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)
Then my eyes dart to Grace and her friend, who’ve settled back in theater seats. They’re texting hurriedly on their phones.
Rocky pinches my chin and turns my head, forcing my attention on him.
I slap his hand away. He clutches my cheek more fiercely, showing me it’s okay. His eyes practically ram each word inside me. It. Is. Okay. We can be physically affectionate out in public. I touch his hand against my face, not shoving him aside this time.
This can’t be happening.
I did wake up this morning, right? And why is it so hard for me to believe that he’d choose tonight to rip away the façade? “You aren’t…”
“Yeah, I am.”
And then he bends down on one knee, his good knee, thankfully. And I nearly black out. “Rocky…” My heart accelerates to thrilling, volatile speeds—the speeds we love living at, him and me.
He reveals a velvet black box from his pocket. I half expect to see a Ring Pop inside. We’re still just pretending.
“Our lives aren’t going to fade to black. This part is making the movie.” He opens the box, and my heart skips a beat while my eyes well and lips go wider and wider. Overwhelmed. I am so overwhelmed, because I know this elegant gold pear-cut diamond ring. He’s already slipped it on my finger before.
In Miami.
The only time we went through the steps to have a fake wedding. It came right after the Melon Drop in Nashville, and I’d never been more head over heels for Rocky than when we pretended to get married. Our relationship, whatever we could really call it, had never been so all-consuming, adrenalinefueled, and messy. Just how I loved it.
I remember how a sexy silk wedding dress dripped down my body, but his eyes had been on mine the entire night. I wished for that job to never end, for the fantasy to play out for eternity.
We did all the stupidly romantic newlywed things. Cut the five-tiered cake. Smeared a line of buttercream on his cheek. He retaliated with one down my lips. We were supposed to be a young, playful, crazy-in-love couple who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.
We teased and taunted. He grazed his fingers up my thigh, just to slip off the lacy white garter, and it felt like I was being touched for the first time. Shivers ran up my body. I lit up in my own skin—I only ever lit up with his hands, with him. I wanted to chase after those electric touches all night long.
I could. We were married.
The after-party led us to an exclusive Miami club. Our fake friends were there, but so were our real ones: Hailey and my brothers. I remember being in the dance pit with Rocky. Grinding, breathing heavy, kissing. His hands all over me. My hands all over him. The strobe lights stroking our sweaty bodies, and I never wanted to let go of that feeling with him.
But I did.
We did.
My feelings lived inside every job with Rocky, and every job had an ending. The fantasy popped, only to be built into a new one. He was my stepbrother. We were college dormmates. Strangers. Coworkers.
But here, in this town, he’s just my Rocky. I’m just his Phoebe. And our relationship has never been so real.
“Phoebe,” he says, his soul-burning eyes never leaving mine. “Marry me again.”
The squeals and applause around us have my ears ringing. I can barely even hear myself say, “Yes,” but Rocky knows. He’s standing, slipping the gorgeous ring on my finger for the second time.
His lips rise.
A smile spreads across my face. The secrets we share nestle affectionately in my body. I ease backward from him, just a little. “If you want it, come and get it,” I taunt.
His large hand cocoons the side of my face. He slides those same fingers into my hair, raking them against my scalp. Then he yanks my head backward and whispers hotly against my ear, “I’ve already gotten it.”
My heady, drunk-in-love smile bursts inside me, and he pulls me tighter against his strong build—his lips on mine in an erupting kiss. It explodes my senses.
Marry me again.
I’m stifling a moan, melting into Rocky’s possessive, demolishing kisses. His tongue slips sensually against mine, and I kiss as fervently back, curving my arm around his neck. Then Rocky cups the backs of my thighs and hoists me off the chair. I meld against his firm chest while we make out like we’re fighting for oxygen.
If my fake relationship with Jake was chaste and PDA-free, my real public one with Rocky is going to be next-level raunchy.
I smile into the sultry kiss.
I’m already obsessed with this.
“Get a room!” a teenager shouts, and Rocky flips him off while we’re lip-locked. As the passionate seconds burn into minutes, I sense we’ve cleared the theater. It doesn’t stop us. But me scrounging for breath does.