Chapter 2
RIX
T he first thing I learn about Flip and Tristan is that wandering around shirtless is apparently commonplace.
I’m sitting at the kitchen island the next morning, nursing a coffee and eating the chocolate chip cookies I brought with me because the only food in their fridge is old pizza and a sad, squishy tomato.
Grocery shopping and cleaning are at the top of my to-do list.
Right after I get my stuff from my former apartment.
Tristan saunters into the kitchen. He’s fresh from the shower and wrapped in nothing but a towel.
Water droplets dot his shoulders, and a rogue one tumbles gracefully over his defined pec, caressing each rolling ab on the way down.
An image of Tristan fisting his massive erection pops into my head like a whack-a-mole.
I shift my gaze back to my coffee cup, which is the only safe place for my eyes.
“So why are you here?”
It’s not possible to make me seem like more of a burden than Tristan does with that one sentence.
To my left, Flip runs his hand through his already messy mop of hair.
I have no idea what time he got in last night, but he has an absurd number of hickeys on his neck, chest, and stomach.
He’s wearing a pair of gray jogging pants that hang low on his hips.
I assume the hickey trail continues, but I’m thankful I can only hypothesize.
“I might have accidentally quit my job,” I mumble. My first real adult job, and I blew up the opportunity after only three months. Embarrassment washes through me all over again.
“How do you accidentally quit your job?” Flip shoves his hand down the front of his joggers.
I look away, because no one needs to see that.
My shoulders roll forward, and I lower my voice, as if that will make my actions yesterday less awful.
“Fifteen minutes before the end of the day, my manager set four boxes filled with ten years of receipts on my desk. She told me they needed to be sorted and input by nine this morning. It’s the third time that’s happened in a month. I might have freaked out.”
“Huh. Well, that makes sense. Your manager sounds like a dick.”
“She was. Or still is.” As the newbie, I expected some shitty jobs, but less than twenty-four hours with four banker’s boxes is unreasonable. Especially when she did the same thing last week. And the week before that.
“We have waffles and some whole-grain bread in the freezer, if you want something other than cookies for breakfast.” Tristan gives my cookie box a pointed, slightly disapproving look.
“I’m fine. But thanks.” It’s bad enough that I’m crashing here and drinking their coffee. I don’t want to eat their food, too.
“Suit yourself.”
He grabs a mug and pours himself a coffee, then turns to me and Flip. “Either of you need a top up?”
“Sure, yeah.” Flip sets his cup on the counter.
Tristan gives him a look. “Dude. The fuck?”
Flip frowns. “What?”
“You’re covered in hickeys, and your sister is right here.” He points at me.
“So?”
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Tristan fills Flip’s mug, still wearing his displeased-dad face, then looks to me.
“Please.” I push my mug toward him.
“What does rage-quitting have to do with you staying here?” he asks as he freshens my coffee.
I really wish I didn’t have to share the whys of my needing to stay in their loft.
“My roommates are super into roleplay. They like to dress up in period costumes.” I had a boyfriend in university, before Rob, who was big into Dungeons & Dragons.
Sometimes he would dress up as a wizard.
It was quirky and adorable. I loved that he was this soccer-playing guy who nerded out with his friends off the field.
And as an accountant, I consider myself also a bit of a nerd.
But the situation in my apartment is not at all about being nerdy.
Tristan scoffs, and Flip arches a brow.
“Anyway.” I grip the edge of the island, but it’s sticky with orange juice, so I go back to holding my coffee cup.
“On Sunday night they were dressed up in steampunk, which is totally fine. They have great costumes.” There’s an entire room dedicated to their roleplay costumes and props.
And Eugenia makes most of them. She’s super talented.
“Except they tried to get me to dress up as a pirate and…plunder them.” With a pegleg.
Flip’s bottom lip juts out. “Plunder them?”
“They have an open relationship, and they wanted me to join them.” I said no several times in the months I lived there, but they kept asking and putting me in awkward situations. I should have known the cheap rent was too good to be true.
Tristan bursts out laughing.
“Fuck you, asshole.” I flip him the bird.
“Are they hot? I mean, it’d be fun if they were hot,” Flip says, oblivious to how gross that is coming from my brother.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re hot. They’re my roommates. Were my roommates, because I can’t live there.” The roleplay isn’t the issue. It’s more what happened two nights ago and when I came home from work last night.
