Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
I shake my head slowly and place my beer on the counter beside the fridge. “It can’t be about your father. He makes Phoebe angry more than scared.”
“Then what?”
“She ran into Trent, maybe. He came on to her and she’s not telling me.” My phone buzzes in my black slacks, and I pry it out. “Speaking of the firstborn fuckbag.” It’s what Phebs calls him, which makes me eye the bathroom again before pounding out a message with my thumb at my waist.
Trent Koning Waterford has been texting me every five goddamn minutes.
To party with him.
I’m running out of creative ways to brush off my fake best friend. When really, I just want to tell him to go fuck himself with a chain saw.
“Have you considered you’re just paranoid?” Nova asks.
“I’m listening,” I say while I text.
“Jake’s oldest brother is still a threat to Phebs, especially now that she’s seemingly single. You have to pretend to be Trent’s closest friend, so it’s harder for you. You’re imagining the worst before it’s even happened.”
Yeah.
I press send. “How do we know it hasn’t already happened, Nov? She’s a dog toy in a feud between two brothers. She knows it, man. I know it. You know it.”
He crosses his buff arms. Rigid, more primed for a shitstorm. “We’re all watching Trent. When would he get the chance?”
“The country club. Her place of work.”
“He doesn’t go to VCC anymore. He’s frequenting the fucking Mariner’s Club.” It’s an older, more exclusive establishment owned by the Wolfes and resides closer to private docks. Less beach but better anchorage for yachts, sailboats, catamarans. “Which is where you and I’ve been the past week, Rock.”
We’re now cardholding members of a rival country club. In the Konings’ division of assets, Jake Waterford was granted Victoria Country Club. He used to manage the club while his bossy mother oversaw everything and vetoed his decisions at her whim.
Now he’s in charge. Which has run Trent out. Not that he spent much time there in the first place. He thought it was a waste of fucking time.
“You could ask Phoebe if anything happened,” Nova suggests, reopening his comic book with force. “You know, talk. With words.”
I roll my eyes but end up muttering, “We’re working on it.” I can’t let anyone touch her. I can’t handle the impact of Trent coming as close as he did at the Alps.
He had his cock out. He got naked and crawled in the same hot tub as Phoebe. If I hadn’t shown up…
I trade my phone for Nat Sherman cigarettes. I don’t want to relax. I’d rather be buzzing with nicotine than unwound with alcohol. Leaning against the fridge again, I smack the pack of Nats on my palm. “Did she ever tell you what happened at the Alps? Or Carlsbad? The Fiddle Game?”
“No.” Nova looks up at me. “She told you?”
“Yep.” I light a cigarette and hold one elbow while I smoke. “The last time I felt this in the dark with Phebs, she’d been hiding something traumatic.”
“The Fiddle Game?”
I nod once. “Yeah.” The Fiddle Game. The job in Carlsbad is what sent her here.
Nova’s nose flares, his olive skin turning pallid. He looks murderous and ill. Training an unblinking stare on me, he asks, “Was she raped?”
Nitric acid might as well coarse through my bloodstream. “Not exactly.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
I suck hard on the cigarette, then blow smoke downward. “It means you need to ask her. I’m not sharing her personal shit.”
“Fuck,” he curses roughly under his breath, then holds the side of his head in his hand, unable to concentrate on the comic book anymore, though he tries.
I have that lovely effect on people.
The door blows open. Not the one I wanted, unfortunately. Bathroom still shut. Oliver appears through the front entrance with Jake only steps behind.
“Took you long enough,” I tell them.
Oliver steals a pear out of the fruit bowl. Then tips his head toward Jake as he says lightly, “Il a la trique pour Hailey.” He has a hard-on for Hailey.
I blink in annoyance. “On sait.” We know.
Nova isn’t fluent in French, so Oliver said this just to aggravate me. Mission accomplished. Did not ask to be in the middle of whatever the fuck this is with Oliver and Jake and my little sister.
Oliver smiles into a laugh, tosses the pear in his palm, then sinks his teeth in the fruit.
“Ol.” Nova stands and fists his brother’s black linen shirt. He pulls him toward Phoebe’s bedroom. Probably to talk alone. Privately.
What friends do, apparently.
I’m left with Jake in the kitchen. Truthfully, I don’t hate it. I almost can’t believe I’m at this place with the moral crusader.
“I don’t get him,” Jake says with a heavy breath, like he’s been in a stairwell triathlon with Oliver.
Oliver Graves will race circles around him and eventually tire him out, which makes me feel a little bad for Jake.