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)
“She’s not flipping through the books.” He lowers his voice to an angry whisper. “People who flip through books don’t go page by page, front cover to back. I’ve stood here and watched her read three books in the span of twenty minutes.” His eyes flit to her, but Hailey is absorbed in her paperback, not even breaking her gaze from the pages.
Sure enough, she is flipping each page. Very quickly.
“You’ve been watching her for twenty consecutive minutes?” I ask with the raise of my brows.
He eats air, chasing after words in his head. “I . . . that’s not the point. She can’t read the entire book.”
“Don’t be silly,” I say more casually, trying to play it off. “No one can read that fast.”
“Obviously, she can,” he refutes. “And as her best friend, I’d like you to tell her to either stop reading the books front to back or better yet—buy a book.”
I narrow my eyes. “And why can’t you tell her yourself, Mason?” He’s been watching her for twenty minutes after all.
Flush ascends his neck. “She looks . . . you know . . .”
“Like she’d dick punch you?”
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it.
Truth is, I’m the one who’s seconds away from dick punching. But I’m not leaving this town tomorrow. I have a reputation and all. So I take a steadying breath and say, “I’ll let her know.”
I leave his side.
“Wait—which part?” Worry clings to his voice, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.
Hailey still doesn’t glance up from her book when I step to her side. I clear my throat.
“Hold on,” she says. “He’s about to confess his love—oh wait, he killed her.”
My eyes widen. “Really?”
She frowns. “Yeah . . .” She shuts the book and looks at the cover. “Oh, I thought I was reading a romance. I think this might be a thriller.”
“Maybe it’s both,” I tell her, handing her the extra cup. “Villains have to fall in love, too.”
She places the book back on the shelf and takes the coffee. Her gaze swings past me. “That guy has been staring at me for twenty minutes.”
She’s more perceptive than I give her credit for.
“Yeah, he wanted me to tell you that this isn’t a library. You can’t read the books without buying them. But he’s an asshole and was too chickenshit to come tell you himself, so until he does, you can do what you want.” I hold my cup up to her and she cheers with me.
As soon as we both take sips, she winces. I wince off her wince.
Okay, maybe I am a coffee snob.
“This is . . .” Hailey peers into her cup like she can find the problem.
“Awful,” I agree. “Who knew our mothers would ruin our coffee palates?”
Like I summoned her from the ether, my phone pings with a beep beep that sounds like a Minion from Despicable Me.
Hailey’s face falls. “Don’t look at it.”
“It’ll eat at me all day,” I refute, and maybe I’m more nihilistic after what Rocky confessed. A bristling anger has trumped some fear. I set the coffee cup on a side table beside a decorative ceramic bear holding a sign that says HELLO MY NAME IS: WILLIAM SHAKESBEARE.
Clicking into my cell, I see the caller ID: LAURIE STRODE.
My favorite horror movie mom.
I’ve never seen my mom wield a knife like Jamie Lee Curtis’s character in the Halloween franchise, but I’ve always thought she’s just as resilient.
My stomach does a nosedive at the text.
Laurie Strode: It isn’t like you to want to miss out on a job, bug. Call me. Worried about you.
She still cares about me. She always has. And I’m not lumping her in with Everett. Innocent until proven guilty, right? I should give her the benefit of the doubt.
Hailey reads the text over my shoulder. Then her phone beeps with the normal preset tone. She swings off her black studded mini-backpack and fishes out her cell. “They’re probably at brunch texting us at the same time,” she theorizes. As soon as she clicks into her messages, she sighs and hands me the phone.
Mother: The Belle is missing at the ball. Clock has struck twelve. Where’s Alice?
Hailey and Addison love talking in riddles together. I never understood it, but Hailey said it’s fun word games.
“Why couldn’t she just say you’re late?” I ask, returning her cell.
“She did.” Hailey’s about to chuck her phone into her backpack when it beeps again. I read over her shoulder.
Little Brother: Did you find a new job?
“What do I say?” Hailey asks. Like me, it’s a lot harder for her to ghost her siblings.
“Just tell him to talk to Rocky.” Shirking the responsibility on Rocky doesn’t feel great, but his whole purpose for being out here is to make sure we don’t get into trouble.