Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“Howdy there, good-looking.” Toothpick between his teeth, his smile stretches with mine. Our conversation on the phone drifts out of my brain.
I study his natural composure and ease on the horse. “I thought all of you hate horses?”
“Rocky and Phoebe don’t like animals,” Oliver clarifies, leaning forward and patting the Warmblood’s neck with affection, “because they think they can smell their lies.”
“You don’t feel the same?”
“I believe animals can sense what humans can’t. But all animals love me, and I love them.” Oliver smiles at the horse, which is very relaxed in his presence. “No scent of deceit on me.” His glittering eyes return to mine. “Some feelings you don’t need to fake.”
My lungs reinflate.
“You can smile, Koning. I won’t think you’re into me. I already know you are.”
He’s something else, something that I never want to go away, and the frustrated noise in my throat produces an actual smile. “You called.” I nod to him.
“You came, or technically I came.” He winks, then stops the horse a couple feet from me. “You don’t need to concern yourself with the wily affairs of your brother.” He dismounts, boots thudding to the ground. “It’s already taken care of. The monster under your bed does more than just tickle your—”
“Oliver.”
“Uh, he wants me to be serious,” Oliver groans while staring at my lips, then shifts the toothpick with his tongue. My blood stirs, a carnal urge to do more than kiss him, and at the same time, my smile returns. Oliver seems more than satisfied by both reactions. “What’s this one’s name anyway?” he asks, smoothing a hand across the Warmblood’s side.
“Formally, Knight Rider—I just call him Kit.” I come up, and the horse softly nickers, a vibrating hum of contentment in his throat. I stroke his muzzle.
“Kit.” Oliver smiles more at me than the horse. “Well, good thing I’m here. He would’ve been on a trailer headed for Kentucky by now.”
Trent’s last rebellion against me—he was apparently trying to sell my favorite horses as if they were his own. “How’d you know about it?” I ask.
“Oh, he told me the whole thing. Pays to be friends with garden snakes. Keep Your Love’s Lover’s Enemy Close is the name of a very fun game.”
“Yeah?” I run my fingers through my hair. “Is that what you think I am—Hailey’s lover?”
We haven’t defined anything between the three of us. Not once during the summer. Those fever-dream nights of unencumbered affection and quiet solace and hot curiosities filled with challenge ended the minute we left Stonehaven. As expected, they faded with the summer haze and made way for the tortured yearning of the fall.
I’ve tossed and turned ever since. I’ve had the worst sleep of my life being home. Being alone. I’ve realized that having sex with Hailey to help her sleep was more selfish on my part, and maybe Oliver’s, too. I think we were all taking care of one another and using one another to feel something more. We were too afraid to fully commit to a relationship with parameters and definitions and hard, rigid lines outside the bedroom.
It was easy to slip into helping the girl we loved and just leaving it at that. It was even easier to fall for the man who loved her.
It’s the first week of October, and I don’t know where we all go from here now. But I’m not afraid. As I’m standing here in front of Oliver, even knowing Hailey is carrying my child, even knowing this makes no sense—the three of us—fear can’t grab hold and choke.
I think, maybe, that’s the beauty of being with people who cast aside doubt and nourish belief like it’s a wall that can’t be knocked down. Together feels like a fortress.
“Terms, labels, semantics,” Oliver muses. “Hailey’s lover. Hailey’s midnight fuck. Hailey’s past. Hailey’s present. Hailey’s baby daddy.” He spots my surprise, bowing toward me. “Yes, I know.” He rocks back. “She told me earlier. I figured she likely already told you, and if she didn’t”—he sucks in a breath though his teeth—“I’ll ask for forgiveness later.” He reads me well. “She did tell you though.”
“Like ten minutes ago.”
He laughs. “You’re still in shock.”
“Yeah.” I look him over, then shift more uncertainly. “A little worried about you.”
Oliver smiles through his eyes. “I’m happy the baby is a Koning and not a Graves. I promise I’ll love your child and teach her how to be bad in a very good way.” He wags his brows.
I freeze. “Her?”
He winces in realization. “She didn’t tell you you’re having a daughter?”
My pulse skips, and I let out a laugh, my eyes trying to well and burn. Hailey and I are having a daughter. “No, she didn’t.”
“Fuck.” He skims me head to toe. “Want to pretend you heard nothing?”
“I don’t think I can.” I slide my hands against my neck. My daughter. Hailey. “Oliver.” I stare longer at him. The air shifts between us like a crack of electricity, quickening my pulse, raising the hairs on my arms. Because our gazes tunnel too deep. His breath hitches just slightly. I feel like we’re colliding, even when neither of us moves a muscle. “I’m not just Hailey’s,” I tell him. “I think I’ve become yours, too.”