“Can’t you say no and leave it at that?” Flip asks.
“I’ve tried. More than once. Instead of respecting my boundaries, two nights ago they had excessively loud sex until three in the morning in the living room.
” I was stuck in my bedroom, unable to pee until they finally went to bed.
It was awful and may have contributed to my rage-quitting, although I didn’t love the job to begin with.
“Sounds familiar,” Tristan mutters into his coffee cup.
“Whatever, man. You’ve been part of the equation on plenty of occasions, so don’t bitch about how hard it is to be my wingman,” Flip retorts.
I gag. Those are not details I need. I hope I’m not trading a shitty situation for an even worse one. “You two are disgusting.”
“I’m in my twenties, and women literally throw themselves at me. I won’t be this pretty or virile forever. It’s about capitalizing while I can.” Flip has the nerve to sound defensive.
“What he said,” Tristan agrees like the fuckboy he is.
“I can’t wait for the regular season when we get to play in Vancouver.” Flip’s eyes are all dreamy and far away. “They have the best bunnies.”
“Accurate.” Tristan sips his coffee thoughtfully.
“Anyway.” I’d rather talk about my ex-roommates than my brother’s exceptionally prolific sex life.
“They were at it again in the living room when I came home last night. I decided I’d had enough, so here I am.
It’ll only be for a few days. Or a week at most.” I hope .
“I just need to find a new job and an apartment.” Apart from staying at a hotel, which I can’t afford for long, this is my only option.
My parents live three hours away in buttfuck-nowhere northern Ontario, and my best friend is on the other side of the country in Vancouver, where the best bunnies reside. God, I miss Essie so much.
“We start training camp next week and then exhibition games, so if you need more than a week to figure shit out, that’s cool. Right, Tris?”
Tristan gives me a withering look. “It’s fine, I guess. Just stay out of my shit.” Seems offering me a coffee refill was his one nice moment of the day.
I hate that he can make me feel like I’m thirteen again, getting in the way. “I see you’re still the same insufferable asshole.”
“And you’re still as irritating as a mosquito. And just as crushable.” His lip curls, and he has the audacity to look hot while also being a dick.
“Jesus. I forgot how awful it is when you two are in the same room. You’re already giving me a headache.” Flip rubs his temple.
“That’s probably from the pussy shots you were doing last night,” Tristan fires back.
I throw my hands in the air. “Oh my God! I don’t want to know about my brother doing pussy shots!”
“I guess you should have thought about that before you threw a hissy fit at your job, lost your apartment, and decided to crash on my futon. Deal with it or beat it,” Tristan snaps.
Flip snort-laughs. “Ah, man. I forgot about that nickname. Beat it, Beat.” My brother raises his hand in the air, and Tristan high-fives him.
They’re the literal worst. Fighting back is pointless.
There’s no way I’ll win against them. Being thrust into the annoying-little-sister role, despite being twenty-two years old with an accounting degree, feels like a mammoth step backwards.
I wish I had a pint of ice cream and a room I could mope in, but I’m here, in this crappy situation, and the only way out is to get my stuff from my old apartment, secure a job, and then find a place to live that isn’t here.
Once that’s taken care of, I can start plotting revenge against my brother and Tristan.
It’s all about biding my time—and not allowing myself to be affected by their needling. I’m channeling Teflon. Nothing sticks.
While they continue laughing at my expense, I drink my coffee, eat chocolate chip cookies, and fantasize about shaving their heads while they sleep.
“Kidding aside, what about your furniture?” Flip asks. “Does it need to go into storage?”
“The apartment came fully furnished, so I just need to grab the rest of my clothes and personal effects.”
“What about your bedroom set from the old house?” he asks.
“Mom and Dad sold it.”
Tristan frowns. “You don’t have any furniture at all?”
I shake my head. “I always rent places that are furnished.” It’s easier and cheaper to move that way. “A few tote bins should cover what’s left there. I didn’t have a lot. I can bus over and Uber back.”
“I’ll drive you. You’re close to that East Side’s we go to, right?”
“Yeah, a couple of blocks south.”
The two of us have a standing monthly dinner date at East Side’s. Our parents used to take us there for a treat as kids. We’d always fill up on salad and bread because there were unlimited free refills, and then we’d take two bites of our dinner and save it for the next day.
“I’ll come for the ride,” Tristan announces.