Chapter 5
RIX
A fter five days of living with my brother and Tristan, I’ve learned a few things. First, the media isn’t blowing my brother’s extremely prolific sex life out of proportion. He changes women as frequently as he changes his underwear. It’s a little disappointing if I’m honest.
In high school, he dated the same girl for two years.
They broke up when they went to different universities.
By twenty, Flip was playing professional hockey, and since then, he’s adopted an entirely different attitude.
I get that attention comes with fame, but most players calm down after a year or two. Flip seems to keep ramping up instead.
I’ve also learned that it doesn’t matter how often I clean the bathroom. Within twelve hours, his side looks like a bomb site. Flip has a habit of leaving his towel bunched up on the floor. Adding bleach to the wash cycle helps remove the funk.
Third, I now understand why the fridge was practically bare when I arrived.
It’s impossible to keep groceries in this house.
I’ve been shopping twice already, and I need to go again tomorrow.
I bought the first round, but Flip gave me a wad of cash to cover subsequent trips because he’s aware they eat an excessive amount of food.
But the most frustratingly annoying thing about living with my brother and his disgustingly hot asshole of a best friend is that they constantly walk around in their underwear. Half the time they leave the door open when they pee. And apparently neither of them knows how to flush.
I’m currently hiding out in the loft, comparing grocery flyers so I can price match as many items as possible.
I also use an app, but sometimes there are hidden gems in the flyers.
Ice cream is on sale this week. Not my preferred brand, but I’m an ice cream addict, so I’ll buy the cheaper stuff even if it isn’t as satisfying.
I started my price-matching mission at the kitchen island, but Tristan came out in his black boxer briefs, looking like a delicious hate-fuck.
I didn’t want to get caught ogling, so I moved to the loft where I can steal the occasional peek without his notice.
My phone pings with a new message. My chest tightens when I see Rob’s name on the screen. His I-miss-you message has been eating at me. Mostly because it feels unfair to send it and then go back to crickets for days.
The internal battle is real. I finally give in and check the message.
Rob
Checking in to see if you’re doing okay.
Responding right away puts the ball back in his court, and I’m not sure that’s where I want it, so I leave it and go back to my price matching. It annoyed Rob when I did this, and he refused to go shopping with me. Which was fine because I shopped with Essie anyway.
As I finish combing through the last flyer, someone knocks on the door. Hookups usually come over in the evening, so I’m curious who it could be.
Tristan answers the door. “Hey, guys, come on in.”
Two deep male voices filter up to the loft. “Where’s Madden?”
I shimmy to the edge of the couch for a better view.
Two guys wearing baseball caps, with broad shoulders and asses I could bounce quarters off, stand in the middle of the kitchen.
One is slightly shorter, with dark hair that curls under the edges of his ball cap.
The other has tan skin and short hair. They’re clearly teammates.
Tristan has put on shorts, but he remains shirtless.
“Still sleeping. He was out late,” Tristan replies.
I can confirm this. Flip came home at three a.m. and made a racket. He ate half the contents of the fridge, left a mess on the counter, and disappeared into his bedroom. Middle-of-the-night kitchen noise is preferrable to a woman screaming her brains out, though.
“I hope he finally gets this out of his system before the season starts,” the guy with the short hair says.
“We need him to channel some of that energy on the ice, instead of saving it all for the bedroom, or wherever he’s getting his fuck on,” his friend agrees.
“Hemi gave him shit earlier in the week, but I don’t know if it’s slowing him down much,” Tristan replies.
I slump as his gaze lifts to the loft.
“Like you’re any better, man,” one guy says.
“Hey, my dudes!” Flip’s sleep-raspy voice interrupts. “Give me five and we can get this party started.” The bathroom door closes.
My phone pings with a message from my bestie, asking to chat.
Rix
Bro’s teammates are here. Zero privacy right now.
Essie
Are they all dressed in underpants only?
Rix
Two are fully clothed. Bro is probably in underwear since he just woke up. Dickhead is wearing shorts, no shirt. It’s an upgrade from the boxer briefs earlier.
Essie
Or a downgrade. That guy is hotter than a ghost pepper.
Rix
I know. I can’t stand him.
Essie
You can always fight fire with fire.
