FOX (11:32 PM): Today was a Hozier vibe for me.
HANNAH (11:33 PM): My day was so very Amy Winehouse.
There was nothing friendlier than sharing what kind of music defined their day. It didn’t matter how much she looked forward to those nightly texts. Staying with Fox imposed no risk whatsoever. It was possible to be just friends with a man who exuded sex—and she would have no problem proving it.
Satisfied with her logic, Hannah got on the phone and started organizing.
Chapter Two
Fox settled back into his couch cushions and tipped a beer to his lips, taking a long sip to disguise the urge to laugh at the serious expression of the man sitting across from him. “What is this, Cap? An intervention?”
It wasn’t that he’d never seen Brendan looking disgruntled before. God knows he had. Fox just hadn’t seen the Della Ray’s captain anything but blissful for the last six months since meeting his fiancée, Piper. It was almost enough to make a man want to reevaluate his position on relationships.
Yeah. Right.
“No, it’s not an intervention,” Brendan said, adjusting the beanie on his head. Then taking it off altogether and resting it on his knee. “But if you keep putting off the conversation about taking over as captain, I might have to stage one.”
This marked the eighth time Brendan had asked him to step up and lead the crew. At first, he’d been nothing short of baffled. Had he given the impression he could be responsible for the lives of five men? If so, it must have been an accident. He was content to take orders, do his job well, and skedaddle with his cut of the haul, whether his earnings came from crabs in the fall or fishing the rest of the year.
Thriving under pressure was in a king crab fisherman’s blood. He’d stood beside Brendan on the Della Ray and stared death in the eye. More than once. But battling nature wasn’t the same as taking charge of a crew. Making decisions. Owning up to the mistakes he would inevitably make. That was a different kind of pressure entirely—and he wasn’t sure he was built for that. More specifically, he wasn’t sure the crew believed he was built to lead them. Speaking from a lot of experience, a fishing vessel’s team needed to have total trust in their captain. Any hesitation could cost a man his life. Those assholes barely took him seriously as a human being, let alone as the one giving orders.
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.”