Chapter Twenty-Six
TWENTY-SIX
Rocky
Five Years Ago
Between Jobs
Appalachian Mountains
Passing through. It’s what we’ve been doing the past couple of weeks. Hopping from motel to campsite to budget inn like vagabonds. I yearn for a mattress not covered in piss stains. AC that works. A smell other than sewer or mold. Simple fucking things I always take for granted between jobs.
Sometimes I wonder if our parents eke out these “between” days as a grisly, sordid reminder of what our lives would be like without conning. If I asked, my mom would just tell me we can’t rush the planning process.
I’m not even sure what our next job entails. Hailey and Trevor have been in Athens, Georgia, hanging around the university’s campus while they help the godmothers construct the con. If I had to guess, we’re ripping off either a rich college student or a tenured professor.
“Two hundred it’s a professor,” Oliver tells me after I express the theory.
“Not taking that bet.” I stuff my jacket in a duffel bag, then check my burner phone again. “The odds are too even.”
No missed calls. No texts.
The yurt stinks of dog piss, so the faster we can get on the road, the better. Oliver’s long legs stretch across a cot. It’s not terrible accommodations for a state park, but I’d rather be at a five-star hotel right now than breathing in the warm, stale air that’s barely circulating from a box fan.
A two-person table and camping chairs are pushed up next to the tarped wall, and the microwave and coffeepot might as well have been teleported from the early nineties.
Oliver is still in his underwear. He’s flipping through a GQ catalog he picked up at the last gas station and rubbing expensive cream on his forehead. “Get dressed,” I tell him. “I’m going to tell your sister we’re hitting the road.”
Phoebe slept in the yurt across from ours. Alone. Hers has a full-sized bed, not two cots, and I offered to crash on the floor so she wouldn’t be by herself, but she acted like I was sacrificing oxygen.
“I’ll tell her.” Oliver hops off the bunk and practically pole vaults into his pants.
Oliver Graves is a fantastic liar, but I know him too well.
And I can count on one hand the number of times he’s rushed his morning routine. He’s three steps from the exit just as I casually slip in front of the yurt’s wooden door. Blocking him.
Oliver zips up his pants, then runs a hand through his hair, trying to brush back the golden-blond strands without a comb. He’s been a blond for half a year, mostly posing as a surfer from sunny California or the beaches of Florida.
He waits for me to move. I don’t. “Why can’t I tell her?” I ask him.
“Because you know Phoebe,” he says. “Grumpy in the morning. Doesn’t become a ball of sunshine until her second or third cup of coffee. Let me save you from her attitude.”
I like her attitude.
But that’s the last thing Oliver needs to know.
I flash a dry smile. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t need saving. Especially not from your grumpy little sister.” I spin around to grab the doorknob, but Oliver puts a hand to my shoulder.
“Wait.” He tries again. “She probably wants to sleep in.” He’s hiding something. It’s becoming more obvious, and concern skates through me like a shotgun blast.
“Too bad for her.” I shake off his grip and tear open the door.
Oliver reaches past my arm and pries me off the door. He’s holding the knob hostage in a tight fist, and I twist my head over my shoulder. He’s physically blocking my exit now. Our eyes meet, and I realize I’m the only irritated one. He’s more…desperate.
“Oliver—”
“I promised I wouldn’t say anything to you.” He folds like a plastic chair. Maybe he realizes I’d yank out the truth from him sooner rather than later, and he’s just defaulting to sooner .
“Say what to me?” I ask.
“ Phoebe made me promise. You know, my triplet. Do me a solid and let me keep my promises to my sister .”
Like hell.
He emphasized sister because I have a sister the same age. It’s a commonality between us. He wants me to relate and be sentimental over promises I’ve made to Hailey, so that I’ll back off here.
If I were a better person, maybe I would respect that, but I fully expect people to try and rip secrets out of me. Maybe he should’ve, too.
“Do me a solid and move your hand,” I tell him.
Oliver groans. “Rocky. She’s fine .”
Phoebe might not overshare her life with me like she does Hailey, but I didn’t think she’d actively keep important shit from me. We’ve been wound up in too many jobs, too many situations, to be that closed off to one another.
So I can’t conceptualize what she’s hiding. Other than she’s hurt. Did I do something? Is she pissed at me? I’d rather talk it out. Figure it out. I can’t just stand here . Idle.
“How am I supposed to know she’s okay?” I ask. “I haven’t seen her this morning. Neither have you. But you two are keeping secrets, and I’m supposed to what…sit here and twiddle my thumbs? No thanks.”
He doesn’t let go of the doorknob, but after a short breath, his resolve fractures. “You really want to know?”