Rix
***
Essie
Sports bra + tiny running shorts = payback
Rix
YOU GENIUS
Essie
Report back once mission FFWF is complete ψ (｀?′) ψ
I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. Maybe because the only people who usually see me are Tristan and Flip. My brother won’t care, and Tristan can’t stand me. But with their teammates here, it might effectively make a point.
I rummage around in my clothing bin for a pair of those running shorts that barely contain my butt cheeks and a sports bra that doesn’t offer much support, but it’s strappy and sexy and makes the girls look fantastic. It’s also white.
I duck behind the divider for changing privacy and quickly put on the outfit, removing the pads from the bra so my nipples are nipple-y.
Then I put on my running shoes and pull my hair into a ponytail.
My earbuds get tucked between my boobs, and my phone goes in the slot at the back so it authentically looks like I plan to work out.
Fight-fire-with-fire mode engaged.
I climb down the ladder, and when I reach the halfway mark, I hold the edges and let it carry me to the floor. It’s loud, but it allows me to make an entrance.
All three heads turn my way. Tristan is in the middle of a sip of orange juice—he drinks an irrational amount of juice. He chokes and coughs into his arm.
I hop to the floor, plaster a bright smile on my face, and head for the fridge, passing Tristan. His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. It’s comical, really.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” he blurts.
I look down and run a hand over my bare stomach. “Gym clothes. Because I’m going to the gym. What the fuck are you wearing?” I turn my attention to his teammates. I might also flip my ponytail over my shoulder as I wave. “Hi.”
“Hey, hi.” The slightly shorter guy’s eyes light up as his gaze roves over me, stopping at my chest for a beat too long.
I extend a hand across the island. His gaze flicks over my shoulder, to where Tristan is standing, before returning to mine. “I’m Rix, Flip’s sister.”
He slips his palm into mine. “I’m Dallas, and this is Roman.”
Now that I see him up close, I recognize him. “Oh yeah, you’re lucky number seven, aren’t you? Your scoring record is impressive.”
“You follow hockey?” Dallas asks.
“I try to catch most of Flip’s games.” I’m supportive, even if it’s from the comfort of my couch. I turn to his friend and teammate. “And you’re Roman Hammerstein, the goalie.”
He gives me a lopsided smile. “I am. It’s nice to meet you, Rix.”
Flip comes out of the bathroom, and as expected, he’s dressed in underpants.
He’s frowning at his phone. He stops halfway between the bathroom and the kitchen and drags his gaze away from the screen.
“I need to call my agent. I shouldn’t be long.
Oh, hey, Rix, you mind putting on a coffee for me?
And get the guys whatever they want.” He motions to his friends, his phone already at his ear as he disappears back into his sex den.
“I’ll handle the coffee. You can grab a shirt and go to the gym,” Tristan all but growls.
I head for the coffeemaker. “The gym isn’t going anywhere. And you make weak coffee.” I toss a glance over my shoulder. “Boys, are you interested in coffee?” Am I laying it on a little thick? Absolutely.
“Yeah, I’d love one,” Dallas says.
“Me, too,” Roman seconds.
Of course, the canister with the grounds is practically empty.
I open the cupboard and push up on my tiptoes, reaching for the whole beans and grinder, but they’re on the third shelf.
While it’s fine for Flip and Tristan, who are over six feet, it’s too high for me.
I stretch, but I’m short a few inches. I could ask for help, but that gives Tristan open season to shit-talk me.
In front of their teammates. That’s a hard pass.
I brace my hands on the counter and pull myself up so I’m kneeling on the cold granite.
“The fuck are you doing?” Tristan asks.
“Getting the coffee beans, genius.”
“Keep your fucking eyes to yourself, Bright,” Tristan snaps.
I look over my shoulder and notice I have everyone’s attention. Jumping up on the counter probably put the emphasis on my ass. Perfect. I’m doing a great job of making my point.
“Here. Let me help.” Suddenly Tristan is right behind me, his chest pressed against my back as he grabs the coffee beans and grinder, setting them on the counter beside me.
His mouth is at my ear, nose in my hair.
“Roman’s daughter is your age. I don’t need another problem to deal with, and you’re making yourself one, Beat.
” His hands wrap around my waist, fingertips digging in.
He steps back and pulls me off the counter.
My body slides down the front of his, and I swear I feel something semi-stiff nudge the small of my back.
His fingers flex, and then he releases me, stepping away.
His expression is flat as he repeats himself, insistent this time, “I’ll handle the coffee. You can head to the gym.”