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

Hannah was almost to her room when she stopped and jogged back to the turntable, pulling a Ray LaMontagne album out carefully and settling the needle on the first track, her lips curling happily at the first crackle. “For atmosphere,” she explained, eyes twinkling.

Then she fluttered back to her room, leaving Fox staring after her with his heart clogging his throat.

Phew. That had been a close one.





Chapter Sixteen



Fox wasn’t joking.

This bingo crowd came to win.

When they pulled into the church parking lot, there was already a line extending around the corner, and the (mostly) senior citizen players looked none too happy about being kept outside in a steady drizzle.

Fox turned off the engine and leaned back, tapping a finger in quick succession on the bottom of the steering wheel. Anxious. That’s how he’d been on the second half of the ride, and although she didn’t know why, she started to wonder if the jumpiness stemmed from seeing his mother.

Maybe she should be home searching for backup bands if the Unreliables didn’t come through, but she didn’t want to be anywhere else. The invitation to meet Fox’s mother felt almost sacred. Like a glimpse behind the curtain. And she’d been unable to do anything but say yes.

Simply put, she wanted to be with him. Around him.

He’d bought a record player and hidden it.

She wasn’t buying his excuse that he’d saved it for a rainy day. A surprise to pull out of the hat after a bad day on set. No, that was total baloney—and she was pretty sure both of them knew it. This man buying anything permanent for his bare-bones apartment had significance. And Hannah could admit to being a little scared to find out more. To peel back more layers and discover if her rapidly growing feelings for this man were returned. Because what then?

Apart from the obvious obstacle—they didn’t live in the same state—a relationship between them would never work. Would it?

Fox claimed not to want a girlfriend or any commitments.

Hannah was the total opposite. When she decided to commit herself to someone or something, she went in one thousand percent. Loyalty to the people she cared about hummed in her blood. Loyalty made her Hannah.

She’d pretended the record player was cool. No big deal. A fun discovery. But her apparently self-destructive heart wanted to pounce all over the deeper meaning. Ignoring that desire burned, but she forced herself to focus on the here and now. Where Fox clearly needed a friend to distract him, to ground him, and that’s who she’d be. Refusing to allow things between them to get physical had unlocked what felt like . . . trust between them. And it felt rare and precious, a lot like meeting his mother.

Hannah traced Fox’s profile with her eyes, the strong planes of his face backlit by the rain-blurred driver’s-side window. A line moved in his jaw, that finger still tapping away on the steering wheel. There was no denying she wanted to reach over, turn his head, and kiss him, finally let the fire burn out of control between them, but . . . just this—being a true friend—was more important.

“This is my favorite sound,” she said, unhooking her seat belt and getting more comfortable in the passenger seat. “It doesn’t rain very often in LA. When it does, I go driving just to hear the drops land on the roof of the car.”

“And what kind of music do you play?”

Hannah smiled, enjoying the fact that he knew her so well. “The Doors, of course. ‘Riders on the Storm.’” She sat forward to fiddle with his satellite radio, searching for the classic rock station. “It really lends itself to the whole main-character moment.”

“The main-character moment?”

“Yeah. You know, when you’ve got the perfect mood going, soundtrack to match. And you’re on a rainy road, feeling dramatic. You’re the star of your own movie. You’re Rocky training for the fight. Or Baby learning how to merengue in Dirty Dancing. Or you’re just crying over a lost love.” She turned slightly in the seat. “Everyone does it!”

Fox’s expression was a mixture of amused and skeptical. “I don’t do it. I’m damn sure Brendan doesn’t, either.”

“You’re never on the boat, hauling crab pots, and feel like you’re being watched by an audience?”

“Never.”

“You’re a filthy liar.”

He tipped back his head and laughed. Quieted for a second. “When I was a kid, I loved the movie Jaws. Watched it hundreds of times.” He shrugged a big shoulder. “Sometimes when our crew is in the bunks talking, I think of that drinking scene with Dreyfuss, Shaw, and Scheider.”

Hannah smiled. “The part where they sing?”

“Yeah.” He sent her a sideways squint. “I’m a total Scheider.”

“Yeah, no, I have to disagree. You’re definitely the shark.”

His bark of laughter made Hannah turn more fully in the seat, leaning her cheek against the leather. Through the window, she could see the line of seniors eagerly moving inside, but Fox didn’t seem in a rush to leave the car just yet, his tension still obvious in the lines of his body.

“What is your mom like?”

The subject change didn’t seem to surprise him at all, and he reached for the leather bracelet resting in his lap, twisting it in a slow circle. “Loud. Loves an inappropriate joke. She’s kind of a creature of habit. Always has her pack of cigarettes, her coffee, a story ready to go.”

“Why are you nervous to see her?”

As if realizing he’d been transparent, his gaze zipped to her, then away, his Adam’s apple lifting and falling slowly. “When she looks at me, she obviously sees my father. Right before she smiles, there’s a little . . . I don’t know, it’s like a flinch.”

A sharp-tipped spear traveled down her esophagus. “And you still come to see her. That’s pretty brave.”

He shrugged. “I should be used to it by now. One of these times I will be.”

“No.” Her voice was almost drowned out by the rain. “One of these times, she’ll realize you’re nothing like him and she’ll stop flinching. That’s more likely.”

It was obvious that he didn’t agree. In a clear effort to change the subject, he plowed his fingers through his dark-blond hair and shifted slightly to face her. “I didn’t even ask you how filming went today.”

Hannah blew out a breath, responsibility crashing down on her like a pile of bricks. “Oh, it was . . . interesting, I guess?”

His brow knit. “How?”

“Well.” She dragged her bottom lip through her teeth, telling herself not to say the next part. It was selfish, wanting to see Fox’s reaction. Secretly hoping it would give her some hint as to how he felt about her. What would she even do with that information? “Sergei hinted at wanting to go out. When we get back to LA.”

An eye twitch was her only hint as to what was taking place in his head. “Oh yeah?” He cleared his throat hard, staring out through the windshield. “Great. That’s . . . great, Hannah.”

I turned him down.

I told him we were serious.

She wanted to make those confessions so badly, her stomach ached, but she could already see his incredulous expression. I’m not in the relationship race and I never will be. Fox might have been hiding a wealth of music and deeper meanings in a locked cabinet, but on the surface? Nothing about his confirmed bachelorhood status had changed in the space of a week, and if she pushed for too much too soon—or hinted at her deepening feelings—he could balk. And God, that would hurt.

“Um. But that’s secondary to what else happened.” She mentally regrouped, hemming in her disappointment. “It’s kind of a long story, but bottom line? I have been tasked with recording a demo of Henry’s sea shanties that could potentially replace the current movie score. And if that transpires, Brinley is threatening to quit, and the crew is taking bets on whether or not that day will come. Or if I can actually pull it off.”