“No, I’m just playing mind games,” I retort.
Oliver raises his brows. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“It would be with you,” I tell him.
“Yo también te amo.” He winks, and from my well-endowed Spanish knowledge, I know he said, I love you, too .
I stare deeper into him. “Oliver.”
His fingers loosen on the knob, and he confesses, “She’s with someone.”
My stomach knots. “Come again?”
“The park ranger from yesterday—”
“The guy who didn’t rub in his sunscreen?” I grimace. He had white splotches all over his nose and chin, and he’d been restocking pamphlets at the visitor center when we arrived yesterday evening.
Oliver gives me an intrusive once-over. “Yeah, him. He spent the night in her yurt. She told me not to tell you because she thought you’d freak out, and she’s not wrong. Is she?”
No.
She isn’t wrong.
Oliver sees through me. He sees I care about his sister on a level that shouldn’t be advertised to anyone.
“Let go of the door,” I tell him.
He still doesn’t. “She was going to sleep with someone eventually, Rocky. We’ve all had sex. We all lost our virginities years ago. One-night stands are our norm. This isn’t any different, but if you wanted it to be, maybe you should’ve done something.”
I glare. “You wanted me to fuck your sister?”
He’s rattled by nothing, so I don’t know why I even tried to throw him. Oliver volleys back, “You want me to fuck yours?”
I grind my teeth. “Don’t fuck with Hailey.”
His eyes sweep my face. “You don’t think Hailey would fuck with me first?” Honestly, I try not to dive too deep into their psyches, so this is making my head throb. He’s quick to continue, “Whatever Phoebe wants, that’s what I support.”
“And you think Phoebe wanted to sleep with me?”
He shrugs. “You said it.”
Want is a desire. One I share with her.
Can’t is where I’ve been. I can’t have sex with Phoebe. I can’t be with Phoebe like that, and possibly Oliver believes she’s been saving it for me. That I could’ve been her first. That I could’ve satiated all her dying needs—that she didn’t need to go run after a gangly, sunscreen-splotched park ranger to fulfill anything.
Like everything in our lives, it’s not that simple. She wasn’t waiting to have sex just so she could have sex with me. I’m almost positive about that.
I comb a hot hand through my hair. She’s alone, vulnerable, with a guy I barely even said two words to.
And Hailey is miles away. Phoebe’s best friend, who she relies on and confesses secrets to, isn’t even around. Just Oliver, who’s so laissez-faire about this that it’s driving me insane.
“Just move,” I say.
Finally , he releases the knob, giving me enough room to whip the door open and push through. I don’t expect him to follow me. He doesn’t. Because if someone is going to wear the badge of a certified asshole, it’s going to be me.
I have no change of heart when I cross the graveled road to her yurt. None when I put a fist to the wooden door. “It’s me!” I call out, not saying her name. Not knowing what alias she slipped the park ranger.
In the thirty seconds that I don’t hear a reply, I fight within myself not to break the door down. She’s fine. I repeat Oliver’s words in my head.
But countless times, I’ve seen men gawk at her, salivate over her. I’ve borne witness to marks putting their hands on her.
He’s not a mark , I remind myself.
A park ranger. A guy. She chose. She chose him. Those are the last three words in my head before the door swings open.
Phoebe doesn’t allow me room to peer into the yurt. She slips through the crack of the door and shuts it behind her. An oversized pink Strawberry Shortcake T-shirt stops at her thighs. I bought that shirt for her two years ago. It’d been her seventeenth birthday. She acted like it was just okay , then proceeded to wear it every night between jobs.
Did she have sex in it?
“Nice shirt,” I say.
She keeps her eyes on mine. “Nice abs.” I’m not wearing a shirt. The hot morning air feels thick and sticky against my bare chest. “Or lack thereof.”
I have defined muscles. A fucking six-pack.
She’s not wearing a bra. I can only tell when she crosses her arms and the fabric tightens over her tits. Her nipples are pebbled mounds like it’s below thirty outside, and for some agonizing reason, I can smell her. Not him on her. Just Phoebe—a pungent, intoxicating, sweet odor that I want to bury my face in.
I’d say she’s on her period if it weren’t for the fact that she just had sex. I doubt she’d want to lose it while she’s bleeding. She must be ovulating, and my senses are going fucking feral for her.
I flex to force down this primal urge. My body needs to get a grip. We’re not the last two people on earth. We don’t need to procreate to sustain the human race.
I don’t cast a quip back in her direction.
We’re both standing in a crater of tension and a vat of pheromones. Our eyes never shifting off each other.
Her lips pull in a deep frown. “Oliver told you?”
