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)
My words pierce whatever’s going on inside of her. Silent tears leak out of the corners of her eyes. “I’m failing you—”
“What? No.” I angle toward her. “If anything, I’m failing you. If I remember correctly, I’m the one fake dating our landlord. This was our new beginning as honest people, and I royally fucked it.”
“You did not.” She rubs her nose with the bottom of her tank. “You had a minor blip. A relapse. And anyway, I could see you and Jake hooking up for real.”
My stomach twists at that idea. “Yeah, right. I think Jake tolerates me.” I splat back down on the mattress.
“I think he likes you,” Hailey says thoughtfully.
“We’re just using each other,” I mutter and then nudge my knee against hers. “What’s with the bruised kneecaps?”
She sits up on her elbows now and glances at the black-and-blue marks. “Country club storage closet, the floor there wasn’t soft.”
Storage closet. The memory of Rocky pushing me up against the shelves of tennis balls and croquet mallets suddenly surfaces and bathes heat against my cheeks. I can almost feel his fingers clenching around my hair.
I smooth my lips to keep my breath steady. “Were you digging around for pickleball rackets?”
“No,” she says, “I was just blowing Erik.”
I sit all the way up and face her. “Erik? As in Bartender Erik?”
Hailey shrugs. “He’s hot and sort of has a Brad Pitt circa Fight Club edginess. He has a ton of tattoos.”
Now that I think about it, Erik always wears long sleeves. “Did not know that . . .”
“One is on his thigh.”
“Definitely did not know that.”
She smiles, then shrugs. “I like giving head. It’s fun.”
I crinkle my nose. “I still loathe blow jobs, and I know you said the more I do it, the more I might like it, but it’s always been work. The only part I do enjoy is when, or if, they grab my hair.”
Again, all I can do is picture Rocky’s commanding hand sliding up the base of my neck. His fingers weaving through my hair and scrunching tightly. Pulling. The hot breath of his teasing lips creeping up my collar.
I try to act very interested in my fluffy comforter while heat ramps up across my body. I should confess my sins to a higher power for having these stupid dirty thoughts about my best friend’s assholish older brother while I’m right in front of her.
Hailey sits up fully now and crosses her legs. “I like watching their face. It turns me on seeing them lose their shit over something I’m doing.”
I still can’t subscribe. I mostly know what I like (I’m sure I haven’t discovered everything), and blow jobs are firmly off my list of turn-ons. “It hurts my jaw when I do it,” I tell her, “and it looks like it busted your knees.” I’m smiling.
She smiles back. “Sex bruises are my favorite bruises.”
I lean back on my hands. “Print it, frame it, make a T-shirt out of it.”
“Sell it for five hundred bucks and say it’s award-winning art—rare, one of a kind.”
“It was hung up in the Met. Didn’t you hear?”
We laugh, and when our smiles soften, Hailey says, “Speaking of Erik and Jake . . .” She reaches for the end table and turns the digital clock. “We have an hour before our double date starts.”
I rock back. “Double date?”
“Yeah, I called Jake to set it up.” She scoots to the edge of the bed. “If you want to fake date the most eligible bachelor in Victoria, you’re going to need to make it look real.”
Hailey and logistics. A match made in heaven. Or hell. Depending on how you look at it.
I shouldn’t be surprised that she’s fallen into her usual routine much like I have. But is this it for us? Is this what we’re made for? As she climbs off the bed with a staggered breath, I see how she tries so hard not to break down and cry again.
“I’m going to make it work here, Hails,” I tell her. “I promise. And if your dad calls back, just tell him we’re between jobs and building connections right now.”
She thinks this over and nods. “Yeah, okay. That might work.”
“Sooo . . .” I draw out the word. “Is this thing with Erik serious?”
“What? No.” Her lips downturn. “It’s just casual sex.”
“It’s a double date.”
“Okay, but we’re not dating.” She looks flustered. “You know I have a three-date max, and you know how I’ve always imagined I’d be with someone in our field.”
“Carter.” I clarify where her heart lies.
She sends me a deadpan look. “Shut up.”
I’m grinning. “You loooove him.”
“You’re awful.” She throws a pillow at me, smiling. “His forgeries are literal masterpieces, and he undercharges me for fakes, so . . .”
She’s blushing.
Dating a guy in our field.
No application necessary. High risk. And almost impossible to quit.