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)
“Duuude,” one guy says. “You fucked up.”
“Thanks for the commentary.” I leave with a similar wrath burning my feet across the ground.
Twenty
Phoebe
It’s been a week in Victoria and a few days since the boathouse party, and I try to dump my energy in anything other than Rocky. But his words from the bathroom that night are a wrecking ball in my head.
He told his father he had a crush on me.
It’d been different just theorizing our parents saw a “spark” between us. Knowing they had legit knowledge that Rocky liked me and they just disregarded his emotions . . . and even toyed with them—it makes bile rise in my throat. I feel sick and furious, and I’d like to have strong, nasty words with Everett.
Trust is invaluable to us. I can’t wrap my head around how he could betray his son. Above all, that’s his child, but I always thought our parents cared more for us than the average parent.
Because they brought us into their fabricated worlds and didn’t leave us out.
They’ve been genuine about who they are and what they do, and they could’ve so easily lied. Hell, normal parents keep their kids in the dark all the time. They hide their youthful stints with drugs. They hide affairs.
Once we were a good age where we’d understand the gravity of what our parents do, they told us everything. They even taught us their trade.
We’ve been their accomplices. Their partners in crime.
Everett had no reason to be that cruel. I can only assume that he sidelined Rocky’s feelings for the supposed betterment of the con.
Now I understand why Rocky wouldn’t trust him most of all. Our moms . . . I don’t know. I’d like to ask them directly what Everett shared, but asking them means talking to them—and they apparently believe Hailey and I are in Indiana dealing with a catfish gone wrong. Despite the urge, I still won’t call my mom and make things messier.
At least things are going amazingly on the normalcy front.
More lies.
Everything is a struggle. Money, work, trying not to lie my way through life. But each time I think about why I’m here and why I’m putting myself through unnecessary torture, my resolve returns tenfold.
Hailey wants this. And I’d do just about anything for her.
Which included punt-kicking Rocky out of the loft this morning. It’s been a week. His time here has expired, and he told me he found another place in town anyway.
He’s not leaving yet. I partially expected him to be long gone after the boathouse party. Move on, Rocky. But then I remembered he’s not here to ignite a small-town romance with me.
He’s here to watch out for his little sister.
So he’s staying. For how long? He might not even know.
Today and tomorrow and forever is about my life sans that asshole. So I employ three strong words every time he invades my brain.
No more Rocky.
I bump my hip against the bookshop door, hands filled with two disposable coffee cups. I’m not a big coffee snob, but Hailey will be able to tell this is drip. I looked over her Excel sheet this morning, and we have to cut out some of our usual luxuries. Including our morning cinnamon latte macchiatos, something that our moms got us into when we were teens.
Winding around a couple of bookcases, I spot Hailey standing in the back flipping through a paperback. I’m about to head to her when a store clerk intercepts me.
I take quick note of his well-groomed beard, black-rimmed glasses, blue-green plaid shirt, and tan Sperry boots. Twenties or thirties, I guess. It’s hard to tell with the beard. His name tag reads Mason.
“Excuse me,” he says earnestly. He glances sheepishly toward the back of the store at Hailey. “Do you know her?”
I try to contain a smile. He must like Hailey.
But he’s obviously intimidated to approach her. Chains are linked on the belt loops of her black cargo pants, and her combat boots are studded with spikes. Her black lipstick matches the smoky shadow that shades her gray eyes, which are pinched in concentration.
She’s giving off resting bitch face.
As her best friend, I can confidently say she’s out of everyone’s league. I have yet to meet someone good enough for her. It definitely won’t be Mason here, but he’s not bad looking and I can play the part of wingwoman. He just has to have some sort of talent to catch Hailey’s eye.
“I know her,” I tell him. “She’s my best friend.” I don’t know why I emphasize best like I’m a toddler who just made her first friend.
He lets out a breath of relief. “Great. Can you tell her she needs to stop reading the books? This isn’t a library.”
What?
Okay, now I’m mad.
“It’s not a crime to flip through some books before buying them,” I defend her instantly. “How else will she know if she wants to buy it?”