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)
I try to remain disengaged while Phoebe’s eyes flame, her fingers curl into fists at her sides. “What the fuck are you doing here?” she sneers.
He shakes a set of keys. “Stopping by my new place. Is that a crime?”
“Yes, your presence on this Earth is a fucking crime to humanity,” Phoebe shoots back.
He laughs. “Just tell me you want to fuck me, Phoebe, and we can get this whole hate-flirting done with.”
Phoebe growls, literally growls. I step in front of her. “She doesn’t want to fuck you.”
“The freak speaks—”
Phoebe slips beside me. “Can you go? Seriously? You’re not welcome here. Jake said you two agreed you wouldn’t do anything with the place until we moved out.”
Trent touches a hand to his chest. “And I am keeping my word.” He veers toward the kitchen. “I won’t be doing anything to the property until you girls are gone, but that doesn’t mean I can’t inspect it.” He runs a finger over the stove. “We’ll need to get a Miele induction in here, for sure. And the shades—what are those, paper blinds?”
“So, you’re metaphorically pissing on your territory, we get it.” Phoebe points to the door. “Exit stage left.”
Trent crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the counters. “There’s no need to be so hostile. I know you dumped my brother—”
“It was a mutual breakup,” I cut in. Okay, I might feel protective of Jake’s reputation. He wasn’t the dumpee or the dumper.
When Trent glances at me, Phoebe snaps her fingers. “Hello? Leave.” She whips out her phone. “Or I will be calling Jake to let him know his asshole brother is here harassing us.”
“So, now talking is harassing?” Trent’s brows shoot up. “What are we, five?”
“No, but you’re thirty-fucking-two and should know the definition of the word leave.” She puts the phone to her ear.
Trent rolls his eyes dramatically. “All right. All right. Don’t do that.” He lowers his hand in the air in demonstration. “Put the phone down.”
Phoebe’s nose flares.
Trent’s lips lift into a wider smile, and I can clearly see Phoebe’s fire turns him on. So I interject again, “What’s ten days to wait for inspections? We’re going to be gone by then.”
He barely breaks eye contact with Phoebe to glance at me. He squints. “What’s your name again?” He knows my name. He’s just being annoyingly obtuse.
Phoebe still has the phone to her ear. “Hey, Jake—”
Trent rolls his eyes. “Tell my little brother I said hello.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and casually saunters back to the door.
Phoebe and I watch as he leaves, and as soon as the door shuts, I make sure to flip the dead bolt. Not that it will help. He has a key.
She sets her cell on the counter and hits the speakerphone. “Your brother just left the loft.”
Jake lets out a low groan. “Fucking hell. I told him not to go over there.” I imagine he’s pinching the bridge of his nose in the way he does when he’s at the end of his rope. His brother hasn’t just been a thorn in his side, but the entire pricker bush. “Are you two okay?”
“I want to stab something, but other than that, I’m fine,” Phoebe says hotly.
“Hailey?” Jake asks. The way he says my name with concern and care in his deep, masculine voice sends a heat wave through my body. I try not to blush. The man has licked the most intimate parts of me; I shouldn’t swoon over something so simple. So mundane. And yet…here I am. Swooning.
“I’m good.”
He lets out a deeper sigh, but this one sounds relieved. “Okay, I’m going to stop by the hardware store and get a chain bolt. It’s not much, but hopefully it’ll give you both peace of mind until you move.” He pauses. “And I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t apologize for your egotistical, skeezy older brother,” Phoebe says. “You’re not the bad guy here, Jake.”
“But I am your landlord.”
“For ten more days at least,” I say.
After that, who knows what the future is going to hold?
TEN
Rocky
Stars speckle the dark sky in town, but I’m not looking upward on this cool start-of-summer night. Leaning on the brick siding near Baubles & Bookends, I gaze down the lamplit street as people exit the local movie theater. Couples arm in arm. Kids hop excitedly in front of smiling, doting parents. An old man brushes popcorn kernels off his shirt.
Cute.
Bitterness isn’t simmering. Something else grips my insides.
For a brief, heavy second, I imagine Christian and Josephine Wolfe coming out with two little boys skipping ahead of them. My older brothers Evan and Griffith. With tacky ’80s jean jackets and shaggy hair. Josephine pregnant with me. Maybe the marquee spelled out Back to the Future or The Breakfast Club.
I hate that I googled movie releases in ’85.