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

by Tessa Bailey

“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.”

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.

Nothing was doing it for him lately. Nothing but the three little dots popping up in their text thread. And now head wounds. How pathetic was that?

“And just for the record, I would be honored to fake sleep with you. Sordid reputation and all.”

He whispered her name right before she pushed up on her toes, locking their mouths together, right there in the entrance to the living room. She was immediately bowled over by the hunger of his masculine lips, and then he turned her, pressing her back to the inside of the arched doorway, opening his mouth on top of hers and licking into the kiss with a choked sound. With her thoughts muddling and a languid heat rendering her arms limp, Hannah realized she’d made a huge mistake. She was Eve in the Garden of Eden, and she’d just taken a bite from the apple.

But the mere thought of Fox wanting her was like skydiving. A free-falling, leave-her-stomach-in-the-air event.

she never got this feeling. The one that said she was in the right place. That she was home and would be accepted here, no questions asked.

She felt like the sunrise coming up over the water after a bad storm.

She thought that compassion made her a supporting actress instead of a leading one, and didn’t realize that her empathy, the fierce way she cared, made her something bigger. Hannah belonged in a category far more real than the credits of a movie. A category all her own.

if someone so smart and incredible believed he was more … couldn’t it possibly be true?

“I’m jealous as fuck.” He seemed to be having a hard time getting breath into his lungs. “You’re … my Hannah, you know?”

“You’re a surprise, Hannah. How could I hate them?” He cleared his throat hard. “Even familiar … you’re a constant surprise.”

“I had it bad for you. If the convention didn’t make it obvious, I thought for sure the Fleetwood Mac album would do it.” His voice stumbled. “I’ve got it so bad for you, Hannah. Really”—he blew out a breath—“really bad. I tried to keep you out of here.” He knocked his free fist against his chest. “But you won’t go. You’re never going to go. You just won’t.”

“You’re so damn beautiful, Hannah.” Her amusement died down. “Happiness does that to a person.”

“How did I look at her?” He was afraid to find out. “Ah, son. Like a summer day showing up after a hundred years of winter.”

You can’t live life worrying about what people will think. You’ll wake up one day, look at a calendar, and count the days you could have spent being happy.