Songs were the way she communicated her moods and feelings. How she interpreted everything. He’d known it last summer, and that knowledge of her had only grown over seven months of text messages. Knowing exactly what she meant made him feel . . . special. “Where did the songs go?”
“I don’t know.” Her lips twitched. “Maybe some ice cream would help?”
“We’ll have to stop on the way home. Only the vanilla side is left.”
“The not-chocolate side, you mean?” She surveyed the room. “I guess I should say good-bye. Or . . .” An odd look crossed her face. Something like reluctance, but he couldn’t be sure. “Or I could introduce you to, um . . . There were some interested parties . . .”
It took him a minute to realize what she was getting at. “You mean the girls who called dibs on me when I walked into the room?” He kissed her forehead so she wouldn’t see how much that bothered him. It shouldn’t. He’d embraced the way people saw him. “Hard pass, Freckles. Let’s go get ice cream.”
* * *
The first three times Hannah teetered in her heels, Fox started to worry that she was, in fact, shit-faced. Had she really wanted that kiss? At the very least, if he’d known she’d had a lot to drink, he wouldn’t have let it go on so long.
The clear quality of her speech put most of his fears to rest—all except the one about Hannah breaking her neck in those heels. So on their way out of the convenience store, he stepped in front of her, gesturing impatiently so she wouldn’t suspect that he wanted to carry her. “This is not the kind of ride I usually offer women.” He bent his knees a little to accommodate their height difference. “But the ice cream is going to melt if we have to take a trip to the ER, so hop on.”
He loved that she simply jumped. Not a second’s hesitation to read his intentions or tell him a piggyback ride was crazy. She just shoved the pint of chocolate ice cream under her arm and leapt, looping her free arm loosely around his neck. “You noticed my lack of high-heel game, did you? Know what’s crazy? I actually like them. Piper wouldn’t tell me how much they cost—I highly suspect because she never checked the price tag—but the astronomical price means they’re kind of like walking on cotton balls.” She yawned into his neck. “I’ve been judging her for wearing uncomfortable shoes for the sake of fashion, but they are cozy and they really do elongate the leg, Fox. I think I just need some practice.”
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.