Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(24)

Okay, she wasn’t drunk, but she’d had enough alcohol to ramble, and he couldn’t stop grinning as they passed beneath a streetlight. “They look nice on you.”

“Thank you.”

What a gigantic understatement. They made her legs look delicate and strong at the same time, flexing her calves. Making him acknowledge how perfectly they would fit into the palm of his hand. Making him want to stroke the contour of them with his thumbs. Fox swallowed, tightening his grip on her bare knees. Don’t go any lower or higher, asshole. “So you got the green light to assist on the musical score. What does that mean?” His throat flexed. “Will you be spending more time with Sergei?”

If she heard the slightly strangled note in his voice, she chose to ignore it. “No. Just Brinley. You know, the leading-lady type?”

Some of the pressure crowding his chest dissipated. “I’m not on board with you calling other women that. As if you’re not in the same category.”

She dropped her chin onto his shoulder. “I felt like I was tonight. Got my big, dramatic movie kiss and everything.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded like it was coming from the bottom of a barrel. Now that his shock from the kiss was wearing off, he could only worry about people in town finding out about it. Did you hear Fox put the moves on the younger sister? It was only a matter of time. “Was there any forward movement on the Sergei front while I was gone?” he forced out.

“Oh . . . no. No yards gained.”

The quiet disappointment in her tone had Fox turning sharply, stomping up the stairs to his apartment, the crowded sensation back in his chest, along with that foreign smack of jealousy that he really didn’t want to get used to. “That’ll teach you to outright dismiss my lip-biting and arm-squeezing advice,” he forced himself to say.

“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.”