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)
“Just making conversation,” I say, skating fingers through my hair as the wind blows. “That’s what friends do.”
“I missed the part where we became friends.”
“I’m friends with your girlfriend, and she’s not invisible to me.”
Phoebe downs her apple cider with a big gulp.
Jake raises his brows. “Clearly, she’s not.” An insinuation is sitting on the tip of his tongue.
I drill him with a glare. “Continue that thought.”
“You’ve only been stalking—”
“Stalking?” I interject with heat.
“You followed her to this town when she tried to get away from you. What else do you call that?”
Are you fucking serious? My eyes flash to Phoebe, wondering if they’ve had conversations where she’s spun them here, or if this is just his assumption. It matters with how I need to proceed next, because I can shoot him down, but I’d rather not discredit her or her story, even if it’s one that paints me in the worst light.
Phoebe has no opportunity to send me a signal. Jake steps out in front of her, as though to protect her from my sudden wrath.
Jesus Christ. I rotate slightly as frustration shoots into my bloodstream. And then I cock my head to Jake. “Call it whatever you want.”
I hear whispers behind me. “He’s going to push Jake in the fountain. Bet you twenty bucks.”
Oh, I would love to.
Jake crosses his arms. He stands like a skyscraping brick wall, and I’m not someone who shrinks when men tower. It’s just a tell to me. A dead giveaway that a man is trying to assert dominance and feels threatened enough to pull the weakest tool out of his weak box. His height.
Congratulations. You’re fucking tall.
But continuously seeing him try to protect Phoebe from me is going to send me over the edge. “You’re not her white knight.”
“You’re not her boyfriend,” he retorts. “I am.”
Fake.
But all I’ve ever been is the fake thing to Phoebe.
Whispers and mutters catch the wind and hit my ear. He just publicly claimed Phoebe. Again.
What was I expecting? I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.
This was a mistake.
Jake suddenly shifts his eyes off me, and I follow to my right and see his mother, Claudia Waterford, and a few of her friends. The well-dressed, polished women are gathered around the craft table where little kids paint pumpkins. The women make no effort to hide the fact that they’re watching us.
Claudia’s lips are pursed, judgment in her eyes. She’s not happy with her son, and she excuses herself from her friends and just leaves in the opposite direction of Jake. Ensuring he sees her disapproval.
His jaw tenses, but this is what he wanted. To stick it to Mommy.
“Grey?”
Fuck.
I barely glance over at the sudden appearance of Sidney Burke. Phoebe freezes behind Jake, likely recalling the boathouse party where Sidney tried to dance with me, but I’m hardly giving the nineteen-year-old the time of day.
For one, I look too old to be entertaining her advances.
For another, her father is at an outdoor patio eating brunch with the other widowers, and he’s in view. She knows this, and I’m not about to be used.
Jake is confused. “Sidney? You two know each other?” He motions from her to me.
I frown, more interested in his reaction. “How do you know her?”
Jake can’t answer before Sidney speaks. “Grey and I met at the Reynolds’ boathouse. Bummer you couldn’t make it, Jake. It was a good time.” She says that while looking at me with a coy smile. Like we fucked that night.
“She’s nineteen,” Jake warns me, uncrossing his arms.
The fact that he’s buying her bullshit is aggravating. I was actually starting to think he was better than that, but we all have our blind spots.
Sidney is relishing this moment; her smile is off the charts. Jake is feeding into the show she’s putting on for her father, and I’m about to embarrass the shit out of her.
Sorry.
I stay on Jake. “Which is one of many reasons she’s not in my rearview, peripheral, or my fucking windshield, and she never will be. I don’t know her. I know of her, and that’s already too much for me.”
Sidney intakes a sharp breath. She’s flustered; her cheeks are beet red, and she avoids me and just says a quick goodbye to Jake, then slips away.
Jake glares at me. “You didn’t have to be rude.”
This guy. I’m so glad he’s not a lover I need to please because he’s fucking impossible. I’d tell Phoebe to have fun with him, but even the thought of them fake together and fake fucking is scarring my brain.
I end up saying, “Sidney hasn’t taken the hint when I’ve been nice, so I’m not sorry for being an asshole.” His shoulders are squared. He’s on guard and not happy. Still, I ask, “Is she a friend of yours?”
“She’s my sister’s . . . was my sister’s best friend.” His defensive edges start softening at the mention of his sister.