2.75⭐️
3🌶️
Okay, was this a good book? Honestly, no. Was it enjoyable? Eh, not exactly—but also… kind of? Let me explain. Sometimes you pick up a book knowing it’s going to be pure chaos wrapped in seaweed and coated in slippery, spicy nonsense. That’s this book. It’s like ordering gas station sushi: you know it’s a bad idea, but there’s a certain thrill in going through with it anyway. And, to be fair, Hook, Line, Tentacle delivers exactly what it promises: a monster romance with tentacles, vibes, and very little plot-based logic.
That said, I have questions. So many questions. Like: Why did our FMC (Fishy Main Chick?) move to this seaside town in the first place? Was she just out for a moody stroll one day and thought, “You know what’s missing in my life? Cephalopod peen.” And what’s this magical “tether” between her and Cal? A mate bond? An emotional support kink? WiFi? I need clarity.
Speaking of Cal… where, exactly, are those tentacles coming from? He has normal legs. She’s unbuttoning jeans. Meanwhile, the tentacles are just free-roaming like they have their own Airbnb. I went into this thinking he’d be built like Ursula, but no! Legs. Human legs. And tentacles... maybe sprouting from his lats? Shoulder blades? Honestly, I would’ve paid extra for a labeled stick figure diagram. I just needed one page that said: “Tentacle placement: here.”
And then there’s Cal’s backstory. Or lack thereof. The man got drunk 120+ years ago and woke up as a moist eldritch thirst trap. That’s it. No cursed artifact, no ancient sea god deal gone wrong—just vibes and bad decisions. Even a vague explanation would’ve helped.
Now let’s talk epilogue. Yes, the spice was fun. I was here for the schmeksy time. But I was not ready for Cal’s post-plot glow-down. Long hair that needs a tie? My body physically recoiled. Full-on ick activated. And he gained a lot of weight—and look, I want to be clear: I am not judging the weight. In real life, this stuff is normal, natural, and absolutely fine. Bodies change. Life happens. I don’t bat an eye at it outside of fiction. But when I’m reading tentacle romance, I’m not here for realism. I want jacked, chiseled, fantasy-grade men. Muscles on muscles. Abs that look like they were carved by ancient gods. A dong that needs its own zip code. You get the idea. So when Cal shows up in the epilogue with a soft belly and hair long enough to need a tie, my immersion took a hit. Especially the hair—that gave me a full-body shudder. I do not like my tentacle men looking like they’re one ukulele away from starting a sea shanty band. Give me buzzed, brooding, battle-scarred. Not beachy boho with a man bun.
Also, side note, her reaction after they had a fight? Straight-up tried to yeet herself into the afterlife. That escalated so fast, and it felt like the emotional equivalent of a toddler flipping the Monopoly board when they land on Boardwalk. I get being upset, but whew, girl.
In conclusion, is it good? No. Is it fun? In a “drunk at 2am reading smut with one eye open” kind of way, sure. This book is self-aware nonsense with zero plot, too many tentacles, and not enough basic answers. But hey, if you’re into chaotic sea creatures with emotional baggage and mystery anatomy… dive in. Just pack a snorkel and suspend all disbelief.