Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“It’s making it harder?” I pull on his plain black tee. It hangs loose around my frame.
“I’m on an edge…like right at the precipice, and the only thing keeping me sane is knowing I have you. Physically. Sexually. Emotionally. Every way, inside and out.”
I understand him, I think more than he realizes. “And here,” I say softly, “I thought I was the needy, greedy bitch.” When his smile appears after mine, I walk into his arms.
He wraps them fiercely around me. Resting his chin on my head, he murmurs so quietly, I almost miss the words. “I’m falling more in love with you.”
Tears prick my eyes as the sentiments overwhelm me.
I didn’t think I could love Rocky any deeper than I did, but if there was a way to slip into someone’s body, I think we’d both choose to do it in these intimate moments we have together. Because they aren’t always frequent or guaranteed. They’re fought for every day.
Even now, I’m risking being at his boathouse when I’m dating Jake, but my brothers live with Rocky. It’s a decent reason as to why I’d crash here one night or two. But not every night of the week.
We separate with more reluctance and strain. Rocky hustles to the shower, and I text Hailey:
Picking you up in a bit for The Hunt! Be ready by 9?
She’s quick to respond with two thumbs-up and confetti-cannon emojis. I smile, happy that these quirky town events have been A-plus mental distractions for Hails.
Like the pumpkin-pie contest. Ugly Sweater Run. Winter Wonderland Festival—where we busted our asses on an ice-skating rink and sat on bags of frozen peas the next day.
They’ve powered her through the past three months. She’s laid off the cyber searches and late-night book obsessions…for a moment, at least.
Small wins are big wins in my book.
We’re working The Hunt together today, and I’m crossing my fingers Victoria’s most anticipated February event will be another good anxiety-reducing distraction. So maybe she won’t stake out the postman all day.
Even if today is the day, the mail doesn’t get delivered until tonight.
I pocket my phone and grab a bite to eat in the kitchen. “Morning,” I tell my brothers. “Happy DNA Results Day.” I hop on a barstool beside Nova. He’s flipping a page of a comic book and drinking OJ.
“Happy Triplet Day,” Oliver says, convinced we are, in fact, triplets. He’s doing the hard task of cooking a French omelet, but he slips me a clandestine smile—one full of amusement and knowing.
Like he’s well aware I just had my world rocked all night by his roommate. Hopefully he’s concluded this because I’m wearing Rocky’s clothes. And not because he heard us through the walls.
No way were we that loud.
Nova scrapes a hand back and forth over his buzz cut, barely glancing up from the Marvel comic. “You smell like Rocky.”
“If you raise your eyes a little higher, you’d see that I’m wearing his shirt.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh.” I cringe and sniff beneath the tee. Okay, I unfortunately smell like sex. Not my proudest morning-after moment. I definitely need a shower.
Oliver laughs and nudges the wet eggs with his spatula.
“It’s not funny,” Nova says sternly.
Oliver is hardly put off by our brother’s normal grouchy disposition. “Bad, Phoebe.” He waves the spatula like a teacher swinging a ruler. “How dare you have a wild night to remember—that is against corporate policy. No raunchy acts of indiscretion. You must be celibate.”
“And miserable,” I add.
“At all times.”
We share a smile.
Nova isn’t swept into our banter. He puts the OJ down. “Is it a relationship or just sex?” he asks point-blank.
“A relationship with sex.” I reach forward and snag a grape out of the fruit bowl. “But right now, we are having a lot of sex.”
Nova stares at me with enough caution tape to mummify me.
How do I even describe the severe need to be close to Rocky? When we’re together, not having sex feels more painful.
“Sex is the foundation,” Oliver tells him with a spatula jab.
“Sex is the foundation,” I parrot to Nova.
“Of what? A booty call?” he retorts.
I toss a grape at him. It hits his cheek and bounces across the counter.
He never flinches. “I’m serious,” he tells me.
I steal a piece of honeydew. “I know, because you’re always serious.”
Oliver plates the omelet and slides it to Nova. “And you sound exactly like someone who’s not getting any.”
He picks up a fork. “You two fuck enough for the rest of us.”
“Categorically untrue,” Oliver says. “We couldn’t sustain the entire population with our fornicating habits.” His brown eyes shift to me. “Three eggs, hard scrambled?” My favorite.
“Yes, please.” I glance over at Nova. “Are you going to The Hunt?”
He stabs the omelet. “It’s not part of the job.”
I frown. “But you can attend…for fun.”
He’s quiet, and Oliver peers up at me while cracking eggs in a bowl. “He’s never heard of that word.”