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)
“I’m surprised you needed my help, considering our history.” We literally just had a public confrontation this morning at the Harvest Festival. The only thing that’s changed is his need to ensure I don’t ruin his fake relationship.
Jake drags his gaze along the dirt floor, wrestling with his decision to call me. His blue eyes hoist to meet mine. “We got off on the wrong foot.”
The wrong foot. “I’d say we got off exactly how the universe intended.” Am I going to take pleasure in him asking me for help? A favor?
Yes.
Yes, I am.
I wait for him to speak. Tension coils between us now that it’s clear I’m not brushing aside our rift.
Jake takes a tight breath. “Just hear me out.”
“It’s why I’m here,” I say, flashing a smile.
He has to take a second, steadying his breath. Then he says, “This was my sister’s horse. My parents aren’t sentimental about Bowie, and they’re ready to sell him so they can bank more money boarding another horse.”
“I’m not seeing the issue,” I tell him. “If you’re sentimental about him, then why don’t you buy the horse?”
His jaw sets, nose flaring as his breath inflates his lungs. Elevates his chest. He holds my gaze so long that I wonder if he thinks I can read his fucking mind. More likely, he’s just hating that I’m not bending that easily.
And then he says, “I’ve tried, man. But there’s another buyer ready to purchase him in all cash, and my trust fund has its . . . limitations.”
I don’t ask about his savings. I’m sure they’re all tied up in stocks or IRAs or accounts so complicated you’d need three brokers to explain it to you. All these rich heirs are the same.
“So you want me to buy Bowie?” I just come out and ask. It’s why he didn’t ask Phoebe—he knows she doesn’t have the cash.
He nods. “I know it’s not a simple request.” He runs a tender hand down Bowie’s nose. “But Phoebe told me you’re the kind of guy who’d do anything for his friends—”
“I missed the part where we became friends,” I say sharply, using the exact words he’s said to me.
Breath knocks out of Jake like I sucker punched him, but he recovers fast. “It’s in you to be one, isn’t it? And yeah, maybe I don’t see it, but she does.”
Talk of Phoebe vouching for my character tenses me in a different way. In my head, I had questioned whether she was shitting on me to Jake at the festival, and now I feel like an ass for questioning her at all.
I shift toward the horse and ask, “How much?”
“He’s a hundred grand.”
I whistle lowly. “I’m going to be honest with you, Jake. I don’t much like horses, and unless this one pisses gold, I’m not interested. Maybe take it up with one of your actual friends.” I’m about to leave.
“Wait.” He jolts forward to stop me.
I pause.
His brows cinch, his eyes troubled. “They all basically said the same shit.”
“But I’m the out-of-towner that will take the bait, right?” I stuff my hands in my leather jacket.
He frowns deeply. “This isn’t some trick.”
I still don’t know that.
“It seems fishy,” I tell him. “You’re so desperate to keep a horse that’s definitely not worth the price—all to remember your sister by? It’s sweet, sure, but take a picture and frame it. It’ll serve the same purpose.”
He shakes his head repeatedly like it won’t. Like there is no alternative. “I can buy him back when some of my funds become less tied up. You can call it a loan, if you want. With interest.”
See, I’ve been here before.
On both sides.
I’ve been handed money. Only instead of paying back the “loan,” I disappeared with it.
I’ve handed over money. Only that had a purpose. It was a stepping stone to gain trust, and there’s nothing for me to gain here. I don’t need Jake’s trust. I don’t need anything from him, other than to ensure he won’t fuck with Phoebe.
He’s the desperate one—the person I could so easily screw over in a heartbeat. It’s like the universe is dangling a carrot out in front of me, tempting me to just . . . con him.
But easy isn’t right.
It’s not even smart.
I stare harder at Bowie. He neighs at me, and I cringe. Yeah, still don’t like horses.
I tell Jake, “It’s just not going to happen.” Sorry, not sorry.
He blinks hard like I impaled him, and I’m beginning to realize that I was his last-ditch effort. Which isn’t shocking at all. He’s not fond of me—I wouldn’t be first in line for him to grovel to.
Jake rubs his mouth a few times; dropping his hand, he says, “I thought you’d get it because you have a little sister.”
“Luckily my sister’s hobbies and sentimental memorabilia aren’t worth a hundred grand. Throw a paperback at her and she’s happy.”