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, too.” She slows just a little to ask, “Are you two new in town?”
“Yes,” we say in unison. It annoys both of us.
The woman doesn’t notice. “Well, welcome to Victoria.” Her smile brightens. “I hope you like it here.”
I already hate it. “I’m sure we will.” I wave her goodbye.
Phoebe forces a tight smile at her, and after the woman is farther away, she stakes her glare back on me. “If you’re going to be here with us, you can’t bring up Carlsbad every two seconds.” She takes a tense breath. “I’m serious. It’s over. In the past. Leave it there.”
“I don’t even know what I’m leaving behind.” That’s what scares me.
Her brown eyes look dead. Nothing is in them. No emotion. It tears and stabs at my insides, and my jaw aches I’m clenching it so hard. I hate that dissociative look. I’ve seen Phoebe check out too many times before, but rarely ever with me.
“You don’t have to know, Rocky.”
I want to know.
I force down the rebuttal. Seeing that I’m not getting what I want—and no way would I ever manipulate Phoebe—I just change the subject altogether. “How much do you know about your landlord?”
“Jake?” She studies my sister at the door. “I know enough.” Her defenses slowly lower while we continue to hang back. “Hailey handled most of the details.”
So my sister got the loft, and Phoebe is just along for the ride. I’m not that surprised. Phoebe’s role in the family isn’t to plan cons or gather intel. Hailey does more of the logistics.
I just wish Phoebe was behind the reins on whatever they’re doing. I lean closer to whisper, “Don’t you ever get exhausted of being my sister’s lackey?”
“See, this is why you need a best friend, Rocky. So you can understand that best friends aren’t puppets or pawns or lackeys.”
“You left out doormats.”
“Fuck you.” She gets in my face.
My blood heats the longer we lock eyes. I have a strange urge to grip the back of her hair—but not hatefully. “Fuck you, too—”
“He’s coming down to let us in,” Hailey tells us with eyes that say Stop fighting.
We cool off, but on the way to the door, Phoebe sticks her tongue out at me. I shake my head and holster a slanted smile. An emotion tosses inside me that I’m purposefully ignoring.
I stand behind both girls, my backpack hooked on one shoulder and the strap to my sister’s duffel on the other. Hailey keeps tapping the sole of her combat boot while we wait for Jake.
It’s a nervous tell that our parents would hound her for, and I make a conscious effort not to lecture my sister.
We’re not on a job.
I don’t know what this is. Not really. And that puts me on edge more than a three-month preplanned con.
The door opens.
Jake emerges with the towering confidence of a man who always gets what he wants. He’s well-dressed in a navy polo with the Hackett logo on the breast, Sperry shoes, and the latest model of an Apple Watch on his wrist. Light brown hair, crystal blue eyes, white skin tanned from the sun, and a strong jaw—he has the posture of a high school quarterback who still shows off his letterman jacket.
And he’s younger than I thought their landlord would be. Mid-to-late twenties. Maybe older than me.
Definitely not better looking.
He’s not ugly, though. That’s unfortunate.
Hailey and Phoebe exchange smiles, and I resist rolling my eyes again. Inwardly, the eye roll is fucking strong.
Jake leans on the doorframe like he’s modeling for a fashion ad. Jesus Christ.
His attention is on my sister first, taking in her goth makeup and the ripped fishnets and chains. “You must be Hailey?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” She’s too nervous to smile. “You must be Jake?”
He’s still assessing the fuck out of her. Who is this guy? “I am.” He nods, running his gaze over her spike-studded backpack. “Jake Waterford. Welcome to Victoria.” He extends a hand.
His intentions aren’t clear. Either he’s guarded or I’m losing my touch here and can’t read him that well.
Phoebe reaches back and curls a hand around my wrist, and I realize I’m about to take a step forward. She’s keeping me from pushing out in front of Hailey.
My sister shakes his hand. “Hailey Thornhall.” She lies with ease and motions over to Phoebe. “This is my best friend, Phoebe.”
She immediately detaches from me. Cold, biting air replaces the warmth of where her skin touched.
“That’s me,” Phoebe says, “the best friend.”
His gaze swings to her, and I recognize the look in his eyes. It’s one I’ve seen a thousand times. One I’ve given to Phoebe. It’s want, desire, curiosity. It’s everything I fucking hate. My body goes rigid. Don’t react.
Don’t react.
Do not fucking react.
It’s a mantra I’ve repeated over and over throughout the years and hammered into my skull. Just so I wouldn’t fuck up a job. But this isn’t a job, and it makes it so much harder not to cut forward and shove him back.