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)
She clutches a stout and hovers over a copy of the Weekly.
Beckham North, the wiry bartender in his mid-twenties, gives me a nod of acknowledgement but returns to chatting with her. Wow, I thought we had a slight moment earlier—when he interrupted Rocky being a jerk with a quiet beer slide.
This sudden brush-off feels personal. He’s filled in a handful of times at the country club, and I might have commented on his weak mojitos.
Or maybe he’s just really great friends with Erik.
Ugh. Reputations. Hailey might have one as an easy fling, but I’m getting the feeling I’m the bitchy one. I rub the creases of my eyes.
“You didn’t want to bid on a Clue Girl?” Rocky asks Trent.
“You know me. The town traditions are Jake’s thing.” He sips his new whiskey. “I’m too busy for this trivial shit.”
Translation: I’m more important than my brother.
Maybe it’s fake-girlfriend defense mode, but I lean over the bar to get a good look at Trent. “Jake’s far busier than you, I can assure you.” I hear my rising anger.
Rocky cocks his head at me and sips his whiskey. His sharp, warning look says, You’re digging a fucking hole. Be careful.
I know I’m falling into Trent’s ego trap, but I have decent enough upper-body strength. Trying to pull myself out—worth it.
Trent laughs, spinning on the stool to face me. “What is my brother up to these days? Mopping the floors of the club? Replacing broken lightbulbs in the rentals?”
“I can tell you what he’s not doing,” I retort. “He’s not drinking Macallan in the middle of the afternoon alone like a sad little—”
“Pest?” Rocky says to me.
Why does that almost make me smile? I scrunch my face and battle the bright feeling away with a deep sigh. Do not look smitten by Rocky. Do. Not.
“Let her finish.” Trent waves him off, then rests his chin on his fist, mockingly attentive. “I’m all ears.”
Whatever I say will only fuel his ego engine. Steam leaves me all at once, and I slump back on my stool.
Trent drops his hand back to his liquor. “Can’t volley with the big men, Phoebe?”
When I don’t respond, his interest begins to deplete.
He won’t risk appearing too needy for my attention, so I’m not surprised when he twists to Rocky. “Like I was saying about Hank. He thinks he’s a better doubles partner than you are, but he serves like he’s a ten-year-old wearing drunk goggles. I’d be better off getting Val to play mixed doubles, and she can’t even hit the ball over the net.” He laughs, lifting his drink to his mouth. “But at least she has a better ass to look at.”
Beckham overhears and barks out a laugh. “Girl’s a flirt, but she won’t put out.”
I glare. Okay, he’s not getting a tip from me.
Trent motions his drink toward him. “That’s what you think.”
Rocky takes a stiff swig and smiles when Trent looks at him.
Acid burns my throat, and I wave the envelope at Beckham.
Finally, he notices. “Ah, the first Clue Girl of the day. Hold on a sec. I left the geese in the back.” He wipes his hands on a dishcloth and disappears.
Rocky glances at me. “I’m chilling with TK. Go hunt for the geese without me.”
“Really?” I frown.
“I’m busy.” He holds up his glass and flashes an assholish smile.
Trent slings his arm around Rocky like his best friend just stated, Bros before hoes, bitch.
My scowl hurts my jaw.
I don’t want to leave him here with this insufferable dickhead. Yes, he’s giving me an out to sail far away from Trent’s presence, which is the equivalent of tossing me a life ring in an open ocean. But if Rocky’s drowning, I don’t want saving.
I’m prepared to drown with him as his coconspirator. His partner in crime. His girlfriend. His pretend wife. All the fucking things.
I use the envelope as a coaster under my pint. “I have a beer to finish, too.”
Trent smirks. “Can’t stay away from us, can you?”
Ignore.
I take an angry sip of beer. Rocky shakes his head at me, pissed. Fine. He can be mad, but I’m not ditching him just because Trent nauseates me.
He hasn’t abandoned me when I’ve kissed Jake on the cheek. I won’t abandon him when he kisses Trent’s ass.
Beckham returns, placing a gold-plated goose beside my Guinness. I like the occasional beer, but I’m more of a wine drinker. Still, I find myself taking big gulps to stop myself from telling Trent he’s a douchebag.
Trent switches his conversation with Rocky to the stock market. It reminds me of being teenagers and Addison crash-coursing us through Nasdaq and the S&P 500. I had such a difficult time picking up call options, whereas Hailey breezed through it like she was birthed on Wall Street.
I finish my pint and order another. Rocky is at the bottom of his whiskey glass and in a full-bellied laugh over some inside joke I’m not privy to.