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)
He rises to his feet, alarm gushing at this point. He’s the Niagara Falls of stormy concern. “You’re going by your real name?”
“No, of course not.” I wouldn’t put my family in jeopardy like that.
A wave of relief washes over his face. “What name, then?”
The response sticks to my throat. “Phoebe.” Anyway, Phoebe is a name I’ve used for decades. Even though it isn’t the name my mom gave me at birth—it feels like mine.
Rocky intakes a tight breath, then looks away from me. I try not to understand what he’s thinking or feeling—in case they’re emotions I’m not in the mood to confront.
Cowardly, maybe, but our history is so deep that I’m not prepared to sink into quicksand. I’m supposed to be stepping outside of that hazard.
Starting new. “Just trust that we’re doing this right,” I tell him. “We want to try this out, and you know I’ll look out for Hails.”
He runs his fingers through his wavy black hair. For a flash, I remember those hands slipping through my hair and his rough voice against my ear in a trancelike whisper: “I hate this.”
That is what he said to me. I. Hate. This.
Truthfully, I could never fully love when we had to pretend to be head over heels in love during cons either. But I also hate that I enjoyed the feeling of hands I knew and trusted and cared about skating through pieces of me like I was the tenderest, sweetest thing he’d ever touched.
Yeah.
I also hate that.
Rocky lets strands of his hair flop to his forehead. “I just wish you’d convince my sister this is a bad idea.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
“I know.” He glares at the ugly stained carpet and then up at me. “So you’re just ‘trying this out’?”
I try to ignore his use of finger quotes.
“Like an experiment?” he adds.
Tensely, I lower onto the squeaky bed. This isn’t supposed to be some temporary gig where I pack my bags and bail at the first bump in the road. Hailey wants this to last, and living a normal life is hard. Which is probably one of the million reasons why my mom and his parents never bought into the concept. If Rocky thinks we’re dead set on this new lifestyle, I fear he’ll be a bigger thorn.
Let him think what he wants.
“Yeah, it’s an experiment.”
He rubs at his temple. “All right. Okay.”
“Okay?” Surprise flits across my face.
“If my sister needs this to understand our lives are better grifting, then yeah, she can have this fucking experiment.” He bends back down to her bag and zips it up. “But I’m coming with you two.”
My stomach drops. “Excuse me, what?”
The door to the motel whips open. Hailey stands frozen with an armful of Doritos, glancing between us like she’s witnessing a marital dispute. And ugh, why does my brain go there? No. I’m not married to her brother, but yes, we have pretended to be married.
Maybe more than once.
“Oh.” With a red Twizzler between her teeth, Hailey eyes him, then me. She’s cerebral, perceptive, and way too good at reading the temperature of the room. “I came back too early. I can go raid the soda machine. Get carbonated.” She throws the Doritos onto the bed and then waggles her Twizzler at us. “Don’t fight—”
“Wait, don’t go,” I say fast and wave an angry hand to Rocky. “Your brother just said he’s coming with us.”
Hailey barely contemplates Rocky’s involvement before brightening like a Gothic lamp. “You’re coming to Connecticut? You really want to move there, too?”
“Yeah, for a bit.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. His gold Rolex watch makes him seem mega-yacht rich, but his insides are cheap.
I snort at myself. Finding humor in our lifestyle is one way to cope.
Rocky gives me a strange look.
Hailey tears off another bite of Twizzler with a flourishing grin.
Seeing her happy honestly makes me grin, too.
“Half the gang is back together,” she muses, her confidence rising with Rocky here. “Just like old times. The three of us together again.”
Rocky doesn’t break his gaze from mine. “Just like old times.”
There was a time where we’d spend months on the road together. Cramped in whatever car we found at the junkyard. I’m handy when it comes to fixing broken things, and it’d been easier driving around an old beater before we needed to “look the part” of the obscenely rich.
Rocky has a talent for making friends who’d lend him their Porsches and Range Rovers. One let him borrow his Ferrari for a whole weekend.
Sometimes he had some insane dirt on the mark. But in most cases, the guy just fell for Rocky’s charm and bullshit.
“Old times,” I say, more stilted.
Rocky and I have always had a chaotic energy around each other, but for the past two years, it’s grown more tumultuous. I can pinpoint the exact day it all went haywire, so I don’t have much optimism that this Connecticut town will fix things for us. My only hope is that the Rocky and Phoebe volcano doesn’t explode.