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.

she said, digging back into the ice cream. Chocolate side only, he noted for next time.

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.

He wanted to sink into it, into her. He was … selfish when it came to Hannah. Yeah. He wanted his friend all to himself.

Hannah laugh so hard she could barely stand up. There was no helping it. She felt like the sunrise coming up over the water after a bad storm.

Worse, she wanted to reach him. But he couldn’t let that happen. And he knew exactly how to prevent her from looking too deeply.

“You’re enough when you’re not touching me,” she whispered, not even sure she said it out loud until Fox’s expression went from lusting to dumbstruck, his chest starting to heave. “You’re enough on your own.”

It wasn’t totally clear, but suddenly she didn’t feel so good about calling him Peacock—and in that moment, Hannah vowed she never would again.

Hannah belonged in a category far more real than the credits of a movie. A category all her own.

It was really bothering her. He could see that. And thus, it was bothering him.

Jesus, he fucking adored her, wanted to give her anything she wanted. So badly that it burned.

and when Fox walked out of his bedroom in dark jeans and a slate-colored button-down, she knew. He was going on a date. Hannah’s stomach plummeted to the floor.

“Youth is wasted on the young.” She prodded the table with a bony finger. “If I was fifty years younger, I’d be labeling the heck out of anything that walked upright.”

Sleeping together would mean potentially hurting her feelings when he couldn’t give her any more than sex. And it would be a cold day in hell before he asked this girl to be friends with benefits. If another man suggested that to her, he would deck the asshole. How could he do the same?

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

“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.”

“I meant what I said. Take some time and think. Because next time you tell me good-bye, I’ll believe you.”

“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.”