Chapter 3
TRISTAN
T he first thing I notice the following morning is that the bathroom is clean.
Totally spotless. No toothpaste dots on the mirror on Flip’s side.
No towels on the floor. But then I see all the bottles and jars on the counter that weren’t there yesterday.
And the pink fucking toothbrush. The third is the smell.
It’s sweet, like vanilla and citrus—lemon maybe.
It pisses me off, because it smells good, and it reminds me of Beat.
Fucking Beatrix.
Everything about having her here irritates me.
Living with Flip has been a reprieve from my normal life.
I don’t answer to anyone. I don’t have to take care of anyone other than myself.
Growing up in a house without a mom, a dad who had to work long hours to support us, and two younger brothers means I’ve always shouldered a lot of responsibility.
I made sure they got to and from school when my dad had early or late meetings, which was often.
I attended practices, drove them to lessons, helped with their homework.
And playing for Toronto has kept me close enough to home to take some of the pressure off my dad when I’m not on the road.
But with Flip, I’ve been able to indulge, let go of some of the responsibilities, and lose myself in feeling good instead of always worrying.
Now Beat has moved in. I don’t need someone else to take care of.
I don’t want to be responsible for her, to worry about her, to hold her fucking hand and get her out of bad situations.
And when we were younger, Beat always needed taking care of.
I mean, she was a kid. But it seems like maybe that hasn’t changed, even though she’s definitely not a little girl anymore.
I can’t tell Flip she’s not welcome, though.
He’ll feel compelled to set her up in her own apartment, and then it’ll be even more drama since those two are super paranoid about money.
At least Flip is, and based on where Beat was living, she’s the same.
Doesn’t matter that Flip’s been playing for the league for the past five years, or that he makes five million a season.
He’s always worried it will disappear. Like one day he’ll wake up and instead of being a multimillionaire, he’ll be broke as fuck. That’s how he grew up.
Whatever. It’s temporary. And we start season training next week. I can deal with Beat in my space for a week or two.
I flip up the toilet seat and awkwardly angle my half-hard cock toward the bowl, but as my thumb grazes the sensitive spot under the crown, I harden further. There’s no way I can pee like this. I turn on the shower instead. Might as well take care of all my needs at once.
The water warms quickly, and I step under the hot spray.
I grab the closest bottle and squirt some body wash or shampoo into my palm and fist my erection.
But instead of sandalwood and sage, I’m hit with vanilla and citrus.
I stroke aggressively, frustrated that I can’t escape Beat even when I’m in the goddamn shower.
My nostrils flare, and I splay a hand against the tile wall as I find a steady rhythm.
I slam my eyes shut and try to conjure up an image of some generic previous one-night stand.
But all I can smell is Beat, so of course her face pops into my head.
Along with it comes the memory of yesterday’s car ride and the feel of her tongue running along the edge of my jaw, her satiny chestnut hair between my fingers, and the salty-sweet taste of her skin when I bit her ear.
Like a fucking savage. My imagination takes over.
Instead of her trying to rip out my nipple hair while I’m threatening to bite off her earlobe like an unhinged MMA fighter, she’s on her knees in front of me.
I’m gripping her hair as her tongue drags across that plush, pouty bottom lip.
My lids fly open before I can take that disturbing fantasy any further, but it’s too late. My erection kicks in my fist, and I explode all over the tile wall. I didn’t even get my cock into her imaginary fucking mouth.
I wash away the aggravation with my own goddamn body wash.
When I leave the bathroom, Beat is in the kitchen. She’s not the gangly fourteen-year-old I remember. She’s definitely all woman now.
“Disappointed because I locked the door this time?”
“What’d that take you? All of five minutes?” she fires back. “If anyone’s disappointed, it’s your previous one-night stands. But I guess that explains why you never have a girlfriend.”
“Girlfriends are a pain in the ass.” Caring about someone only leads to disappointment. I learned that the hard way and never fucking forgot.
“Especially when you can’t keep them satisfied.”
I flip her the bird and disappear into my bedroom, closing the door harder than I mean to and jolting at the noise like an idiot.
I can’t stand fighting, and yet that’s all Beat and I seem to do.
