Chapter 4
RIX
T he next morning, I’m sitting at the kitchen island with my laptop, sipping coffee and scouring the internet for a job.
I plan to ask Flip if I can play around with his financial portfolio.
It’ll add dimension to my resume. Rage-quitting means I can’t use my previous employer as a reference.
Even putting them on my resume could lead to questions, since I was only there for three months.
Living here is not a long-term solution.
Especially since it seems my brother has a habit of bringing home random women and having exceptionally enthusiastic sex until two in the morning.
It was nice of him to put up the comforter curtain, but it’s far from soundproof.
Thank God for noise-canceling earphones.
They drowned out most of the screaming and moaning last night.
Except between songs. I can’t do anything about that.
My phone pings with a new message, and my heart clenches. It’s Rob. We haven’t communicated since my whole drunken- voicemail episode. I have enough to deal with, so I figured pretending it didn’t happen was in both of our best interests.
I hover over his contact and reluctantly open the message.
Rob
I miss you.
It’s followed by a picture of a tub of my favorite ice cream.
I don’t want to have feelings about him sending I-miss-you messages.
Half the country separates us. As much as breaking up has sucked, I understand why he did it.
Making a relationship work like this would have been hard, harder than he was willing to manage.
That should tell me everything I need to know right there.
I still send a reply, like an idiot.
Rix
Same.
I flip my phone over, though, so I’m not tempted to continue the back and forth. Things are complicated enough without poking that wound.
At nine fifty-two, Tristan’s bedroom door swings open.
My eyes stay fixed on my laptop screen. The shit I pulled yesterday was stupid.
Effective, but stupid. All I can think about is the look on his face.
And the way his thigh magically found its way between mine.
Beyond his initial confusion, there was lust—the kind that wets a girl’s panties. This girl’s panties.
He groans. Loudly.
I continue scrolling through employment ads and remind my vagina that he’s an asshole, and my brother’s best friend, and that I should not lube up because he made a sound that reminds me of sex.
“For a hot minute, I thought you living here was a shitty nightmare,” he says as he pads across to the bathroom.
That dries up my excited vagina in a hurry. I work to shake off the sting. “Shitty nightmare is redundant. All nightmares are shitty.” I shoot the middle finger in his direction.
He leaves the door open, flips the toilet seat up, and relieves himself.
I steal a quick glance. The mirror across from the toilet is visible from this vantage point. It gives me a perfect view of his sleep-messed hair, broad, thickly muscled back, and sculpted ass.
“Take a picture. It’ll last longer!” he calls over his pee stream.
“Why? There’s nothing worth remembering anyway,” I reply.
His pee stream stops abruptly, and he appears in the bathroom doorway as he tucks himself back into his black boxer briefs.
His jaw tics. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite figure out.
Like I’ve hurt him somehow. But that’s what we do—fire arrows and see who can hurt the other one the most. He’s usually the winner, even if he doesn’t know it.
He pours a whole vat of salt in the wound with his next shot.
“You realize you’re not wanted here, right?
Flip feels bad because your roommates were assholes.
He’ll let you stay because he doesn’t want to deal with his guilty conscience.
And neither do I. Especially not at the beginning of the season.
But you’re a problem, and I don’t want you getting in the way, Beat. ”
I can’t help it. I flinch at his words. He used to say something similar when we were teens, telling me I was annoying to have around.
“I don’t want to deal with you any more than you want to deal with me.
” Douchebag. Fuckboy. Arrogant asshole .
I’m not the same little girl who wanted his affection.
Now I wish he’d choke on his own dick half the time—the other half I wish I was choking on his dick.
“Everything you do drives me up the wall. Why is the counter covered in bottles?” He motions to the vanity.
I tried to keep all my stuff on Flip’s side, but a few things have been moved since last night. “The medicine cabinet is full.” Mostly of various types of condoms, plus menthol rub and a few over-the-counter painkillers.
He stalks over to the shower and pulls the curtain aside. “And how many products do you need to shower? It’s like a fucking drive-thru car wash in here!”
I only have the basics: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a pouf, and sugar scrub. And they’re all contained in a small plastic bin, unlike the leaking three-in-one wash my brother favors and Tristan’s expensive shampoo and body wash.
“What crawled up your ass this morning?”
“You! Your shit is everywhere!”