“To his credit, he tried hard not to.” I stare past her, at the door. There are too many things I want to ask her. Are you okay? Why him? Why now? Oliver was right—all of us, except Phoebe, lost our virginities ages ago, a fact we all learned through truth or dare one bored night at a Four Seasons.
Which was recent. Maybe recent enough that it’d been on her mind. Maybe she was irritated that Trevor had sex already. He lost it at thirteen. He said to a lifeguard at the hotel pool. Thankfully she was around his age.
Hailey had been fourteen. Oliver, fourteen. Me, fifteen. Nova, fifteen.
Sex has never been something to protect. It’s a way to blow off steam. A way to release pent-up emotions. We fuck and move on.
Except…Phoebe.
She’s nineteen . Nineteen. And she’s never had sex. She explicitly told me it’s because of her mom. That her mom likes to know everything about her crushes and love life, and she figured it’d be better to wait to open that can of worms.
I always thought maybe, deep down, she’s worried for the same reason I am.
Now that she’s had sex, our parents will put her in worse positions in cons. More sexual. Lewder. I’ve never brought up my fears. Never wanted to instill my worries in anyone else. As if saying them out loud will manifest them somehow.
But here, outside the yurt, knowing things have changed, I just go with one of my million questions. “Why him?” I ask.
She uncrosses her arms in a huff, caught off guard. “I don’t know, Rocky.”
“You don’t know why you slept with him?”
“He’s nice .” She glares.
I cringe. “Nice?” My cinched brows rise higher. Have I read her wrong? For this many years? Since when does she like nice ? Maybe she wouldn’t like me in bed. Maybe she’d be turned off if I pulled her hair and pinned her down. Maybe it doesn’t fucking matter—because I’m never coming inside Phoebe Graves.
She grows hotter. “Is that why you barged over here? To quiz me on my hookup? It was an A-plus, stellar, over-the-moon event. Practically God-tier worthy.”
“Wow,” I deadpan. “Hit me with more of those overbaked platitudes. Tell me more lies.”
She scowls. “I don’t need this overprotective routine. I already have two older brothers.”
I roll my eyes at the word older when it’s by minutes . Emotions are gnawing on my insides. “I’m not trying to be your brother.” Those words are almost a growl.
“Then what is this?” Phoebe asks.
I let out an angry breath. “Hailey isn’t here. I’m just trying to be your friend…I guess.” Is that what this is? Doubtful. Because I really feel like storming into the yurt and dragging the park ranger out by his ugly hat. And yeah, in my mind he looks like Smokey Bear.
Her brown eyes carry less heat. “Just because this is my first time doesn’t mean I haven’t done things. I’m not so different from you.” She sizes me up for a slow beat. “We’ve both sucked cock. We’ve both eaten pussy—”
“It’s not a competition,” I cut her off. Knowing we’re alike in a lot of fucking ways. We both feel attraction on a wide scale. We both have a sexual appetite. But only one of us has been safekeeping their virginity like it means something.
Like it meant something.
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red.
“Piper?!” the park ranger calls out from inside her yurt.
“One second!” she shouts back, not opening the door. I’m a little surprised she’s brushing him off and not me. She rotates back to me. “Hailey’s not here, but I plan to call her before we leave. So if you’re trying to be her stand-in, you’re dismissed.” She shoos me away like a fly.
I don’t move. “We’re heading out on the road in five. So how are you going to ditch the park ranger?”
“I’ll give him a fake number.” She gathers her hair in a pony and twists a scrunchie around the brown strands. It lifts the bottom of her tee, flashing her lacy blue panties, and my eyes flit down to her pussy, then up to her.
Phoebe looks dizzy at either my expression or closeness. Resting her shoulders against the door, she takes measured breaths through her nose. “You never said if you liked it.”
“Liked what?” I ask.
“Your first time. Was it everything you hoped for?”
“It was okay, C-minus, unimaginative, uneventful, borderline boring.” I watch her eyes fall to her toes, and I can’t read her fast enough.
Her eyes slowly rise to me again. “Your first fuck is never supposed to be the best, right?”
Is she talking about me or her or us? My pulse hammers in my veins. I stare at the door again. “Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she forces out. “He was nice. Remember?” She’s not lying.
I push my hand through my hair. “So you’re giving him a fake number, then what?”
“Then I’ll tell him to call me later, but he won’t ever reach me.”
“You think that’ll work?” I ask her. “If this was an A-plus, stellar, out-of-this-world, God-tier-worthy experience for him, do you think he’s going to just let you go that easily?”
She thinks about it for a second. “If you were Hailey, you’d be telling me to dine and ditch.”
