Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(26)

That gave him pause. The fact that she’d cast herself in some permanent benchwarmer role did drive him crazy. But no, they were coming from different places entirely. “The difference is, you want to be a leading lady. I don’t want to be the hero of the story. I’m not interested.”

She pressed her lips into a line.

Fox narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you doing that thing with your mouth because you’re trying to trap all the psychological terms you want to throw at me?”

Her expression turned miserable. “Yes.”

He forced a laugh. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Freckles, but there’s nothing here. Not everyone is fertile ground for fixing.”

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “Okay, I won’t try. If you tell me you don’t want to be the captain, I’ll believe you. I’ll support that.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” A few seconds slid by. “After you visualize yourself being good at captaining. Put yourself in the wheelhouse and imagine yourself enjoying it. The crew thinks of you as a good time, but there is a time for fun and a time for responsibility. They see that you recognize the difference.”

“Hannah . . .” Why was he panicking? He didn’t want to visualize himself being taken seriously as Brendan’s replacement. That would only lead to false hope. Didn’t she realize that? Besides, it wasn’t possible. Even if his imagination could conjure something so unlikely, he would never be able to realistically see himself in that leadership position. “I can’t do it,” he said, jerking a shoulder back. “I can’t see it, Hannah, and I don’t want to. All right? I appreciate you trying for me.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay.” A slow, playful smile. “I’m afraid our time together is up. We’ll resume this discussion during next week’s session.”

“I’m sorry there weren’t any breakthroughs.”

She took her time enjoying another bite of chocolate ice cream, his suspicions rising when her mouth took on a cocky shape around the spoon. His bottle of beer remained poised an inch from his lips as he watched Hannah swagger around the counter, neatly placing her spoon in the dishwasher. “Oh, I think I sowed a few seeds.”

And maybe she had.

Because when she looked up into his eyes, he pulled enough strength from her to visualize himself in the wheelhouse, just for the briefest moment. For the very first time since Brendan asked him to consider the job, he let himself grip the imaginary wheel, knowing he wouldn’t have to give it up the second Brendan came back from taking a leak or fixing something in the engine room. He’d have it from the time they set sail, right up until docking again. He imagined hearing his voice over the radio, movement on the deck.

Returning home having done everything right, earning the respect of the crew—that’s where he got stuck. He couldn’t see that for the life of him.

Fox banished the image as quickly as possible, clearing his throat hard. “Good night, Freckles.”

“Good night,” Hannah said warmly, going up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “What kind of music day did you have?”

He let out a breath, happy to be back on familiar ground. “Coming home after four days on the water? Mmm. Something about home.”

“‘Home.’ By Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.”

He barely kept his hand from lifting to brush back her hair. “I don’t know that one,” he managed.

“I’ll text it to you before I go to sleep. It’s perfect.”

Fox nodded. “You?”

She waggled her eyebrows and backed away. “‘Just One Kiss’ by the Cure.”

“Cute.”

Watching her cross the apartment in her short red dress, smiling knowingly at him over her bare shoulder before disappearing into the guest room, Fox started to wonder if living with Hannah could be dangerous in more ways than one.

Put yourself in the wheelhouse and imagine yourself enjoying it. The crew thinks of you as a good time, but there is a time for fun and a time for responsibility. They see that you recognize the difference.

Hannah thought if she dug around a little, she’d find something interesting or worthwhile under his surface? She’d find his long-buried ambition?

Maybe he should show her exactly what he did best.

He could blur every thought in her beautiful head, leaving only the certainty that he lived up to the hype. That he was only good for one thing.

Fox pictured Hannah on the other side of the wall, that red dress slipping down to her ankles. How her skin would flush if he walked through the door.

Just one kiss, he’d say, exhaling against the nape of her neck. Let’s see about that.

Don’t. Don’t fuck this up.

And he would. In a heartbeat. When the truth was . . . for the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t want a girl thinking he was only good for one thing. Hannah was like a leaf blower aimed right at his undisturbed pile of possibilities, and damn, the hope felt kind of good. At the same time, he wanted them stuffed back under the tarp. Protected.

Fox took a step in the direction of her room, replaying that kiss, imagining the bump of the bed and her cries filling the apartment. It was only by the grace of God that he made it into his room without knocking on her door. But hell if he didn’t spend the whole night thinking about it.