Krista and Becca Ritchie joined the ranks of BookTok favorites when they had readers hooked on their (appropriately named) “Addicted” novels and later their “Like Us” series. While the authors have closed those chapters after a collective 23 books (plus some other smaller series and stand-alones), fans of the Ritchies have another one coming: “Dishonestly Yours,” the first book in a new-adult romance series.

The story is for fans of darker romances as it follows main character Phoebe and best friend Hailey, who decide to flee from their criminal families after a con job goes wrong. But Hailey’s brother Rocky winds up with them — and that has potential to go off the rails given his past with Phoebe.

Below, read an excerpt from “Dishonestly Yours” before it debuts July 2.

"Dishonestly Yours (Webs We Weave)" by Krista and Becca Ritchie

Read an excerpt from ‘Dishonestly Yours,’ by Krista and Becca Ritchie

The following excerpt contains profanities. It is published on TODAY.com with permission from Penguin Random House.

Rocky leaves the bathroom long enough for me to get dressed, and when I return to the bedroom, I catch him rifling through his sister’s duffel bag. He doesn’t care that I see him — or else he would’ve been more discreet.

What he said to me still rings in the pit of my ear. You’ve lost your fucking mind.

I rub leave-in conditioner through my damp blue hair and watch him toe the line between protective older brother and complete asshole.

I near him. “What the hell are you even looking for?”

Still focused on the bag, he doesn’t glance up. “Tension wrench, bump key, burner phones, spare IDs, extra cash, all the shit she’d have on her for a job.”

“Don’t waste your time. Tension wrench and bump key are in the trash. IDs and burner phones have been destroyed. Extra cash is in our boots.”

He solidifies. His eyes flash hot on mine. “Destroyed?”

“Yeah, they’re gone. We don’t need fake IDs. We just need the one real one.”

He rises to his feet, alarm gushing at this point. He’s the Niagara Falls of stormy concern. “You’re going by your real name?”

“No, of course not.” I wouldn’t put my family in jeopardy like that.

A wave of relief washes over his face. “What name then?”

The response sticks to my throat. “Phoebe.” Anyway, Phoebe is a name I’ve used for decades. Even though it isn’t the name my mom gave me at birth — it feels like mine.

Rocky intakes a tight breath, then looks away from me. I try not to understand what he’s thinking or feeling — in case they’re emotions I’m not in the mood to confront.

Cowardly, maybe, but our history is so deep that I’m not prepared to sink into quicksand. I’m supposed to be stepping outside of that hazard.

Starting new. “Just trust that we’re doing this right,” I tell him. “We want to try this out, and you know I’ll look out for Hails.”

He runs his fingers through his wavy black hair. For a flash, I remember those hands slipping through my hair and his rough voice against my ear in a trance-like whisper, “I hate this.”

That is what he said to me. I. Hate. This.

Truthfully, I could never fully love when we had to pretend to be head-over-heels in love during cons either. But I also hate that I enjoyed the feeling of hands I knew and trusted and cared about skating through pieces of me like I was the tenderest, sweetest thing he’d ever touched.

Yeah.

I also hate that.

Rocky lets strands of his hair flop to his forehead. “I just wish you’d convince my sister this is a bad idea.”

“I can’t. I won’t.”

“I know.” He glares at the ugly stained carpet and then up at me. “So you’re just ‘trying this out’?”

I try to ignore his use of finger quotes.

“Like an experiment?” he adds.

Tensely, I lower onto the squeaky bed. This isn’t supposed to be some temporary gig where I pack my bags and bail at the first bump in the road. Hailey wants this to last, and living a normal life is hard. Which is probably one of the million reasons why my mom and his parents never bought into the concept. If Rocky thinks we’re dead set on this new lifestyle, I fear he’ll be a bigger thorn.

Let him think what he wants.

“Yeah, it’s an experiment.”

He rubs at his temple. “Alright. Okay.”

“Okay?” Surprise flits across my face.

“If my sister needs this to understand our lives are better grifting, then yeah, she can have this fucking experiment.” He bends back down to her bag and zips it up. “But I’m coming with you two.”

My stomach drops. “Excuse me, what?”