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)
Hailey had been fourteen. Oliver, fourteen. Me, fifteen. Nova, fifteen.
Sex has never been something to protect. It’s a way to blow off steam. A way to release pent-up emotions. We fuck and move on.
Except…Phoebe.
She’s nineteen. Nineteen. And she’s never had sex. She explicitly told me it’s because of her mom. That her mom likes to know everything about her crushes and love life, and she figured it’d be better to wait to open that can of worms.
I always thought maybe, deep down, she’s worried for the same reason I am.
Now that she’s had sex, our parents will put her in worse positions in cons. More sexual. Lewder. I’ve never brought up my fears. Never wanted to instill my worries in anyone else. As if saying them out loud will manifest them somehow.
But here, outside the yurt, knowing things have changed, I just go with one of my million questions. “Why him?” I ask.
She uncrosses her arms in a huff, caught off guard. “I don’t know, Rocky.”
“You don’t know why you slept with him?”
“He’s nice.” She glares.
I cringe. “Nice?” My cinched brows rise higher. Have I read her wrong? For this many years? Since when does she like nice? Maybe she wouldn’t like me in bed. Maybe she’d be turned off if I pulled her hair and pinned her down. Maybe it doesn’t fucking matter—because I’m never coming inside Phoebe Graves.
She grows hotter. “Is that why you barged over here? To quiz me on my hookup? It was an A-plus, stellar, over-the-moon event. Practically God-tier worthy.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Hit me with more of those overbaked platitudes. Tell me more lies.”
She scowls. “I don’t need this overprotective routine. I already have two older brothers.”
I roll my eyes at the word older when it’s by minutes. Emotions are gnawing on my insides. “I’m not trying to be your brother.” Those words are almost a growl.
“Then what is this?” Phoebe asks.
I let out an angry breath. “Hailey isn’t here. I’m just trying to be your friend…I guess.” Is that what this is? Doubtful. Because I really feel like storming into the yurt and dragging the park ranger out by his ugly hat. And yeah, in my mind he looks like Smokey Bear.
Her brown eyes carry less heat. “Just because this is my first time doesn’t mean I haven’t done things. I’m not so different from you.” She sizes me up for a slow beat. “We’ve both sucked cock. We’ve both eaten pussy—”
“It’s not a competition,” I cut her off. Knowing we’re alike in a lot of fucking ways. We both feel attraction on a wide scale. We both have a sexual appetite. But only one of us has been safekeeping their virginity like it means something.
Like it meant something.
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.
“Piper?!” the park ranger calls out from inside her yurt.
“One second!” she shouts back, not opening the door. I’m a little surprised she’s brushing him off and not me. She rotates back to me. “Hailey’s not here, but I plan to call her before we leave. So if you’re trying to be her stand-in, you’re dismissed.” She shoos me away like a fly.
I don’t move. “We’re heading out on the road in five. So how are you going to ditch the park ranger?”
“I’ll give him a fake number.” She gathers her hair in a pony and twists a scrunchie around the brown strands. It lifts the bottom of her tee, flashing her lacy blue panties, and my eyes flit down to her pussy, then up to her.
Phoebe looks dizzy at either my expression or closeness. Resting her shoulders against the door, she takes measured breaths through her nose. “You never said if you liked it.”
“Liked what?” I ask.
“Your first time. Was it everything you hoped for?”
“It was okay, C-minus, unimaginative, uneventful, borderline boring.” I watch her eyes fall to her toes, and I can’t read her fast enough.
Her eyes slowly rise to me again. “Your first fuck is never supposed to be the best, right?”
Is she talking about me or her or us? My pulse hammers in my veins. I stare at the door again. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she forces out. “He was nice. Remember?” She’s not lying.
I push my hand through my hair. “So you’re giving him a fake number, then what?”
“Then I’ll tell him to call me later, but he won’t ever reach me.”
“You think that’ll work?” I ask her. “If this was an A-plus, stellar, out-of-this-world, God-tier-worthy experience for him, do you think he’s going to just let you go that easily?”
She thinks about it for a second. “If you were Hailey, you’d be telling me to dine and ditch.”
I cringe.
Jesus, I can practically hear my sister in my head. Did I already know that’s Hailey’s MO with hookups? Yes. And I’m happy she chooses to ghost her one-night stands rather than give them a chance to be clingy shitbags.