Hook, Line, and Sinker (Bellinger Sisters)

Was she reaching?

Hannah dragged her eyes off his perfect profile, watching the windshield wipers move in their rhythmic pattern on the glass, catching the obscuring rain and smoothing out the view, making it clear so they could move ahead. Doing it over and over again until the rain finally stopped.

What if she could do the same with Fox?

Stay steady, unwavering until his view cleared?

Was she strong enough for that?

Forget strong. Trying to lure this man out of bachelorhood was flat-out self-destructive, and it could end with her heart in tatters. Although walking away, going back to Los Angeles, as if Fox wasn’t claiming more and more acreage in her heart, seemed infinitely worse than trying.

Oh boy. A sign for Westport passed on the side of the road, but it might as well have said Trouble Ahead.

Hannah swallowed hard. “So, um”—she clutched the nylon of the seat belt—“are you sure about driving me to Seattle in the morning? I have no idea what to expect when I get to the studio. Could be a lot of waiting.”

“I’m sure, Hannah.” He cut her a sidelong glance. “Now ask me what you really want to ask me.”

Her stomach flopped over at the continual proof that he knew her so well. “Okay.” The pulse at the base of her neck sped up. “You, um . . . we . . . um . . . You know, that was definitely kind of foreplay back there, right? Like, you asked if I’m a virgin and that seems like, yeah, you were checking for a reason. A reason like sex.”

His long fingers stretched on the steering wheel, then gripped it seemingly tighter. “That’s accurate enough. Keep talking.”

“Well. I guess I’m wondering what would happen after. After we did that. If we did that.”

He rolled a shoulder. “Wait for me to get hard again. Hit a different position.”

“Fox.”

“Hannah. I can’t answer what I don’t know,” he said through stiff lips. “What do you want me to say? Do I want to fuck you? Yes. Oh my God, I”—his eyes closed briefly, those fisherman’s hands flexing on the steering wheel—“I 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.”

That took the breath right out of her lungs, leaving her winded. Thank God he kept going, because there was no chance of her speaking with that statement hanging in the air. Your body haunts mine.

“Look”—his chest rose and fell hard—“it’s better if we don’t. You wouldn’t believe how much it kills me to say that. But the fact that you’re already asking me what happens afterward is a good sign it’s a bad idea. Because what happens afterward, Freckles, is I usually call a cab and get the hell out.”

“Why?”

“I guess . . . so I can own the fact that I’m just about sex . . . before they do. All right?” he said in a burst. “I’d rather leave instead of seeing that look on anyone’s face ever again. Almost like . . . Wow, how cute. The pretty boy thought this was more than a quick fuck. Owning who I am is easier than getting hit with the proof that I’ve been used. No one gets to make me feel shitty. And it’s not just the women making me feel like a joke. It’s . . .”

“Keeping talking,” she said, forcing herself to take in the hard confession, to keep treading water for him so he could let it all out. “Who else makes you feel that way?”

It took him a moment to continue, his gaze pinned straight ahead on the road. “When I get a text or a phone call in front of the crew, if I even hint that I might not be interested in whatever empty hookup is being thrown into my lap, they treat me like something is wrong with me. It’s always been like that. The male pressure to live up to this expectation—and I don’t even know when the hell it was set.”

Heat pressed in behind her eyes. This was not okay. None of it was okay. But she wanted, needed, to know the name of every ugly truth swimming around inside him. “It’s wrong every time someone makes assumptions about what you feel or want. You set your own expectations for yourself and there’s nothing . . . less masculine about saying no, if that’s what they’re putting on you. Jesus. Of course there isn’t.”

His throat worked long and hard. So long she wasn’t sure he was going to respond. “If I’d met you in college, Hannah, I could have excused the shit I did before. Chalked it up to wild oats or something—and been your man. Through and through. But now I’ve just been doing this so damn long. I’ve . . . paved over whatever chance I had at a clean slate. I’ve become what people seemed to want me to be. I’ve earned my reputation, and as good as you are, as sweet and fucking wonderful as you are, Hannah, I don’t want to be the one thing you fail at. Or the choice you question.” He cursed under his breath, pushed restless fingers along the back of his neck. “I won’t kiss you again. I shouldn’t have done it tonight. I know better. If we weren’t interrupted . . .”