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)
Ten
Rocky
“I’m a member here.” I rest my shoulder on a locker. He stays impossibly stiff. Guy needs a back rub and a laxative. I try to stay casual. “I’d ask you what you’re doing here, but you own the place.”
“My family owns it,” he corrects me, like there’s a distinction. He looks me over, and lines crease the spot between his brows as confusion builds. “What do you mean you’re a member? You said you were just visiting.”
“I am,” I say and survey the hall of lockers. “But I’m considering moving here. I’m in a transitionary period in my life so I thought . . . Why not?”
Jake’s confusion persists. “You can afford this place.”
It’s not a question. He knows I can. I’m here. I wait. He just stares. My brows rise. “Was there a question in there, champ?” Shouldn’t have said it like that.
He rolls his eyes. “Your sister is a server here and you’re a member. Make it make sense, Rocky.”
“Grey Thornhall.” I reintroduce myself using my new alias. The ID is already in my wallet. I think it’s a white flag of amnesty. A let’s start over, Jake declaration.
His eyes tighten. “And you don’t go by Grey? Why?” He sounds accusatory.
Jesus Christ. Why wasn’t I nicer to him when I met him? Because I didn’t think I had anything to gain. Because Phoebe and Hailey aren’t here on a job.
Because I’m not a nice person.
I could’ve been “fake nice”—easy enough.
Yet, I wasn’t with him. I don’t know why I couldn’t pretend for a hot second, and that honestly is disturbing me.
He might be wealthy, but he’s still like a little baby deer. As far as I can tell, he’s not oozing all the nefarious traits that typically come with being the heir of a billion-dollar corporation, and he’s not rude or entitled or showboating.
Is that why it’s more difficult to be fake nice with him?
Because he might not be an asshole?
That’s dumb. I also hate that it might be the answer.
“You can call me Grey if you want,” I tell him. “I’m just more used to Rocky.”
He digests this in silence.
Okay.
I stand straighter. “My sister is stubborn. She wouldn’t take a handout if I force-fed it to her, and I’m not into forcing anyone into anything. She wants to make it her way. On her own.” That’s not a complete lie, and I’m surprised I’m still not slathering on the bullshit.
Maybe somewhere, deep down, I know he’d sniff it out. Because I didn’t sign up to “be honest in Victoria” like Hailey and Phoebe did.
“And I don’t come from money like you,” I add. “Some of us had to build what we have.”
Jake doesn’t take this as an insult. He just nods like he gets it. Interesting.
We’re both quiet for a second.
And then he asks, “Your ex-wife didn’t get anything in the divorce?”
“That’s what prenups are for.” I hesitate to deepen the lie. To imply she’s the kind of girl you’d make sure to file a prenup with before marrying. It turns my stomach.
Jake might not be the kind of person who’d chuckle and grin and say, I get that, man.
He might not get it.
Just like I don’t.
There isn’t a type of woman who’s “made” for a prenup, but I feed off the type of men who believe there is. And I sure as hell don’t want to put Phoebe down, so I keep that thought to myself.
“That’s what prenups are for?” Jake repeats with heat. “So you took everything and left her nothing?” He says it like I’m a piece of shit.
“She took the car.”
Jake glares.
“It was a Porsche.” I purposefully use the incorrect pronunciation to put us on better footing. It’s the common pronunciation. Common ground.
“Por-shuh,” he corrects.
I blink. “Por-shuh,” I repeat how he says it, trying not to roll my eyes.
He’s already rolling his.
God, this guy might be my worst nightmare.
He looks me over again. “Now I really don’t feel bad about kicking you out by Tuesday.”
“I’m still friends with my ex,” I remind him. “I’m not some abusive fuckhole, and you’re not saving the day by housing her and my sister.”
He stares at me like he’s Luke fucking Skywalker, and I’m Darth Vader. I do have dad problems. I blame Nova for the comic book references circling my head.
Fuck him.
Fuck Jake.
I’m about to self-eject from this conversation, but Jake beats me to it. “You have money to go somewhere, make sure it’s not my loft.” He leaves the locker room, irritation springing off him like a musky cologne.
I exhale a heavy breath, and my phone buzzes again. This time with a call. I check caller ID, then I let it ring out before slipping into the bathroom.
It’s a single stall.
Private.
I scan for cameras.
None.
I’m quick to call back.
He answers on the second ring.
“Nova,” I greet.