Hating him is so easy sometimes. Maybe the stunt I pulled yesterday is having the same frustrating effect on him as it is on me. As soon as I think that, I brush it off as ridiculous. The knee between my thighs was reflexive. He can’t stand me . His overt disdain makes that clear.
A knock at the door prevents me from responding. Then the condo door opens. A woman in her mid-twenties, dressed for business, pokes her head in. “Hello? Hemi incoming!”
Her long, dark hair is styled like she’s been at the salon. High-waisted pants and a blue chiffon cap-sleeved blouse accentuate her curves. She’s carrying a messenger bag, and she doesn’t seem like one of my brother’s hookups. But she looks familiar. She sets a tray of coffees on the side table.
“Hey, Hemi.” Tristan pulls the bathroom door closed.
I glance between them, a weird, unpleasant feeling twisting my stomach uncomfortably.
It’s clear Tristan and Hemi know each other.
I just don’t know how. Maybe I’m wrong about the whole girlfriend thing.
But he came home the other day covered in glitter and cheap perfume.
I recognize the smell of Chanel No. 5 on Hemi.
She purses her lips and props her fists on her hips. “For the love of God, I said I’d be here at ten. This isn’t your locker room. Put on some goddamn clothes.”
She’s definitely not his girlfriend. The instant relief I feel is ridiculous.
“Blame it on Flip. He was the one making a racket until two in the morning. I just got up.” Tristan heads for his bedroom. Maybe that’s why he’s so aggravated this morning. Maybe I was an unfortunate target for his wrath.
“Where is Phillip?” Hemi asks.
“Still in bed.” Tristan’s bedroom door closes.
Hemi, who hasn’t noticed me, huffs, and her heels click across the hardwood floor. She pounds three times on Flip’s door. “You better be out here in less than ten minutes, Phillip, or I will sign you up for a herpes endorsement!” she shouts.
And then I understand why she looks familiar.
She’s head of the team’s PR. Her job is to manage unruly hockey players and their bad behavior.
Making them participate in charity events smooths out rough edges in the public eye.
She also helps players secure endorsements, which earn income on top of their already amazing salaries.
It’s a cool job. And she seems like a badass.
She spins around, and her eyes flare. “Oh. Hi.” Her gaze moves over me in an assessing sweep.
I’m wearing the same shorts and baggy shirt I slept in. I’m also braless. Mostly on purpose.
Her smile turns tight. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Phillip and Tristan have a meeting this morning, so you should be on your way. I can call you a car if you’d like.” She pulls her phone out of her bag. “I’ll just need an address.”
“Oh, uh...” She thinks I’m one of their bunnies. I suppress a gag. “I don’t think?—”
Tristan’s door swings open. He’s wearing gray sweats and one of those weird workout tanks with the huge armholes, so we can see his nipples and all eleven thousand abs when he turns sideways.
“Tristan, you’ll have to call your friend a car,” Hemi says in that same tight, no-nonsense tone.
I kind of love her already, even though she thinks I’m a bunny.
Tristan’s brows pull together. It’s irksome that even that expression is hot on him. “Huh?”
She tips her head in my direction. “Your friend. You need to take care of her.”
“Take care of—” His eyes go wide. “Oh! Oh, fuck.”
I hold up a hand and get in a dig before he can. “Even if humanity was on the brink of extinction, I wouldn’t let this fuckboy put his dirty hands on me.”
His eyes narrow. “I’d rather lose my dick to frostbite.”
It’s early to be hitting below the belt like this, but I’m ready with the next arrow of my own. “I would rather seal my vagina shut with super glue.”
Hemi, the poor thing, looks seriously confused.
Flip’s bedroom door opens, and I nearly throw up my coffee. He’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs with his team logo on the peen pouch, and sporting morning wood. “Are you two fighting again? I’m trying to sleep!”
“Good God! You two need to get dressed before you leave your bedrooms!” I shout. “I never, ever need to see my brother’s morning wood. Never again, Flip. You will pay for my therapy bills until I’m over this. And I will one hundred percent pick the priciest therapist in the world!”
A shrill whistle has me covering my ears with my hands. Tristan and Flip have followed suit. A body rustles around in Flip’s bedding.
Hemi looks less than impressed. “Phillip, get dressed and please see your guest out. Tristan, you’re being a giant asshole. Get a grip.” She turns to me. “I am so sorry. I was unaware you were visiting. I didn’t mean to offend you.”