Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126927 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 635(@200wpm)___ 508(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Of course Chelsea is logged in my fucking head.
Server at VCC.
Father is Thai and British. Mother is American. Brother is a family doctor in town. Both of her parents are divorce attorneys, and Chelsea is dating a local rowing coach. Her entire family would be considered upper class or at least upper middle class almost anywhere, but in Victoria, doctors and lawyers are lumped in with the “working class” of society.
If you work too hard to earn your money, you’re not rich enough.
Old money runs Victoria.
“She’s not a mark,” I confirm to Hailey. “What about her?”
“Chelsea told me some people rent out their sailboats to live on. Maybe we could find an affordable one?”
I twirl fettucine on my fork. “Or you accept my generosity.”
“Your generosity comes from conning.”
“And your savings don’t?” I eat another dry, chewy bite.
She lets out a long breath. “You’re not a solution, Rocky. You’re a temporary Band-Aid to the problem, and this has to last. It has to.” Her desperation heightens to a new level.
I swallow, and the pasta sticks like a rock in my throat. Once I steal my sister’s glass of water, I wash down the lodged food.
“Everything okay?” Phoebe’s voice pulls Hailey and me from our conversation.
I take one look at her. “Phoebe,” I groan. “Put some clothes on.”
She grips the towel loosely around her hips. Topless. And I’m doing everything not to stare at her tits. But the fabric at her thighs hypnotizes me, the hem of the towel slipping against the soft flesh between her legs. I watch a bead of water roll down to her knee before I find the willpower to avert my entire fucking gaze.
“I’m in a towel,” Phoebe combats. “And this is my loft, and it’s not like . . .” She trails off with a frustrated growl.
I stake another noodle, knowing what she was about to say.
It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked.
But she won’t speak it out loud. Those words are tucked close to a memory, a night, that both of us agreed to forget.
But it’s hard forgetting. In the back of my head, I can still feel the warmth of her body in my hands, and I hear the quickening of her heartbeat and I taste the strawberry off her lips. Being close to Phoebe is like being drowned in ice water.
It wakes every nerve ending. It makes me feel out of control. And so, so alive.
That night two years ago was the worst con we’ve ever agreed to, and surfacing that baggage is uncomfortable—for both of us.
I chew on a gristly piece of chicken.
“Are you seriously eating my leftovers?” Phoebe accuses, coming to the table. Thankfully she’s tightened the towel above her tits.
“This takeout is from Wednesday,” I retort. “It’s Saturday. If you weren’t eating it tonight, it belongs in the trash.” I make a point of eating another noodle. “I’m saving you from a trip to the bathroom.”
“Hope you have fun taking one there.”
I flip her off.
She ignores me. “You okay, Hailey?” She carries real worry for my sister.
Hailey tries to hide her notepad again. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”
“Actually, it’s not,” I interrupt. “Hailey crunched some numbers, and you two won’t survive three months.”
Hailey’s jaw drops like I just took her ball of trust and free-throwed it into the trash.
I’m helping you, Hails.
She throws her pen at me.
I catch it midair.
Hailey groans and buries her face in her hands.
Phoebe’s brows knot. “Hailey?”
“Okay, it’s kind of true.” Hailey cringes as she comes up from her palms. “I just don’t want to worry you.”
I stand, and I slip the pen behind my ear and pick up the aluminum container. “This is a good time to remind you both of the skills you’ve been taught.” I dump it in the trash. “We can do a short con tonight at the party—”
“What party?” Phoebe and Hailey ask in unison.
“I was invited to a boathouse party by a girl at the club.”
“Valentina,” Phoebe realizes.
“You both can come along with me—”
“I’d rather eat sawdust than go to a party tonight,” Phoebe cuts me off and shoulder-shoves me to reach the fridge, still in nothing but that damn towel.
“We’re not conning anyone, Rocky,” Hailey reinforces. “We’re done for good.”
I know she wants to be, so I look to Phoebe. “A little three-card monte, Phebs?” I ask with raised brows. She swerves around with a bottle of Yoo-hoo, considering.
I lean on the kitchen counter. “You need the money, and it’ll be fun.”
After she takes a long swig from the chocolate drink, she wipes her mouth with her wrist, and I can tell she’s really thinking about it.
“No.” Hailey looks between us. “She’s not doing it. Phoebe?”
Phoebe winces. “We need the money, though.” And there it is . . . Phoebe’s weakness will always be protecting my sister.
It’s likely mine, too.
“There are other options,” Hailey says. “We can still do this the right way.” She slips a tiny scowl at me. “And you need to find your own place soon. Before you get us in trouble with Jake.”