Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Everett Tinrock graces my bedroom like the jute rug and modern bed and beechwood dresser belong to him. I mean, they’re only temporarily mine. This place in Malibu came fully furnished, and he did help find it. So maybe they are partially his, too?
Rocky is pissed. “Whatever you want, we can do it outside her room.”
“No. Stay.” He holds up a stern hand.
“I’m not a fucking dog.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t respond to Rocky.”
I glare.
Everett dislikes the nickname and has tried to dissuade his son from choosing it more than once. The number of times he’s brought up Rocky Balboa—and not lovingly—has made me never want to watch another Rocky film again.
Still, Rocky…my Rocky…hasn’t discarded the name. Sometimes I wonder if he loves it more because his dad hates it.
Everett and Addison prefer to call him Brayden. It’s what they called him as a baby, and Rocky has let them continue to use it.
Rocky forces an acidic smile. “And maybe you shouldn’t barge into Phoebe’s room without knocking first.”
“You were in here. Don’t act like I’m invading her privacy when you two were doing…what exactly?” He focuses on me now like he’s a strict senior detective with polished loafers and the rich stench of eight-grand cologne.
Which I actually smell on him from five feet away.
I’m pretending like Rocky and I didn’t just make out. Thanks to my above-average acting skills and my interest in these bikinis, I’d say I’m doing a damn good job, but conning a con artist takes advanced skill that I might not have yet.
“I was helping her for the job,” Rocky bites back. “That’s it.”
Everett is staring at my mouth. God, I hope my lips don’t look just kissed. I make a great effort not to lick them or chew them or draw any more unwanted attention to them.
I lift the neon-green bikini. “I was just having trouble with my outfit for the bonfire tonight,” I tell him.
He slowly nods. “You shouldn’t scowl like that when you’re with Kellan. You’re a beautiful girl, but that’s unattractive.”
I try to take the pro-tip with grace. He’s just ensuring I don’t screw up, but Everett isn’t exactly my favorite person. “I won’t scowl on a job.”
Rocky is grinding his jaw. He moves to the door. “I’m leaving, Dad, so whatever you want to tell me, you can do it in the hall—”
Everett grips his elbow, stopping him, and Rocky slides easily out of the hold. His father says, “It’s not important. You can stay here.”
“It’s not important?” He’s skeptical. “You called my name like the fucking house was on fire.”
“Later,” Everett says. “You should help Phoebe. That matters more.” So Rocky helping me is most important to him. If his dad believes we were hooking up, is he suggesting we should continue? My head pounds, and I try not to think too intensely about it.
Especially when my mom calls him and he puts her on speaker. They’re discussing logistics for tonight, and it’s all pretty routine. Things we’ve been through. I’m not shocked that Everett isn’t advertising how he caught Rocky in my room. For one, it’s not that unusual for us to be alone together when our roles are often intertwined.
For another, Everett is all business, and that reeks of soap-opera-level drama.
Mom sighs. “…this would be easier if one of them were a little younger. I miss the days when you were a baby, bug.” She’s speaking to me.
“I don’t,” I say with a rising smile. “I like being older.” When we were kids, they gave us so little responsibility, and I like being valued enough to hold the rope and be the one to pull.
“You were so cute, though.” I hear the smile inside her words, and it makes mine grow. “And babies are the best social proof. No one doubts a single lie with a cute little squishy baby on your hip.”
She’s not wrong, and hearing her voice makes me wish she were physically here and not Everett. When I see Rocky’s intense glare at the phone, I wonder if he’s thinking about his little brother.
Poor Trevor. He’s aged up out of the adorable, innocent, doe-eyed phase, but he hasn’t really locked down a specific role outside of sleight of hand—which we all can do. Every time he wants to be paired with Rocky on a job, they say no and just put Rocky with me.
I’m pretty sure Trevor hates me for it, and I can’t really blame him. But it’s not like I’m calling those shots.
Once my mom hangs up and Everett is gone shortly thereafter, Rocky stares at the shut door like he’s throwing daggers with his eyes.
“Thanks for the assist. Earlier, I mean. Us practicing,” I tell him, and I mean it. When I kiss Kellan, maybe I can imagine I’m kissing Rocky. Would that be a bad thing? Who cares, as long as I succeed tonight. That’s all that really matters.