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)
He finally leaves the doorway to retrieve clothes from the dresser. I concentrate on Hailey, peeling damp pieces of platinum hair off her cheeks. Her eyes stay closed, her head sinking into the feather pillow, and her breath slowing.
She murmurs my name as she drifts off, and my ribs constrict around my lungs. I don’t want to lose her. I never thought I could until tonight. She knows settling down hasn’t been in my blood. It’s why she envisioned a future with Carter and not me.
Just sex.
Maybe it never really was just sex. Hailey has always been a constant for me. Now I’m more afraid Jake is going to stick around and be one for her.
Carefully, gingerly, I slip out of the bedsheets. Buck naked. I’m at half-mast, but Jake isn’t staring at my dick. Confusion fills his face while he steps into boxer briefs. I glance downward.
He’s huge and also at half-mast.
I feel my body tighten. I’m a shaken soda bottle with the cap too tightly screwed.
“I’m not leaving,” I whisper, hopefully answering his silent question. “I’m spending the night with her.” Then I push my shoulders into the cracked bathroom, trying to relax. I grab the door so it won’t slam and quietly shut it.
I go to wash my hands. Please be a decent hand soap. I read the ingredients label on the black dispenser and cringe at the synthetic fragrances. That’ll dry out my skin.
I wash my hands anyway.
Then I towel my palms off and inspect my jawline, the skin rough with stubble. Hailey likes it, but I think it’s because she knows I obsess over shaving. My features sometimes feel ever-changing. I haven’t had my natural dark brown hair since I was a kid. Haven’t held a tan the past few years to distance myself from the last job when I did.
My olive skin lacks blemishes after I lasered off a mole on my bicep and thigh. This is the longest I’ve gone without changing my eye color. Still thankful I didn’t wear colored contacts when I came to Victoria. (I don’t need to pretend to be blue-eyed for over a year.) This is, without question, the longest I’ve ever maintained one appearance.
Don’t freak out, Oliver.
I crack my stiff neck, then glance down at my grip on the sink. My knuckles have started to scar. I’ll need to figure out how to get rid of those for the next job.
Don’t freak the fuck out, Oliver.
I squat down to the cupboard. Let’s see what the dear old homicidal dad keeps stocked. I rummage through a basket of toiletries. Happy to find a straight razor and shave cream. Ingredients—Not bad.
I rise and warm a hand towel under hot water, press the damp cloth to my face, then rub in some cream along my jaw, and I begin to shave. It’s not even close to my normal skincare routine, but my body untenses as I slide the razor up my cheek.
“Hey.”
I swing my head at Jake’s abrupt appearance, but I don’t move the razor. I wince as I accidentally slice my own cheek. Shit.
Shit. There’s blood. What a night. I’m very much off my A game.
“Fuck,” Jake curses, hurrying farther in the bathroom.
Quickly, I throw the razor in the sink, seeing droplets of blood on the white porcelain. “Show-and-tell just for you, Koning,” I banter. “Con artists do bleed.”
“Here.” He presses a warm towel to the side of my face. I stifle the urge to wince. His large palm sheathes my cheek with extra pressure and force like the cut might be deep. Tension stretches; I’m all too aware of his caring act toward me. His eyes flit over me. “I didn’t think you could be snuck up on,” he says.
“My beauty is a powerful thing. It even distracts me.” I bear the back of my skull against the dark striped wallpaper, staring into him while I reach up to my face. He lets go of the washcloth when I take over, our fingers brushing in the exchange.
I hold it to my stinging cheek and try to relax my muscles. I try not to care about this fucking cut while I’m sharing his company. Don’t care that he sees my dick, but I care about a grotesque scar.
I’m hooked on his sky-blue eyes. “Distracting you yet?” I ask, hoping he’s thinking about me making Hailey come.
Jake nods slowly, ramping up the heat in the bathroom, just to say, “You’ll have to try harder.”
“Hmm,” I muse. “I am a try-hard.” I wink, but even that slight movement pulls the throbbing skin of my cheek.
“Stop flirting,” he advises.
“He wants me to be good,” I bemoan dramatically, like it’s more wounding. “Never.” I stare under my lashes. “You can’t make me. But it’s not too late for you to be bad. Come over to the Dark Side. You’ll survive longer if you do.”