I cringe.
Jesus, I can practically hear my sister in my head. Did I already know that’s Hailey’s MO with hookups? Yes. And I’m happy she chooses to ghost her one-night stands rather than give them a chance to be clingy shitbags.
I’d say I want the same for Phoebe. But really, I don’t know what I want for Phoebe other than for her to be…mine? No, not mine. I can’t have her.
I don’t fucking know.
I don’t.
She’s digging her shoulders farther into the door, but her hips are angled out toward me. It’s unconscious, I think, how much she’s splitting her knees apart. How much she’s opening herself to me.
My cock is aching in my cotton track pants, and I’m trying not to get a fucking hard-on. We’re both aroused. We’re stoking each other’s arousal just in these silent seconds, staring , and I hate the idea of her going back in the yurt and the park ranger smelling her.
I know nothing about him.
He’s nice.
That assessment isn’t good enough for me.
I edge closer to Phoebe, and her breath catches.
My muscles contract. “So this is the part where you ditch,” I tell her.
She peers back, but the door is still shut. “My bag…”
“I’ll grab it,” I say.
She frowns and straightens up. “You sure?” She’s not worried about the park ranger. Not concerned about what I’ll do or say to him when I get in there.
It makes me feel better that she doesn’t give a shit about this guy. Makes me feel worse that her first time was as meaningless as mine.
I nod. “Yeah, just start the car for me.”
“Can I borrow your phone?” she wonders.
I dig in my pocket, then place my cell in her outstretched hand. She smiles, the first one I’ve seen all morning, and I know she’s excited to dish to my sister. Not to me.
We’re not best friends.
We’re something else.
She steps onto the graveled street, and I head into the yurt. The park ranger is lying naked on the full-sized flimsy mattress. He immediately jolts when I enter, then he reaches for the thin sheet to cover his dick.
“Don’t bother, I’m not looking,” I tell him.
“Who the hell are you?” he panics.
“No one.” I reach down for Phoebe’s duffel bag by the door. It’s already packed like I knew it would be. Quick exits are a thing we do.
“Hey!” he barks. “That’s not yours!” He’s not even moving a pinky toe off the mattress. Maybe he is nice .
“It’s not yours either.” I try not to get a good look at him. Don’t want the mental image of Phoebe’s first in my brain. I will die happy just picturing Smokey the fucking Bear. “Have a nice life.” I leave the way I came.
He doesn’t put up a fight, which is a little disappointing. I would’ve loved to punch him in the face.
Two steps away from her yurt, I feel a vibration in the duffel. I pull Phoebe’s burner out of her bag. She did not give that wet noodle her number. Phoebe’s not dumb.
I flip open the phone and put it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Rocky?” Elizabeth’s honey-coated voice is unmistakable. “Is my bug with you?”
“She’s around. I can get her.” I walk toward the car, but stop short when I see Phoebe crouched on the ground behind the silver Chevy Impala. With her phone to her ear, she presses her other hand to her forehead.
She’s crying.
Fuck. My stomach clenches.
I wait and hear her. “It just kind of sucked, Hails. He made me do all the work, then he lasted like five minutes. If that. He came so hard, thanked me, and fucking rolled over…yes, away from me. It made me feel like a glorified sex toy…hell, I bet sex dolls get more affection than that.” Her voice cracks, and I back away before she can catch a glimpse of me.
Fire blazes in my lungs. I’m breathing out toxic fumes. It’s taking too much control to not storm her yurt and sock that fucker. Remorse, guilt, balls up in my chest just as fast, and I wonder if Oliver was right. If I should’ve just slept with Phoebe.
I can’t.
We can’t.
I feel like I’m physically being ripped in half. Pulled in two directions so forcefully, the pain down my core is visceral.
“Rocky? You still there?” Her mom is still on the phone.
“She’s actually busy,” I tell Elizabeth.
“That’s all right. We have an issue all of us need to go over.”
I go still. “Everyone?”
“Yep,” she says casually, like we’re dealing with a missing set of keys. But no issue is that small if it means a group meeting with all nine of us. “I’ll call you with coordinates in about an hour. Just head due west until then.”
“Anything you can tell me over the phone?” I wonder.
“MySpace isn’t the only thing blowing up,” she says. “Facebook is gaining legs. Especially out here in the colleges.”
“Shit,” I curse. Social media. My mom has been warning all of us that we need new strategies to combat the rising popularity of posting pictures online. Guess it’s that time.
Not looking forward to ditching a job in favor of a family grifter seminar.
But our parents haven’t made it this far without being smart, and I want to learn everything I possibly can from them. It’s the only way to stay ahead of their own game.