I jab my legs into a pair of boxer briefs but don’t bother dressing the rest of the way.
Flip doesn’t like to run the air conditioning the same way I do, which means if I put a shirt on post shower, I’ll start sweating, and then I’ll have to change again before we leave for this morning’s team meeting. Which I’m stressed about.
I throw open my bedroom door. Beat is still standing at the island, chopping fruit.
She’s not wearing a bra. I know this because there’s no strap on her bare shoulder.
Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, showing off the graceful slope of her neck and curve of her ear.
Which I bit yesterday. My gaze drops lower, to where her nipple peaks against the pale pink fabric.
I can’t decide if it’s an optical illusion, but I swear I can see its outline through her shirt.
I stomp across the room, angry that she’s in my space, using my kitchen, and yank open the fridge.
I blink a few times as I process the contents.
Someone went grocery shopping. No, not someone.
Beat. When Flip shops, he buys ramen, Kraft Dinner, and whatever sugary cereal is on sale.
The crisper is full of fresh fruits and vegetables.
There are two cartons of orange juice—the generic kind from concentrate, not the organic, fresh-pressed stuff I usually get, but still.
I grab the extra pulpy one and pour myself an enormous glass. I down it and pour a second.
Beat is still chopping fruit. There’s a huge fruit tray already prepared, with one empty spot left. I’m always in charge of breakfast. And most meals in general. It’s been years since someone has done this for me.
I don’t want to get fucking nostalgic. Or think about how much I hated going home where I had two younger brothers to help raise because my mom sucked as a human being. Flip and Beat had everything I didn’t.
“I satisfy my partners every single fucking time,” I blurt.
Beat continues slicing pineapple into chunks as if I don’t exist.
I move into her personal space until I’m close enough to smell her shampoo, which I used to beat off. The irony is not lost on me. “Every. Time.”
She stops cutting and spins around, all curves and full lips and huge brown eyes. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. It was on my skin yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about that, and it makes my blood boil.
“How can you be sure?” She fingers the end of her ponytail, which hangs over her shoulder and rests on the swell of her breast. “What if they fake it for you?”
“They don’t.”
“So cocky and sure of yourself, aren’t you, Tris?” Her hand goes to her chest, and she exhales a tremulous breath. “Oh.” Her pink-painted fingernails skate up the side of her neck, then drift along the collar of her shirt. “Oh, God,” she whimpers.
The sound goes straight to my asshole cock. “The fuck?”
She grips the edge of the counter with her free hand and meets my confused glare with a challenging one of her own.
And then she moans. It’s a seductive, unnerving sound coming from my best friend’s little sister.
“Right there. Oh, God, Tristan, you’re so big .
” She throws her head back and rolls her hips.
“Seriously? What the hell are you doing?” It’s like she knows what happened in the shower and she’s taunting me in a pair of shorts that don’t cover much.
Her bottom lip slides through her teeth and she sighs, then moans again, eyes falling closed. “Oh, oh yes! Oh, God, yeesssss! So thick. It hurts so goooood .”
Maybe I wasn’t off base when I accused her of doing more than listening to me jerk off the other night.
I’m about to call her out, but one of her hands glides down her soft, curvy body, and her thumb hooks into the waistband of her tiny cotton sleep shorts.
She pushes them so low it’s nearly obscene, but then they snap back into place as her hand travels lower, running along the inside of her thigh.
“Fuck. Right there. That’s it. Don’t stop! ”
Yeah, my best friend’s little sister might be inconvenient to have around, but she’s also hot as fuck. It’s a terrible combination, apparently. Despite having taken care of myself fifteen minutes ago, my body is already reacting to this…whatever this is.
Her eyes snap open, and her hand curves around my nape, nails biting into the skin.
Just like her tongue on my skin yesterday, the contact is unexpected and jarring.
Her other hand moves to cup and squeeze her breast. I break eye contact long enough to confirm that I can see her nipple through the fabric.
It’s not an optical illusion. She tugs on the back of my neck, and I lean in, confused and transfixed.
Her lips brush my ear, her voice softer, raspy, and a little desperate.
“Please, Tristan. Oh, God. Oh, fuuuuuuck.” She drags the word out, and this time I find my earlobe caught between her teeth.