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

“Sergei,” Brinley called, twisting her earring. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, totally fine,” Hannah answered, beelining for the luggage compartment and attempting to open it. Everyone watched as she jerked on the handle, laughed, yanked more forcefully. Laughed again, then slammed her hip into it. No luck.

Before she could try a third time, Fox reached past her and opened it with a flick of his tan wrist. “You’re having a shit day, aren’t you?” he said for her ears alone.

She exhaled. “Yeah.”

He made a humming sound, tilted his head sympathetically. “Tell me which bag is yours and I’ll bring you back to my place.” Gently, he tugged on a strand of her hair. “Make it all better.”

It was totally possible she’d hit her head and ended up in an erotic sex dream with Fox Thornton. It wouldn’t be the first time—not that she would admit to that in a court of law. Or even to her sister. There was simply no way to combat the subtle transmissions he gave off that screamed, I’m good at sex. Like, really, really good. She was powerless against it. Thing was, that went for every other woman he came into contact with, too. And she had no interest in being one of thousands. That’s why they were friends. Hadn’t that been established? Why was he hitting on her?

“How . . . ? What do you mean by that? That you’ll make my day better. How are you going to do that?”

“I was thinking ice cream.” He gave her a smile that could only belong to an irreverent rascal—and, Lord, she’d forgotten about the dimples. Dimples, for crying out loud. “Why? What were you thinking?”

Hannah had no idea what her reply was going to be. She started to stammer something, but the view of Sergei and Brinley strolling toward the harbor together made the words catch in her throat. He didn’t glance back once. Obviously she’d imagined the new spark of interest she’d seen in the director’s eyes. He was just being a good boss by making sure her head injury wasn’t serious.

Tearing her attention off the pair, she found Fox watching her closely.

After falling and being escorted off the bus by Sergei, she must have been in a state of distraction. Now that it was just the two of them—although Angelenos were beginning to file off the bus—a bubble of gratitude and fondness rose up in her middle and burst. She’d missed this place. It held some of her most treasured memories. And Fox was a part of them. His text messages over the last seven months had allowed her to hold on to a piece of Westport without intruding on her sister’s bliss. She appreciated him for that, so she didn’t second-guess her decision to hug him. With a laugh, she simply walked into his arms and inhaled his ocean scent, smiling when he laughed as well, rubbing the crown of her head with his knuckles.

“Hey, Freckles.”

She rubbed her cheek on the gray cotton of his long-sleeved shirt, stepped back, and shoved him playfully. “Hey, Peacock.”

No one was hitting on anyone. Or pulling alpha moves.

Friends. That’s what this relationship was.

She wasn’t going to mess that up by objectifying him. There was more to Fox than a chiseled face, thick arms, and an air of danger. Just like there was a lot more to her than being a coffee holder and note taker.

Fox seemed to notice the glumness eclipse her joy, because he picked up the only black bag in the pile—correctly assuming it was hers—and threw his opposite arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward the apartment building where he lived, across from the docks. “You let me fix your noggin, I’ll throw in a cookie with that ice cream.”

She leaned into him and sighed. “Deal.”





Chapter Four



You’re off to a fine start, idiot.

After his intervention with Brendan, he’d had a few weeks to sit on the fact that Hannah was coming to stay with him. A lot of that time had been spent out on the water, the ultimate head clearer. It was going to be no problem. A girl would be sleeping in his guest room. He’d be in the other room. With no expectation of sex. Great.

Causal sex was easier than this.

Before Hannah, Fox had relied on his personality a grand total of once in his life when it came to a woman. His one and only serious relationship hadn’t gone over well, mostly because it had only been serious to him. His college girlfriend’s perspective had been entirely different. Yeah, Fox had learned the hard way that he couldn’t escape the assumptions people made about him—that he was temporary entertainment. Growing up, he’d ached to escape this town and the role his face—and to be fair, his actions—had carved out for him. God, he’d tried. But those expectations followed him everywhere.

So he’d stopped trying.

If you’re laughing with them, they can’t laugh at you, right?

Looking down at the crown of Hannah’s head, Fox swallowed hard. They were walking past Blow the Man Down, and he could practically hear every stool in the place swiveling to watch Fox escort Hannah toward his apartment. They would be making jokes. Chuckling into their beers. Speculating. And, shit, how could he even blame them? Most of the time, Fox was the one making jokes about himself.

How was Seattle? they would ask him, eager to be entertained by his exploits. Distracted from their fishing stories for a moment.

Filthy place, he’d say, winking at them. Filthy.

Now he had the nerve to put his arm around Hannah? Distractingly pretty, endlessly interesting, not-after-his-dick Hannah. They were the Big Bad Wolf and Little Red Riding Hood crossing the street in front of the docks, her no-nonsense bag dangling from his free hand. And when they stopped in front of his building so he could unlock the door, Fox was painfully aware of Hannah glancing back from where they’d come, hoping to catch a glimpse of her director.

He’d never been jealous over a girl in his life. Except for this one. When he’d caught sight of Sergei bundling Hannah down the stairs of the bus, his head ducked toward her in concern, that ugly green had splashed across his vision like a rogue wave across the deck, reminding him of the first time he’d heard the director’s name. His first impulse had been to break the guy’s nose—the opposite of what he should be doing. If Hannah was his friend, why would he want to mess up her budding romance?

Maybe he was jealous in a friendly way?

A total possibility.

People got jealous over their friends. Right? It stood to reason that Fox’s first female friend would be the one to inspire the feeling. He did covet this relationship, even though it scared him. If he was a scale, hope would sit on one side, fear on the other. Hope that he could be more than a hookup to her. Fear that he’d fail at it and be exposed.

Again.

“Thank you for letting me crash,” Hannah said, smiling up at him. “I hope you didn’t take down all the Baywatch posters on my account.”

“I hid them in my closet with my Farrah Fawcett centerfold.” That got a laugh out of her, but Fox could see she was still distracted by something. It took him the entire walk up the stairs to convince himself he wouldn’t make it worse by bringing it up. “So . . .” he said, opening his apartment door, tipping his head to indicate she should enter. The first girl he’d ever brought to his place. No big deal at all. “You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

She squinted an eye. “Did you miss the whole head-injury thing?”

“Definitely not.” If he didn’t get antiseptic on the cut soon, he was going to sweat through his shirt. “But that’s not what’s bugging you.”

Hannah walked over his threshold, hesitated like she was going to come clean, then stopped. “I was promised ice cream and a cookie.”