Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters, #2)(8)

More importantly—and this was a question he asked himself way too often—how the hell was he supposed to feel about Hannah? He’d never, not once, had a girl for a friend. Last summer, Hannah and her sister had crash-landed in Westport, two rich girls from LA who’d been stripped of their allowances by Daddy. Fox had only been trying to help Brendan nurse his crush on Piper by distracting the younger sibling with a walk to the record store.

Then they’d gone to the vinyl convention together. Spent the last six months texting each other about everything under the sun . . . and she’d had the nerve to crawl up under his skin in a way that made absolutely no sense to him.

Sex was a non-possibility between them.

That had been established early on, for a host of reasons.

Number one being that he didn’t fish local waters.

If he needed the company of a woman—and he should really get back to doing that kind of thing sometime—he went to Seattle. No chance of accidentally sleeping with someone’s sister or wife or cousin’s cousin, and he could wash his hands of the whole encounter afterward. Return to Westport with no chance of bumping into a hookup. Easy. No muss, no fuss.

The second reason he couldn’t sleep with Hannah was the very man sitting in his living room. Fox was read the riot act last summer. It was seared into his memory. Sleeping with Piper’s little sister would spell disaster, because if she got attached, Fox would undoubtedly hurt her feelings. And that would make his captain and best friend’s life hell, because the Bellinger sisters stuck together.

But Fox had a third, and most important, reason for keeping his hands off Hannah. She was his friend. She was a woman who genuinely liked him for something other than his dick. And it made him feel terrifyingly good to be around her. To talk to her.

They had fun. Made each other laugh.

The way she translated song lyrics out loud made him think. In the six months that she’d been gone, he’d noticed the sunrise more. He’d started paying attention to strangers, their actions. Listening to music. Even his job seemed to have more gravity to it. Hannah did that somehow. Made him look around and consider.

Brendan was staring at him, brows drawn. Uncomfortable.

“Of course Hannah can stay here. But are you sure it’s a good idea?” His stomach drew in on itself. “People might notice she’s staying here. With me.”

The captain hedged. “I think certain speculation might be par for the course. As long as what folks are speculating on isn’t really happening.”

“Say it plainly.” Fox made an impatient sound, growing increasingly aware of what was coming. “Tell me not to fuck her.”

The captain rubbed the center of his forehead. “Look, I hate having to say this to you more than once. Feels like overkill and . . . Jesus, your sex life is your own business, but it could be different with her staying here. Close quarters and all that.”

Fox refused to make the conversation easy for his friend. And he suspected Brendan had known that coming here. They were men who regularly took responsibility for each other’s lives. They didn’t lecture each other. It was overkill. Maybe that was why the conversation hit below the belt this time, when before it felt more like a minor slap.

When the silence extended without Fox saying anything, Brendan sighed. “She’s my future sister-in-law. She’s not temporary in any way, okay? Hands off.” He made a decisive gesture. “That’s the last time I’ll bring it up.”

“Are you sure? I can pencil you in for tomorrow—”

“Don’t be a jackass.” They both visibly shook off their irritation, adjusting shirt collars and pretending to be interested in the television. “We probably didn’t even need to have this conversation, considering she’s still got a crush on this director guy. Sergei.” Brendan tapped his knee. “Am I supposed to do something about that situation, too? Go threaten to break his jaw if he takes advantage of Hannah?”

“No. Christ, it’s not the guy’s fault she likes him.” Fox said the words in a burst to relieve the pressing weight on his chest. He’d known about this crush of Hannah’s since summer and she’d still been pining for him in February, so it had probably been stupid of him to hope the infatuation had run its course. It wasn’t his favorite subject to discuss. On account of any mention of the director making him want to kick a hole through his drywall. “You’re going to be busy with your parents while Hannah is here. I’ll keep an eye on it, if you want. This thing with the director.”

Why on God’s green earth did he offer to do that?

Not a damn clue.

But he’d be lying if Brendan’s immediate gratitude didn’t ease the sting of their prior conversation. Fox might be a manwhore, but he could be trusted to protect someone’s back. He’d made a career out of it. “Yeah?”

Fox jerked a shoulder, took a sip of his beer. “Sure. If I think something is developing there, I’ll . . .” Sabotage came to mind. “Make sure she’s safe.” He didn’t even want to explore why those words spread like warm honey on his agitated nerve endings. Protecting Hannah. What a responsibility that would be. “Not that she isn’t capable of that herself,” he added quickly.

“Right, sure,” Brendan said. Also quickly. “Even so . . .”