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.

Now that he was seeing his five digits exclusively, he’d sprung for something with a little pizzazz. Sue him.

“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.”

want you underneath me so bad that I can’t lie in bed without already feeling you there. I’ve never even had you, and your body haunts mine.”

“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.”

“Fox, listen to me. I don’t care how many different beds you’ve been in. I know you belong in mine. And I belong in yours, and that’s what matters. You’re taking something that happened in college out on us. You’re taking the stupidity and shortsightedness of others out on us. The hurt they caused you . . . it’s valid. It’s meaningful. But you can’t take the bad lessons you learned and apply them to every good thing that comes your way. Because there’s nothing bad about what we have. It’s really, really good.” Her voice grew choppy. “You’re wonderful, and I love you. Okay, you stupid idiot? So when you’ve done some thinking and pulled your head out of your stubborn ass, come and find me. You’re worth the wait.”