on, that wasn’t real, usable advice. What else you got, Peacock?”

What was he supposed to do here? Refuse to give her advice and make his pointless envy obvious? For a split second, he considered giving her terrible suggestions. Like telling her that men love to diagnose strange skin rashes. Or be the sole male attendee at drunk karaoke nights with the girls. Hannah was too smart for that, though. He’d just have to hope she ignored this advice like the last time.

Why was he hoping that again? Wasn’t he supposed to be her friend?

“Huh.” He attempted to swallow the guilt, but only about half of it went down. “Men like to feel useful. It stirs up our precious alpha male pride. Find something heavy and tell him you need it lifted. You will have emphasized your physical differences and thus, the fact that he’s a man and you’re a woman. Men need way less prompting to think of . . .”

“Sex?”

Jesus, it was like he’d eaten something spicy. He couldn’t stop clearing his throat. Or thinking of her with the director. “Right,” he practically growled.

“Note to self,” she said, pretending to write a note in the air, “find boulder. Ask for assistance. Manipulate the male psyche. By Jove, I think I’ve got it.”

Fox doubted Pencil Arms could lift a pebble, let alone a boulder, but he kept that to himself. “You’re a fast learner.”

“Thank you.” She smirked at him over his shoulder. So adorable, he couldn’t help but give her one back. “How was the fishing trip?”

He blew out a breath while retrieving the keys from his pocket, using the moonlight to decipher which was the one for his apartment. “Fine. A little strained.”

Fox probably never would have admitted that out loud if he wasn’t thrown off by his jealousy. Damn, this was not a good look for him.

It wasn’t as if he wanted Hannah to be his girlfriend, instead.

God, no. A girlfriend? Him? He doused the ridiculous flicker of hope before it could grow any larger. It was bad enough he’d allowed that kiss to go so long tonight. No way he’d drag her all the way into the mud with him.

As soon as they cleared the threshold of his apartment, Fox kicked the door closed behind them and Hannah slid off his back. He couldn’t stop himself from observing the way she tugged the skirt of her dress down. It had ridden high, torturously so, on her legs. And, God, the skin on the inside of her thighs looked smooth. Lickable.

“Why was the trip strained?” she asked, following him into the kitchen with her pint of ice cream.

Strained, indeed.

Fox shook his head while taking two spoons out of the drawer. “No reason. Forget I said anything.”

Wide-eyed and flushed, she leaned against his kitchen island. “Is it Brendan’s fault? Because I can’t talk trash about my sister’s fiancé. Unless you really want to.” A beat passed. “Okay, you convinced me. What’s his problem? He can be so mean. And, like, what is with the beanie? Is it glued on?”

A laugh snuck out before he could catch it.

How did she do this? How could she rip him free of the jaws of envy and bring him back to a place of comfort and belonging? The fact that they were in his kitchen, with no one else around, made it a lot easier to relax. It was just them. Just Hannah, now barefoot, working off the top of the ice cream, giving him her undivided attention. He wanted to sink into it, into her. He was . . . selfish when it came to Hannah. Yeah. He wanted his friend all to himself. No directors allowed.

“I guess you could say it was tense because of Brendan,” Fox said slowly, handing Hannah a spoon across the island. “But I’m equally to blame.”

“Are you guys having a fight?”

He shook his head. “Not a fight. Just a difference of opinion.” That was putting it mildly, considering he and his best friend had been like oil and water all week. Brendan continued to broach the uncomfortable subject of his intentions with Hannah, leading to Fox avoiding him, which was not easy to do in the middle of the ocean. They’d stormed off the boat in opposite directions as soon as it reached the dock in Grays. “You know Brendan is adding a second crabbing boat to the company? It’s being built in Alaska. Almost finished at this point.”

Hannah nodded around her first bite. “Piper mentioned it, yes.”

It took him a deep breath to say the next part out loud. He’d told no one. “Last summer, around the time you and Piper showed up, Brendan asked me to take over as captain of the Della Ray. So he could move to the new boat, focus on building a second crew so we can better compete during crab season.”

He waited for the congratulations. Waited for her to gasp, come around the island, and hug him. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have minded the hug.

Instead, she lowered the spoon and watched him solemnly, a wealth of thoughts dancing behind her eyes. “You don’t want to be the captain of the Della Ray?”

“Of course I don’t, Hannah.” He laughed, a buzz saw turning against the back of his neck. “It’s an honor to be asked. That boat—it’s . . . a part of the history of this town. But, Jesus, I’m not interested in that level of responsibility. I don’t want it. And he should know me well enough to realize that. You should know me well enough to realize it, too.”

Hannah blinked. “I do know you well enough, Fox. The first conversation we ever had was about you being content to take orders and walk away whistling with a paycheck.”

Why did he hate the first impression he’d given her when it was perfectly accurate? He was even perpetuating it now. Doubling down. Because it was the truth—he was content like this. Needed to be.

At eighteen, he’d had aspirations of being something other than a fisherman. He’d even formed a start-up with a college friend and fellow business major. Westport and his tomcat status were almost in the rearview when he realized he could never escape it. From thousands of miles away, his past and the expectations people had for him cast a shadow. Spoiled the business and partnership he’d tried to build. His reputation followed him, poisoning everything it touched. So, yeah, there was no sense trying to be something he wasn’t.

Men didn’t want a leader, a captain, they couldn’t respect.

“That’s right.” He turned and took a beer out of the fridge, uncapping it with his teeth. “I’m fine right where I am. Not everyone has to strive for greatness. Sometimes getting by is just as rewarding.”

“Okay.” He faced Hannah again in time to see her nod, seeming like she wanted to stay silent but was unable to do it. “Have you let yourself visualize being captain, though?”

“Visualize it?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never sounded more LA.”

“If LA gets one thing right, Peacock, it’s therapy.”

“I don’t need therapy, Hannah. And I don’t need you to play the supporting actress, all right? That’s not why I told you. So you could talk me through my problems.”

She reared back, losing her grip on the spoon. It clattered onto the island, and she had to slap a hand down on it to stop the tinny noise. “You’re right,” she breathed. “That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’m sorry.”

Fox wished for quicksand to swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to see the dazed acceptance on her face. Had he really put it there? What the hell was wrong with him? “No, I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say. I’m sorry. I’m being . . . defensive.”

Her mouth lifted at the corner, but her heart wasn’t fully in the smile. “Being defensive? You’ve never sounded more LA.”

God, he liked her.