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 wants a romance like her parents. Solid. Committed. Everlasting.
Addison and Everett’s love story is one for the storybooks. She was pretending to be a graduate student at an Ivy League. He was pretending to be a professor, and they both tried to con each other out of a sizeable chunk of money. Addison pulled it off. She boarded a train with my mom that was heading to the West Coast, and when the train started clunking along, Everett strolled down the aisle and sat right across from Addison.
He smiled and congratulated her on the win.
They’ve been together ever since.
This is the first time I’ve heard Hailey talk about things she’ll miss in her old life. Her dreams of dating a con artist. A future she painted for herself.
I’ve never shared in that future. Because I never looked that far ahead. I tried not to romanticize what could be.
I slide off the bed. “Maybe Erik has some hidden talent that’ll make you go wild.”
She bites the inside of her lip. “Yeah.” She seems sad, giving up the idea of Carter. When she sees me staring, she says, “This is better. I know it is.”
I frown, wondering why she’s trying to convince herself. She’d been so ready to die on her sword for this new life after Carlsbad. I thought I was the only one having a hard time with it.
“You take the first shower,” I tell her.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m going to figure out what to wear on my fake date with my fake boyfriend.” Who’s strangely not Rocky.
She smiles, but it wavers in and out before she leaves my room.
Twenty-Seven
Phoebe
Hailey never told me where we’d be having our “double date.” I figured we’d be meeting up at a coffee shop or something, but the closer we get to Victoria Arts Cinema, the more my heart races.
“Hailey,” I whisper-hiss. “A movie date?”
Her pace is brisk while she applies black lipstick without a mirror (the realest talent). “I told Jake you’re a horror genre junkie, and this was his idea.” She elbows my side. “Isn’t he thoughtful?”
That’s not my immediate reaction. My brows knot into what I hope isn’t a permanent frown. “Where have you been having all these solo chats with Jake?”
“Baubles & Bookends.” She caps the lipstick and dumps it in her backpack. “He’s a big J. D. Robb fan.” The chains attached to her cargo pants jingle as we walk in town, passing a bicycle shop and breakfast diner.
“A movie date might be too much.” I gather my hair into a pony, hot all of a sudden, but after tying the lumpiest pony, I just let the blue strands fall against my white dress.
We’re almost late due to my massive indecision on what to wear. I’m basically in a little white dress—the sidekick of the little black dress—and is it too sexy? The neckline is borderline modest, and the fabric flows more than hugs my frame—but it’s still white.
White is pure. Virginal. Which my mom would say attracts men more than repels them. And typically, you’d want to be attractive toward a date.
Even a fake date.
But do I want to attract Jake?
I should. He’s a portal away from Rocky, and in theory, it should be easy to jump through. But it’s like the wardrobe takes me to family-friendly Narnia when I’d rather go to depraved Westeros.
Honestly, these confusing doubts never cropped up this high when I was fake dating Rocky. Picking an outfit shouldn’t be this complicated—for anyone!
Hailey senses my nerves. “Are you freaked out about kissing him in a dark theater?”
“I honestly didn’t imagine kissing Jake at all, but now that you bring it up, you can erase Nervous Nelly off my ID.” She hears my sarcasm.
“First-date jitters,” she teases me now, and I elbow her side. We break into smiles together, and then I blow out a breath.
“Okay, fine.” I lower my voice. “The guy I have the most experience fake kissing is your brother.”
“So this is even more perfect. You gain more experience fake kissing . . . or not kissing, maybe just fake-being-with-Jake, who’s not Rocky—”
“Which is a good thing,” I interject, trying to pump myself up.
“Yes, it is.”
“And you gain more experience in real dating.”
She nods, now looking a little nervous. “Yeah . . . it’s a win-win all around.”
“Yep.”
We don’t relax.
By the time we reach the eight-screen theater—the bulbed marquee advertising mostly classic horror movies now that it’s October—we’re ten minutes late. So neither of us are surprised that Jake and Erik are already inside, waiting beside the concession line.
Erik does have tattoos. A knife and skull are inked across his arm, and his black shirt says sink pisser in the top corner, a demon on the back.
Hailey really found her edgy match.
She goes in for a hug with Erik immediately, while Jake and I stop about a foot away from one another.