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)
He cracks a smile. “I’d take a Chris Evans. With tattoos.”
“With tattoos?” My brows jump.
“You wouldn’t?” he volleys.
“No.” I go back to the app. “I’d only bid on Phoebe.” It’s practically said under my breath, but he’s standing at my side and hears.
His smile softens on me like I’m sitting at his fucking Round Table with other Arthurian knights. I don’t want to be there.
“Christian Slater circa Heathers,” I tell him quickly.
“That’s your type?”
“One of them.”
“So you’d fuck yourself?”
“Well, I don’t think I’m ugly.”
He laughs.
I hate that I want to smile, and when I meet Phoebe’s gaze, her happiness is what really gets me. She brightens seeing I’m getting along with Jake. He’s getting along with me. We’re not about to slit each other’s throats when we’ve been taking the world’s greatest trust falls with one another.
“Next up is a fairly new server from our very beloved Victoria Country Club,” Katherine announces, and Phoebe’s smile plummets from the ozone. “Phoebe Smith.”
I shove my phone in my jacket, and Jake focuses on his fake girlfriend. She gives a polite wave, then hugs the overcoat tighter to her frame. It’s easy to hear the whispered words around us—and not just from nosy ladies at the country club.
These are college students.
“Grey will win her.”
“Grey doesn’t care that she’s with Jake. Just watch.”
“God, Jake is so much better for her. Grey is a giant red flag.”
“I know. Watersmith is everything.”
Watersmith. They have a couple name. This is new. Kill me later. (Or not.) I rake a hand through my hair. I wish everyone would say Jake isn’t good enough for Phoebe.
That I am.
Hailey said it’s obvious why interest in the new happy couple has extended beyond socialites and now to caufers—that Phoebe and Jake are the “Peyton and Lucas” of Victoria.
“They’re from One Tree Hill,” my sister reminded me when I gave her a look.
“I know the TV reference,” I said. “I also know that Lucas is a cheating wet blanket.”
“Jake isn’t a cheater,” Hailey replied definitively, like she knew him too well. They’ve spent a handful of hours together at a thriller/mystery book club that meets at Baubles & Bookends.
“Yeah? Did he just offer that fun opinion over a deep-dive analysis of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo?” I asked her.
“He didn’t blatantly say he wasn’t a cheater. I’ve just gotten the sense he’s very loyal.”
I flashed a smile. “A regular golden retriever.”
“At least Phoebe prefers German shepherds,” she said. “Protective, faithful, way more like you.”
My lips almost lifted. Almost. Because Hailey didn’t look into my eyes when she said it or even afterward. She’s shied away from talking much about my love of her best friend.
I’ve picked up that she’s hiding something.
Call it a hunch. (Usually mine aren’t that far off.)
“Watersmith is so cute,” I hear by the fountain, and I grimace. Phake was right there, and that’s what they are. Fake.
That’s also the foundation of my relationship with Phoebe. The two of us—playing pretend. Could he really fill my role in her life? No. Still, I’m wading in a vat of jealousy watching him try. And knowing it’s better if he doesn’t fail.
Katherine gestures to my girlfriend/wife/everything. “We’ll start Phoebe and her clues at two thousand dollars.”
Without falter, Jake says loudly, “Two thousand!”
My teeth ache as I grind down. Don’t bid on her.
I can’t.
Phoebe produces a phony warm smile at Jake that likely only I can pinpoint as insincere. Then her brown eyes so very subtly shift to me. My chest rises.
I love when I stare at Phoebe across a crowd of people—it’s like we’re in a dreamscape of our own making. One that only we can see.
This is what I’ve always shared with her. A great, unyielding truth beneath hundreds of lies.
Phoebe’s cheeks go rosy, and she drags her gaze to the ground.
My lips tic upward.
“Two thousand,” Katherine says. “Do I hear three?”
“Five!” Weston interjects loudly. His smug smirk meets my pissed glare. I didn’t anticipate him bidding on Phoebe. That irritates me.
“Six!” Jake shouts, then he sends Weston a lukewarm threatening look. It wouldn’t burn a baby.
“Seven,” Weston counters without much pause. He’s still staring at me.
I’m not acknowledging this prick anymore. I hope he thinks about me so much, I give him a brain clot.
Jake makes a confused face at Weston. “You do know you’re bidding on my girlfriend?”
Weston takes a perfunctory sip from his thermos. Sure, he has all the time in the world. We can wait on him. He smacks his lips. “I’m not bidding on the girl, Jake. I have a gut feeling she holds the best clues.” He raises his voice to ask me, “What about you, Grey? Too rich for your blood?”
He’s saying I can’t afford my ex-wife.
Phoebe crosses her arms haughtily, and as she mutters something, I read her lips as they form the word asshole. She needs to be careful.