Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(7)

Yeah. All he needed was a place to sleep and watch baseball, a couple of beers at the end of a hard day, and a willing, lush body in the dark.

Although the need for that last one hadn’t been all that pressing lately.

Hadn’t been pressing at all, really.

Fox popped his jaw and focused. “An intervention won’t be necessary.” He shrugged. “Told you, I’m honored you’d think of me, man. But I’m not interested.” He wedged the beer bottle between his thighs and reached down to stroke the braided leather wrapped around his wrist. “I’m happy to relieve you when you’re belowdecks, but I’m not looking for permanent.”

“Yeah.” Brendan eyed Fox’s barren apartment pointedly. “No kidding.”

That was fair enough. Anyone who walked into the two-bedroom overlooking Grays Harbor would assume Fox was in the process of moving in, when in reality he’d just passed his six-year anniversary in the place.

At thirty-one, he was back in Westport, with no plans to leave. Once upon a time, he’d purposely attended college in Minnesota, but that didn’t turn out so well. Served him right for thinking this place wouldn’t suck him back in. It always did eventually. Leaving the first time had cost him most of the ingenuity he possessed, and now? He channeled what was left into fishing.

And women. Or he used to, anyway.

“Have you considered asking Sanders?” Fox forced himself to stop messing with his bracelet. “He could use the extra cut with the baby on the way.”

“He belongs on deck. Your place is in the wheelhouse—that’s a gut feeling.” Brendan didn’t blink. “The second boat is almost finished. I’ll be forming a new crew, expanding. I want to leave the Della Ray in good hands. Hands I trust.”

“Jesus, you don’t let up,” Fox said on a laugh, pushing to his feet and crossing to the fridge for another beer, even though he’d only drunk half of the first. Just for something to do with his hands. “Part of me is almost enjoying this. Not every day I get to tell the captain no.”

Brendan grunted. “I’m going to wear you down, you stubborn bastard.”

Fox gave him a tight smile over his shoulder. “You won’t. And you’re one to call someone stubborn, dude who wore his wedding ring seven extra years.”

“Well,” Brendan rumbled. “I found a good reason to take it off.”

There he went, looking blissful again.

Fox chuckled, uncapped his second beer with his teeth, and spat the cap into the sink. “Speaking of your reason for ending your self-imposed celibacy, shouldn’t you be home having dinner with her?”

“She’s keeping my spaghetti warm for me.” Brendan shifted in his seat, pinned him with a laser look that was famous among the crew. It translated to Sit down and shut the hell up. “I had another reason for coming over here to talk.”

“Do you need advice on women again? Because you’re way out of my depth now. If you’re here to ask me what your fiancée wants, ask me to recite the periodic table, instead. There’s a better chance of me getting that right.”

“I don’t need advice.” Brendan looked at him hard. Closely. On the hunt for bullshit. “Hannah is coming to town.”

Fox’s throat closed up. He was halfway to sitting down when Brendan said those five words, so he twisted at the last second, staying half turned, stuffing an unnecessary pillow behind his back so he wouldn’t have to look his oldest friend in the eye. And, God, how absolutely pitiful was that? “Oh yeah? What for?”

Brendan sighed. Crossed his arms. “You know she’s still working for that production company. Somehow she convinced them Westport would be a good place to film.”

Fox’s laughter cracked in the sparse living room. “You must be thrilled.”

The captain was the unofficial mayor of Westport. He was notoriously a man of few words, but when he gave his opinion on something, everyone damn well listened. In some towns, football stars were revered. In this place, it was the fishermen—and that went double for the man behind the wheel. “I don’t care what they do as long as they stay out of my hair.”

“People from LA staying out of your hair,” Fox mused, forcing himself to delay the conversation about Hannah. Like some kind of weird, self-inflicted punishment. “How did that work out last time?”

“That’s different. It was Piper.” Well, I’ll be damned. The tips of the man’s ears were red. “Anyway, my parents will be here visiting while this whole filming business is going on. That’s why Hannah can’t use our guest room.”

He feigned annoyance. “So you offered mine.”

It was hard to tell if Brendan was buying his act. “Piper had kind of nixed the idea, but Hannah seemed interested.”

Fox’s thumbnail dug into the beer label and ripped a clean strip down the side. “Really. Hannah wants to stay here?” Why were his palms turning damp? “How long are they going to be filming? How long would she stay?”

“Two weeks or so. Figured she’d have the place to herself half the time, when we’re out on the boat.”

“Right.”

But the other half of the time, they would be there together.

How the hell was Fox supposed to feel about that?