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 start tossing shirts into the suitcase, not bothering to fold them. Hailey’s gaze flits from Trent to me, anger growing as she puts the pieces together.
“You can stay in my room, Jake,” she says, loud enough for my brother to hear. Defiance pulses against her gray eyes, and I lose myself in them for a second. There aren’t many people in this world willing to stick up for me against Trent. Until the Graveses and Tinrocks moved to Victoria, I would have said there were none.
It still feels unreal. Like maybe one day I’ll wake up from this dream and live my inherited nightmare.
“So cute,” Trent deadpans, his eyes still on his phone. “The freak has a charity case.”
She opens her mouth to reply, but I reach out across my suitcase to grab her wrist. Her lips snap shut. Her shoulders slump in defeat, and we share a silent look of agreement. No provoking. Trent gets too interested in the push and pull, and if he showed any interest in Hailey, I’d lose my fucking mind.
We return to my clothes, and I watch her fold my black boxer briefs. Her lips quirk in a sly smile as she places them gently into the suitcase and pats them. I try hard not to smile, especially when she reorganizes every shirt I attempt to fold. She does sorcery on it because the collar ends up on top. Her lips keep rising and rising as my expression turns more awed.
I can’t stop looking at her. Even though better judgment says I should.
Trent doesn’t know it, but he did me a massive favor today. I’m the real winner because I get to spend all summer rooming with Hailey Tinrock.
Thank you, brother.
FOURTEEN
Hailey
The belly of the beast looks more like a fantasy sprung from my head than a monstrous lair. Floor-to-ceiling shelves full of antique hardbacks occupy my guest room. Dark velvet drapes shade the arched windows, and a reading lamp is fastened to the wooden headboard of a regal four-poster bed. It makes me question how much Varrick knows about me. About all of us. Did he assign me this particular room because he’s aware of my love of books?
No. It has to be a coincidence.
A happenstance.
I can’t ruminate on hypotheticals. My brain is already fogged from last night’s measly three hours of sleep. A record low since the storm shelter, which has festered a new wave of guilt. Especially after my prenatal checkup in New Hampshire two days ago.
The baby is healthy.
The baby is the size of a date.
But Dr. Perez reminded me three times to get my insomnia under control. That stress and lack of sleep could cause a myriad of issues, like gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, preterm labor. The list seemed to be endless. “But don’t stress,” she insisted. “Stress will just make it more difficult to sleep. And right now, you need to focus on sleeping. If normal methods don’t work, I highly recommend seeking therapy to root out the issue.”
Therapy isn’t an option for me. I’d have to omit too many facts or lie my way through it, and so I’m back to my own strategy. My own tools. Last night was a bad blip because I slept alone. I know this.
I also know I don’t have to worry about that this summer. Not when Jake is currently moving his luggage into my guest room.
He shuts the dresser drawer, then spins toward me. “Are we okay to talk?” he asks, his eyes flitting around the walls like he’s in search of eavesdroppers.
“All clear,” I say. “I checked for bugs already.” It was a tedious task, flipping open each book on the shelf, checking the pages for wireless bugs. Running my hand along windowsills and picture frames for hidden cameras. For anyone else, it might take an hour, but I was able to do it in ten minutes.
Finding any kind of surveillance would have been definitive proof Varrick doesn’t trust us.
But I came up empty.
I plop on the springy king-sized mattress, the thick comforter a shade of plum, and the chain on my cargo pants jingles.
Jake grips the bedpost like he’s keeping himself from fully committing to sitting beside me. Veins spindle down his forearm as we silently check each other out. We are sharing a room this summer. A bed. You can’t run from him after a sensual fuck, Hailey.
I can’t tell if I love this fact or if I’m terrified of it.
His eyes stall on the two silver hoop piercings on either side of my bottom lip. Ones I take out for work at the country club.
“Snakebites,” I tell him. “That’s the name of the piercing.”
“I like it.”
“You do?”
“That surprises you, why?” Skin pleats between his brows. “We’ve had sex.”
“I’ve slept with guys who didn’t like my piercings or my lipstick or my face.”