Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Which is the nice way of calling him a player and a whore.
What isn’t nice are the girls on my hall giggling about the guys I’ve brought over. One of them wrote slut on my door’s whiteboard. Hailey has had five times more sex than me, but yet I’m called the slut?
If it’s not about quantity of sex, then what makes me sluttier than anyone else? I just want answers to these human questions—why people look at me and see someone worthy to sleep with and not someone worthy to be with. That’s all.
Nova’s knock goes unanswered and largely ignored.
Rocky must only be listening to his cock.
With the thump, thump, thump of a headboard against the wall, this is sounding more like raunchy sex, and power-drilling my eardrums would feel better than listening to him rock another girl’s world.
“I can call?” Oliver waves his phone behind me. He’s already phoning Rocky, but evil images invade my head now. Of destroying Rocky’s chance at finishing.
“I vote we just walk in,” I tell them. “Is it locked?”
Oliver must hear the strain in my voice because he passes his phone to Nova over my head, just so he frees his hands to cover my ears.
The moaning and heavy grunts are muffled against Oliver’s palms, but my stomach won’t unknot. “I’m fine,” I mutter and reach for the knob.
Nova beats me to it, and surprisingly, it’s unlocked. He barrels into the dorm to expletives and shrieks. Within a solid second, the brunette girl darts out of the room with her dress inside out, and as a muddled concoction of guilt and jealousy stirs inside of me, I try not to make eye contact with Heather.
Yeah, I recognize her deep blue doe eyes and thimble nose. She lives in the dorm room beside mine, and she knows me as Rocky’s sister.
She side-eyes me on her way out.
Cool.
While Oliver slips into the room to join the guys, I loiter in the hall with crossed arms and a boatload of nerves over this mess.
“Was that necessary?” Rocky growls, and I peer through the cracked door. Catching a glimpse of Rocky’s bare ass, I watch him hold his boxer briefs to his crotch. The trail of hair below his belly button teases my gaze toward his dick, and I wonder when Rocky became a man.
It wasn’t a flick of a switch. God didn’t suddenly anoint him with manhood one day and sprout hair on his chest. The planes of his body have been carved and chiseled with muscle for years, and I’ve felt those boyish arms at eleven and twelve become firmer and fiercer at thirteen, fourteen, seventeen, twenty-one as they’ve wrapped around me.
“We don’t have fucking time to waste,” Nova tells him.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Rocky sneers in a whisper. “You’re early.”
“It’s been moved to tonight.”
Rocky fumes in place, stunned to silence until he snaps, “You’re kidding me? It’s too soon. We haven’t laid the proper groundwork.”
“My mom had to tie things up early with her fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé,” Oliver clarifies.
“We need to leave tomorrow,” Nova finishes.
It’s about Mom’s safety—why this is being rushed.
Rocky lets out an incensed laugh. “So Elizabeth screws up with her rich boy toy and puts us at risk—?”
“Hey.” Nova glares. “She didn’t have a fucking choice.”
“I’m trying to protect us,” Rocky nearly shouts. “Shit, do you even know how much harder this is going to—?”
“Your mom and my mom think we’re ready,” Nova cuts him off.
“They’re not fucking here,” Rocky refutes with a deep-seated, almost guttural plea to his voice.
I slide into the dorm room quietly and shut the door, but my presence might as well be a Formula 1 crash. Metal ripping through the air. Fire and explosion setting flame to the tension.
With one hand and his balled-up underwear still covering his cock, Rocky glares at me and then points at the doorway I just came through. “You can walk your ass right out of this room if you’re just going to blindly take your brother’s side.”
Oliver makes a noise that’s a cross between a laugh and a snort. “I thought we were all on the same side?” He bends a hip against the window, relaxed inside this four-car pileup.
Nova and Rocky ignore him, their gazes fixed to me, waiting for my response. Nova’s gaze weighs heavier on me, practically telling me—you’re my sister. It’s hard to just brush that aside, but I’d like more facts about how this is supposed to play out.
“Maybe tell me what their new plan is for tonight,” I say to Nova. “Then I can decide which one of you is being an asshole.”
“Both,” Oliver chimes in.
Nova shoots him a disapproving, brotherly look. “No one asked you.”
“No one ever does,” Oliver says. “Middle-child syndrome and all.” He lights a cigarette casually and sticks his hand out of the cracked window.