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)
“Just a year,” I tell Jake.
“Newly divorced, I remember you saying.”
“Yeah, but time heals all, right?”
He smiles back at me, and we reach the concession counter. I order some chocolate-covered peanuts, a small popcorn, and a Fizz.
He gets a water bottle.
“Boring.” I eye his choice as we make our way inside the theater.
“I don’t go to the movies much,” he whispers. We walk down the aisle, passing Hailey and Erik in the back row, and we sink into our velvety red chairs in the middle section. He quietly tells me how he grew up with two home theaters, and his parents’ producer connections sent them screenings of new releases.
I say, “Quite the bougie upbringing.”
“You couldn’t have been far off if you have a trust fund.”
“Had,” I remind him. Past tense. In this backstory, my parents took it away.
He nods slowly. “What’s the story there? Parents didn’t love your husband?”
I think about how my mom adores Rocky, but thanks to Oliver, Jake already knows that my mom would wholeheartedly approve of me dating someone prim and proper like Jake Waterford. Which is also true. It’s easier to just lean into what Jake already believes than to construct the foundation of a new lie.
So I build off of his belief.
I nod just as slowly back. “Yeah. It was trust fund or Rocky, and they made it quite apparent that a divorce wouldn’t even earn me back in their good graces. The damage had been done. I chose him.”
Jake frowns. “And you lost everything.” I hear his sympathy.
I dip my head, more out of guilt that pills at my insides like a knotted blanket. Rocky hasn’t taken anything from me. He’s been doing more than enough to try to protect my new life with his sister. And I recognize how it’s not that smart to mention the truth, but I can’t let Jake think the absolute worst of a man who I . . .
The dreaded and vulnerable four-letter word recedes in my brain.
I look over at my fake date. “Rocky isn’t a bad person. He’s always been there for me.”
Jake thinks carefully before speaking. “I can imagine it must be hard . . . to still care for someone but know it’s better to be apart. That’s why you moved to Victoria?” he wonders. “To get away from him?”
I hate how there is truth in his theory. I should reinforce this belief, too. That this was always about moving on from Rocky.
But I can’t. It hurts too much to cement it out loud, especially to Jake. So I say, “It’s just a fresh start for me and Hailey.”
Jake studies me in the dim lighting of the theater. The screen is blank, and I’m hoping the trailers start soon and shroud my burning face in total darkness.
“Yeah,” he says gently, as though not wanting to push too hard. “I hope yours is what you hope it will be.” He sounds genuine again, but I know he’s hoping my fresh start excludes my ex-husband.
The trailers are starting.
Thank the Lord. I try not to sink in my seat. Lights lower until darkness blankets the rows of chairs. Once the horror flick begins, Jake wraps his arm around me. I know now that he wouldn’t be shocked I watched The Exorcist at twelve.
My mom said, “If you ever need to pick a movie for a date, always choose horror, bug. It’s so easy to pretend to be interested in them during a jump scare or a slasher scene. Instead of covering your own eyes, lean into them.”
The movies never scared me. They still don’t.
When Jason kills, I play my role and hide in the crook of Jake’s arm. I can feel the low chortle of laughs that rumble his chest. I don’t understand, so I dip my head closer to his ear. “Why are you laughing at me?”
He turns his head to meet mine, our lips inches away. My whole body tenses. Real or fake? I don’t know, and that uncertainty blisters every part of me.
I don’t like being kept in the dark.
His hand cups the base of my neck before he leans past my lips to reach my ear. “I know you’re not really scared. You’re playing it up. It’s cute.”
It’s cute, again.
Gross.
Rocky would never call me cute. He’d probably tease me for being a big baby and then remind me that I’m fooling no one and my acting is worse than subpar—that he’d give more stars to the actors in a bad porno. And I’d call him a fuck-face. He’d say he’s never fucking my face, and I’d tell him he wishes he could fuck mine.
We’d stare at each other. For so long. Until one of us breaks.
Except, we never really break. Because if we did, I’d be on a real date with Rocky and not a fake one with Jake.