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

A sharp object materialized in his gut, prodding, digging in.

This morning he left for five days on the water. When he came back, the movie would be wrapped. Sweat broke out on his skin when he thought of her boarding that bus, but what the hell could he do about it? Ask her to move in? He’d just gotten over the hurdle of admitting his feelings—and not even the extent of them. Not the part about being in love with her. Not yet.

She had a job back in LA. The career she wanted as a music coordinator would almost definitely have to be based there. So what was the plan? Ask her to move to his empty-walled bachelor pad and spend three to five days out of every week without him? Or did they do the long-distance thing?

That second option gave him fucking hives.

His cute, perfect, freckle-faced girlfriend running around LA being cute, perfect, and freckle-faced without him? He’d want to bang his head against the wall nonstop. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; it was the possibility of her finding a better, more local option. A long-distance relationship between them would incite the critics, too, no doubt. They didn’t know he’d been faithful to Hannah. They wouldn’t even believe it if he told them how easy it had been. How he couldn’t fathom wanting anyone else. Like he’d told Hannah yesterday, having their ridicule connected to her? Whether it be the implications that he’d break her heart, use her, or turn out just like his father and cheat?

That he couldn’t live with.

But what other option did he have but long-distance? For now, at least. Until they’d spent at least five seconds as boyfriend and girlfriend, right? Until she was positive that Fox was good for her. What she wanted. In a way, he’d been in a long-distance relationship with Hannah since last summer. Now that feelings had been acknowledged, being separated would be a lot harder, but he would do it. He’d get down to LA as much as possible and lure her to Westport any damn way he could.

And eventually, when they were both ready, there would be no luring necessary.

One of them would simply leave their life behind.

If Hannah was the one to do that, would she regret it, though? What would he need to do to ensure that didn’t happen?

Hannah yawned into his chest and smiled up at him sleepily, sending his pulse sprinting in dizzying circles. And he should have known. He should have known that the second she was awake, looking at him, everything would be all right.

I’ll just talk to her.

Problem solved.

“Morning,” came her muffled greeting against his skin.

“Morning.” He trailed his fingertips up and down her spine, eliciting a purr of appreciation. “How’s your tush?” He cupped the buns in question. “Sore, I bet.”

Her laughter vibrated through them both. “I knew you were going to bring up the spanking thing.” She lightly wormed a finger between his ribs. “I’m never going to ask again.”

“You won’t have to.” He grinned. “I know what you like now, freaky girl.”

“I was caught up in the moment.”

“Good. That’s exactly where I want you.” Fox caught Hannah under the arms and flipped her over, rolling on top of her, fitting their curves together with a groan and staring down at the most incredible sight imaginable. Hannah, naked. Tits decorated in love marks from his mouth. Blushing and giggling in his bed. How the hell was he supposed to leave for five days? Who could expect that of a man? “You’re so damn beautiful, Hannah.”

Her amusement died down. “Happiness does that to a person.”

Talk to her. It always, always works.

She intertwined their fingers on the pillow, like she already knew. Of course she did. This was Hannah. The first and last girl he’d ever love.

“Your time here went so fast,” he said thickly, looking her in the eye.

Her nod was slow. Understanding. “Now we’re under the gun to figure it out.”

The pressure of shouldering the worry alone dissipated like it was never there. Just like that. The truth will set you free. Apparently that wasn’t just a generic phrase uttered by some politician three hundred years ago. “Yes.”

“I know.” She leaned up and kissed his chin. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How, Hannah?”

She wet her lips. “Do you . . . want me to be here when you get back?”

Pressure came spilling back in, caking his organs in cement. He scrutinized her eyes, finding nothing but earnest hope. “Was that . . .” He choked on the words. “Was it even a possibility that you wouldn’t be here? Jesus Christ. Yes, I want you here.” He swallowed a handful of spikes. “You better be here.”

“I will. Okay, I will. I just wasn’t sure if this was . . . if you expected me to know this was a one-time thing. Or casual, maybe. Like we could spend time together whenever I come to visit Piper . . .”

“It’s not casual.” Fuck. His throat had lit itself on fire. “How are you even asking me that?”

She inhaled and exhaled beneath him, seeming to mull something over.

“What’s going on in your head?” he asked, getting right up close, pressing their foreheads together, as if he could extract her thoughts. “Talk to me.”

“Well . . .” Her skin turned clammy against him. “It’s just, you know, Seattle isn’t far, and there are opportunities for me, for what I want to do . . . there. It’s a creative job, not a nine to five. I probably wouldn’t have to commute constantly. Just occasionally. I could think about relocating. To be closer to you.”

The first emotion he experienced was utter relief. Euphoria, even.

They wouldn’t have to do long-distance and he could see her every day.

The second was complete awe that he could make this girl want to uproot herself to be near him. How the hell had he managed to pull that off?

But the panic crept in, little by little, blanketing his awe.

She was talking about moving closer.

Now.

Living with him, really. Because that’s what it would be, wouldn’t it? When someone relocated to be closer to their boyfriend, they didn’t live in separate apartments. Was she sure about him? That sure? Look how many times he’d come close to messing up this entire thing with Hannah already. Pushing her toward another man. Trying to sexualize himself so she’d do the convenient thing and disregard him as a player like everyone else. What hope did he have of giving her a reliable future?

They would laugh at her, too. Behind her back.

They’d think she was out of her goddamn mind, moving all the way north for a man who’d never been serious about a plate of fries, let alone a woman. He’d never even nurtured a houseplant. Would he be able to nurture an up-close-and-personal relationship with a live-in girlfriend? In a way that was worthy of Hannah? He refused to take the helm of the Della Ray. He was a walking innuendo among his friends and family. Now he had the audacity to believe he could be the right one for this girl?

Maybe she needed the long-distance time to be sure. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she dropped her life, her career for him, and then realized she’d acted impulsively.

“Hannah . . .”

“No, I know. I know. That was, like, really jumping the gun.” She sounded winded. So was he. She reached for her phone on his side table, lighting it up. “What time does the boat leave this morning?”

“Seven,” he responded hoarsely.

That was it? The conversation was over?

He’d had fifteen seconds to make a decision that would determine her future?