“Hannah would call this a double standard.”

“She can call it whatever she wants,” he said gruffly. “You stay on land unless it’s a short trip like today. And I’m with you. Please.”

Piper was battling a smile. “Well, since you said please, I guess I’ll turn down all of my fishing boat invitations.”

Even though she was being sarcastic, Brendan grunted, satisfied. “You said something about a big dramatic kiss,” he reminded her, reaching over to unbuckle her seat belt, brushing a knuckle over her nipples, one at a time, as he took his hand back. They puckered under his gaze, her hips shifting on the seat. She cut off his miserable groan by leaning over, tugging his beard until he met her halfway, and kissing him. Lightly at first, then they surged together and sank into a long, wet sampling of lips and tongues, their breaths shuddering out between them.

They broke apart with reluctant sighs. “Mmmm.” She blinked up at him, slid back into her seat, and pushed open the door. “Bye, Captain.”

Brendan watched her disappear into the building and dragged a hand down his face.

If Piper Bellinger was going to kill him, he’d die a happy man.

He started to drive home but found himself turning toward Fox’s place instead. His best friend lived in an apartment near the harbor, a stone’s throw from the water, and where Brendan’s house had an air of stability, Fox’s was as temporary as it got. Cursory paint job, basic furniture, and a huge-ass television. In other words, a single man’s dwelling. Brendan didn’t tend to visit Fox at home very often, since they saw each other for days—often weeks—at a time on the boat. Not to mention, Brendan had his routines, and they didn’t involve going to bars or meeting women or any of the things Fox did with his spare time.

But this whole business of Piper sacrificing everything while he gave very little? It was pushing up under his skin like tree roots. Turning the problem over and over in his mind wasn’t solving it. Maybe he needed to address his worries out loud, just in case he was missing something. An easy solution. Hell, it was worth a shot. Better than going home and stewing about it alone.

Fox opened the door in sweatpants and bare feet, a bottle of beer in his hand. The sounds of a baseball game drifted into the breezeway from behind his skipper. “Cap.” His brow was knitted. “What’s up? Something wrong?”

“No. Move.” He pushed past Fox into the apartment, tipping his head at the beer. “You got another one of those?”

“Got a dozen or so. Help yourself. Fridge.”

Brendan grunted. He took a beer from the fridge and twisted the cap off with his hand, joining Fox in front of the baseball game, putting the men on opposite sides of the couch. He tried to focus on what was happening on the screen, but his problem-solver brain wasn’t having it. Five or so minutes passed before Fox said anything.

“You going to tell me why you’re chewing nails over there?” Fox held up a hand. “I mean, chewing nails is kind of your default, but you don’t usually do it on my couch.”

“You have company coming over or something?”

“Jesus, no.” His friend snorted. “You know I don’t date local.”

“Yeah,” Brendan said. “Speaking of which, you usually head to Seattle after a payday like the one we just had. What are you doing here?”

Fox shrugged, stared at the TV. “Don’t know. Just wasn’t feeling the trip this time.”

Brendan waited for his friend to elaborate. When he didn’t seem inclined to, Brendan guessed there was no point in putting off the reason for his visit anymore. “These women you meet in Seattle. You’ve never been . . . serious about any of them, right?”

“I think you’re missing the point of leaving Westport to meet women.” He saluted with his beer bottle. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just in town for the night. Take it or leave it.” He tipped the drink to his mouth. “They always take it, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” Fox laughed. “Anyway, why are you asking me about—” He cut himself off with an expression of dawning comprehension. “Did you come here for advice on women?”

Brendan scoffed. “That’s a stretch.”

“You did, didn’t you? Son of a bitch.” Fox grinned. “Piper still giving you a problem?”

“Who ever said she was a problem?” Brendan shouted.

“Relax, Cap. I meant . . .” Fox searched the ceiling for the correct wording. “Have you gotten her out of your system?”

As though such a thing was possible? “No.”

“You haven’t slept with her?”

Fuck. He didn’t like talking about this. What happened between him and Piper should be private. “I’m not answering that,” he growled.

Fox looked impressed. “You have, then. So what is the problem?”

Brendan stared. “I think the problem might be that I came to you for advice.”

His friend waved off the insult. “Just ask me what you want to know. I’m actually pretty fucking flattered that you came to me. I know two things: fishing and women. And those two things have a lot of similarities. When you’re fishing, you use bait, right?” He pointed at his smile. “I’ve got your woman bait right here.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Next you’ve got the hook. That’s your opening line.”

A hole opened in the center of Brendan’s stomach. “My opening line to Piper was basically telling her to go home.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty surprised that worked myself.” He rubbed at the line between his brows. “Where was I with my analogy?”

“You were done.”

“No, I wasn’t. Once she’s hooked, you just have to reel her in.” He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his knees. “Sounds like you’ve already done all that, though. Unless . . . Wait, the goal was just sex, right?”

“I didn’t have a fucking goal. Not at the beginning. Or I probably wouldn’t have shouted at her, called her purse ugly, and strongly suggested she go home.” Suddenly sick to his stomach, Brendan slapped down the beer bottle and pushed to his feet. “God, I’m lucky she’s giving me the time of day at all. Now I have the nerve to try and make her stay here for me? Am I insane?”

Fox gave a low whistle. “Okay, things have progressed a lot since the last time we talked.” His friend’s bemusement was alarming. “You want that girl to stay in this town?”

Brendan massaged the pressure in his chest. “Don’t say it like that.”

A beat of silence passed. “I’m out of my depth on this one, Cap. I don’t have any advice on how to actually keep the fish in the boat. I usually just let them swim off again.”

“Fuck sake. Stop with the analogy.”

“It’s a good one and you know it.”

Brendan sat back down, clasped his hands between his knees. “If she went back to LA, I’d have no choice but to let her. My job is here. A crew who depends on me.”

“Not to mention, you’d go crazy there. It’s not you. You . . . are Westport.”