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)
Why is faking it so hard with him?
Pretending to be in a relationship has been my job so many times . . .
“You look . . .” He scans the length of my body, and I check out his crisp blue button-down and khakis, returning to his eyes to see what lies behind them. I can’t really tell, but I do see a smidge of lust bobbing his throat. “. . . beautiful.”
“White is my color?” I joke more than flirt.
He lets out a throaty vacillating noise, unsure how to answer. At least I’m not the only indecisive one. “You’ve looked beautiful in everything you’ve worn, Phoebe.” It’s a soft compliment with a tender smile.
“Thanks,” I breathe. “You look great, too.” And I mean that.
A group of twentysomethings in Caufield University sweatshirts are noticeably gawking at us from the self-checkout ticket machines.
How did I become the center of town gossip?
Jake slides an arm casually over my shoulders and leads me into the concession line. While we wait behind a few other groups, I spot Hailey’s platinum-blonde hair as she disappears into Theater 4. Come back, I want to tell her like I’m a newly fledged con artist.
I can do this.
I’m not that rusty.
I loosen my joints and sink into Jake’s embrace. He gazes down at me with more curiosity than desire. He asks if I’ve seen this movie before, and I go off on a tangent about the greatness of horror films.
“There’s a lot to choose from,” I explain. “Horror has so many subgenres.” I count off on my fingers. “You have slasher, psychological, comedy, paranormal, monster, found footage, splatter films, body horror. There’s a type for whatever mood you’re in.” And am I excited the theater is reshowing Friday the 13th? Yes . . . yes, I am.
Jake is grinning.
“What?”
“Your love of horror films is cute.”
Is he flirting? Why can’t I tell if it’s real or not? More on edge, I just blurt out, “Cute was my love of Strawberry Shortcake and Care Bears when I was seven.”
“You?”
“Do I not look like a Care Bear lover?” I motion to my virginal white dress.
Am I really giving off “whore” vibes? Why? I want to know if it’s something I’m doing, or if I just appear like a quick lay right now.
“It’s not about looks,” Jake says. “You just seem . . .” He searches for the word, which is driving me nuts in one agonizing second. “Angsty.”
“Angsty?”
He tilts his head like it’s not the perfect choice. “I would’ve pegged you as someone who watched R-rated movies in the third grade and had no curfew. You’d be tuning in to Celebrity Deathmatch. Hailey is the one who’s gentler inside. You’re more hard-core.”
How does he know that?
Because we let him.
I’m super uneasy now. “That all might be true, too, but I did have a curfew.” Sometimes.
His lip slowly rises. “I did, too.”
“And Hailey likes Nine Inch Nails and Disturbed. Heavy metal is only an acquaintance of mine through her. My music choices aren’t hard-core.”
Jake looks away in thought, as though searching for Hailey, but he must realize she’s already in the theater.
We move up in line, and after another string of silence, I turn to Jake. “You want to know what Care Bear you’d be?”
His smile expands. “Yeah.”
“Polite Panda.”
His face falls into an eye roll. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“And what would Rocky be?”
I stiffen.
He eyes me. “If we’re going to date, I figured I should know about your past relationships.”
Right . . . my ex-husband.
“He’s Grumpy Bear,” I say. “Hailey is Funshine Bear, and I’m Give No Fucks Bear.”
He drops his arm from my shoulder as we become next in line. “You give plenty of fucks.”
Ugh. “Then maybe I am Angsty Hard-Core Bear.”
Natural-Born Liar Bear feels more like me, but just thinking it causes Rocky to pop back into my head.
“What about your past relationships?” I ask quickly, wanting to pry a bit. “Any exes?”
“Sure. Three ex-girlfriends. Never married.”
“Engaged?”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly but strongly. “My mother would’ve loved if I at least contemplated buying a ring, but I never did.”
After bumping into Claudia at the clambake and spilling a tray of champagne, I’m likely her nightmare for a potential daughter-in-law, which is exactly why Jake is dating me.
“How long were you married?” he wonders.
I have this answer, thanks to a marriage certificate and divorce papers Rocky bought from Carter. Since Rocky paid for the fakes, I agreed he could decide how long our marriage lasted. I was a little shocked he didn’t go the high school sweethearts direction where we would’ve been married at eighteen.
And then I remembered that Rocky tries to be extremely vague about his age. If we were married young, it might pose more questions about how old he is, and most guests at the country club already believe he’s around his late twenties, early thirties.