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)
You lost her.
She’s gone.
You won’t ever have her.
Maddened, furious tears prick my eyes. Pain swelling up inside me, I do everything in my power to contain the scream that wants released. You’re in public. You’re in public. I slide my hands to the back of my neck. I want this to stop—please make it stop.
I hyper-focus on my shortened breath. On the pieces of hair that brush my forehead as a gust blows across the beach. I itch at the fucking tag that scratches at my neck. Biting down so hard on my teeth, my jaw is aching. My bad knee begins to throb in the squat, and I touch the sand, sensing the grit slipping through my fingers.
My gold watch sits heavy on my wrist, and I unclasp it, holding the watch in the pit of my palm. My sleeves feel rough against my wrists now.
Nausea builds, and I spit out onto the sand and then stand up. Breathing, breathing.
Fuck these sleeves.
Fuck this tag.
“So what do we do now?” Phoebe’s voice whirls my attention to the boardwalk, and I almost want to laugh in agony. Dear God, you won’t let me escape her, will you?
I rotate slowly around and see Phoebe and Jake approaching. They haven’t noticed me yet, too dark down on the beach, but I make myself known.
“Hey!” I scream at them.
Jake stops in his tracks. Phoebe doesn’t, and as she sinks into the sand and comes toward me, Jake decides to follow behind her.
When they’re closer, I say dryly, “There’s a million other beaches. Go find another one. Better yet, the ocean’s right there. Have at it.” I wave a hand toward the sea.
Phoebe doesn’t shoot a normal snide retort back, but her arms thread over her chest. I’d say more from the cold as temperatures dropped, but what do I know? I’ve only been around her my entire fucking life.
She holds my gaze for a long beat before saying in a hushed breath, “Jake just asked me to fake date him.”
Fake date.
I don’t think I heard that right. “Excuse me?” I look to Jake, who approaches at a slower pace.
He side-eyes Phoebe. “I thought we weren’t going to tell people the truth?”
“Rocky doesn’t count as people,” she says.
Jake sighs out. “Yeah, it’s fake.” He speaks quietly, too. “She needed help keeping her job.”
“And he finally found the nerve to piss off his mom,” she says.
“It felt good,” he adds, and they share a look like that means something to them.
My ribs constrict against my lungs.
She’s hugging her arms tighter around herself. She’s definitely cold. I’m only wearing a button-down. I have nothing to offer her.
Jake starts taking off his suit jacket.
Just dump another shovel of dirt on top of me. I’m already choking on it.
Phoebe continues in a whisper, “It’s a mutual arrangement.”
She says arrangement but I hear con.
She’s pulling a con with Jake Waterford. Not for money but for another gain.
He’s in my role as her fake boyfriend.
And now she’s putting on his suit jacket. Well, isn’t this a fairy tale.
“Great,” I say, hushed. “Cool. You two are fake great for one another.” I make a perfect gesture with my fingers.
Jake glares, then twists his head to the gathering audience on the boardwalk. Women wield champagne flutes like popcorn. He expels a tense breath. “What did I get myself into?”
Man, you have no idea.
I look to Phoebe, her frame cocooned in his suit jacket. I rub my mouth, my lungs on fire with every sharp breath, and the worst part: I want to hug her right now.
I would bring her into my chest and warm her with my body—but I can’t anymore. I’m just her fake ex-husband.
Her fake boyfriend has a leg up on me.
Whatever standstill Phoebe and I were at—it’s shifted dramatically. It needed to, but this direction is flipping me upside down.
“You two are really doing this?” I ask in a quiet breath, staring at Phebs. This goes against Phoebe’s whole goal of being a moral citizen of Victoria, but I know this is a good thing for her. This pivot will help her gain a better reputation in town. She’d be using him a hell of a lot more than he’s using her. It’s the right move, even if I hate it.
“Just for a little while,” Phoebe says, avoiding my gaze.
I turn to Jake. He’s scowling out at the ocean now like it personally affronted him. I got him all wrong—thinking he was some straitlaced prep. And I usually don’t screw up when I read people. That annoys me.
I move closer to them to avoid being overheard, and I ask Jake, “You hate your mom that much?”
His gaze flits to me, and the look in his eyes is one I know well. It’s what I see when I stare into the mirror. And he says, “I don’t trust her.”