Chapter 13
RIX
T oronto wins the exhibition game. I don’t love the gut-churning anxiety I feel knowing the team is out celebrating the win.
But when they return the next day, Tristan fucks me into next week and asks for my cell number so we can sext during away games.
Because he’s not going to screw anyone else while he’s screwing me.
Two days after they return from Winnipeg, I’m standing in front of the fridge post workout, frowning at the contents.
Flip is meeting with his agent and Hemi.
He brought two women back to his hotel room after the Winnipeg game, and they posted photos online.
Unsurprisingly, it’s causing him trouble with his endorsement campaigns.
Tristan may or may not be in his bedroom.
“Where the heck is it?” I shift the contents around, searching for my post-workout treat. There’s a bakery on the way home from work that sells delicious mini cakes. I’ve been looking forward to the last slice all day.
Tristan’s bedroom door opens. He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of gray jogging pants.
When the heat kicks on in the fall, it gets warm in here.
Particularly in the loft. I take a moment to appreciate his rippling abs, cut chest, and popping biceps.
But my appreciation fizzles the moment I spot the container in his hands.
The one that used to contain my cake. It’s empty.
His eyes heat as they absorb my sports-bra-and-shorts combo.
I’m sweaty. It’s not a deterrent for Tristan.
More than once he’s yanked my shorts down and bent me over the kitchen counter when I’m back from the gym.
He’s a big fan of licking my skin when it’s salty.
The guy has some strange kinks, and most of the time, I’m down for it. But right now, I’m super pissed.
He tosses the empty container on the counter and moves into my personal space. He wraps my ponytail around his fist, but before he can lick a path up my neck, I cover his mouth with my palm. “Stop.”
He releases my hair immediately and steps back. “Is Flip home?”
“No.” I pick up the empty container. A swipe of icing is all that remains. “What does it say on the top of this box?”
He glances at the plastic container. My name is written in bold black letters. “Rix.”
“Why would you eat it when it’s clearly marked as mine ?”
“Because I was hungry, and it’s been sitting in the fridge for four days.”
“But my name was on it.”
He frowns. “It’s just a piece of cake, Bea.”
“That’s not the fucking point, Tris! It had my name on it. I was saving it for after my workout.”
He looks perplexed. “So buy another one.”
I’m heading for overreaction territory, and I can’t rein it in.
I fling my hand in the air. “I can’t just get another one.
The only place that sells them is by my work, which means I’d have to take a half-hour subway ride to get there.
And the bakery closes in”—I check the clock on the wall—“a little more than an hour.”
“The grocery store is a five-minute walk. Go there and get something else.”
“That’s not what I want!” I snap. I’m being exactly the kind of problem Tristan hates, but I’m already out of control.
It’s not just the piece of cake, but what it represents—not having enough, not being considered.
I’m frustrated that he so easily plays this down while I’m heading for irrational, especially since we’ve done this before.
He rolls his eyes. “Why are you being so drama about this, Beat? You’re harping on me about a fucking piece of cake. Are you getting your period or something?”
“One.” I hold up a finger. “Fuck you, Tristan.”
“Why are you so worked up about a piece of stale cake?”
I exhale through my nose, working to keep my temper in check. My anger isn’t helping my cause. “Two, was I bleeding all over your face when I sat on it yesterday?”
His nose wrinkles. “The fuck, Beat?”
“It’s a question. Do I need to repeat it?” I cross my arms.
“No. And no.” His confusion would almost be entertaining if he wasn’t such an offensive asshole.
“I realize you didn’t grow up in a house with menstruating women, so let me enlighten you.
My being upset with you for taking something that didn’t belong to you without asking first has nothing to do with my fucking cycle.
I’m a human being with emotions, and they are not tied to the goddamn blood moon. ”
“But it’s just cake. And it was stale. Why are you so riled up about it?”
I remind myself that Tristan didn’t grow up in a house where treats were rare, though I thought he understood that I did. That when we put our names on things, no one else would finish it. Sure, we might have a bite, but we always left some for the owner.
My eyes are pricking. I need to get away from him before I cry. “Just forget it.” I brush by him, but his fingers circle my wrist. “Just let me go.” My voice cracks, and I turn my head away.
“No.” He tries to get in my face.
A stupid emotional tear leaks out. He’s right about it being stale. I know how irrational I look.
“Are you crying ?” He sounds appalled.
“Please let me go,” I whisper.
Instead of releasing my wrist, he pulls me against his bare chest. One hand cups the back of my head; the other winds around my waist.
I’m shocked by the affection. Tristan isn’t a hugger. He does that nose-brush thing, and sometimes he’ll spoon me, but spontaneous hugs are not the norm with him.
I allow it, mostly because it’s so unusual.
Eventually he pulls back, brows furrowed as he cups my cheeks. “God, I hate making you cry.” His thumbs sweep under my eyes, wiping away the tears. “Can you explain why this upsets you so much?”
The only way to avoid this happening again is to be honest with him. I bite the inside of my lip. This is my thing. My hang-up.
“Bea, talk to me, please. I want to understand.”
“I stick to a super-tight budget. I never want to end up in the same position as my parents.”
“Okay, but Flip wouldn’t let that happen.”
“I won’t use my brother as a bank account.
” I’m circling the issue. I sigh and drop my gaze to his chest. “I have food insecurities. I’m always worried there won’t be enough.
I plan when I’m buying a treat, and I savor it, even if it’s a piece of stale cake, because I won’t waste it, and what if something happens and I can’t afford it again for a while? ”
“We have a fridge full of food. Is what Flip and I are giving you for groceries not enough? We can give you more. I’ll give you more if you need it. That’s not something either of us expects you to pay for.”
There’s an envelope of cash in the drawer labeled groceries that Flip and Tristan top up regularly. I put the receipts in the envelope. When it’s down to a hundred bucks, I leave it on the counter, and someone always fills it.
“That’s for your food, though. I have a budget for my own, and I pay for it separately.” Stupid tears keep leaking out. There’s such shame attached to this for me. I hated the days when the fridge was almost bare and we were still days away from a paycheck.
His expression is tender as he puts all the pieces together.
“What? Bea, baby, no. You cook all our meals, prep our food, do all the grocery shopping, and the place hasn’t been this clean since Flip moved in.
You don’t need to pitch in more than you already are, and you don’t need to buy separate groceries. ”
“I’m living in your space, and you didn’t even want me here to begin with.
And Flip’s always helping me. I can’t take advantage of that, because he worries about money like I worry about food.
I don’t want to be a freeloader.” I sigh, trying to get myself together.
“Anyway, that cake was a splurge for me. And last week I went out for drinks with Hemi, and that can be expensive.” I wring my hands.
Even talking about it freaks me out. It’s not entirely rational, but some mindsets are hard to rewire.
“I know I’m really weird about food. I know that.
But even when we were getting by okay, there wasn’t a lot extra for treats.
It’s hard to let go of the fear that something might happen, and I’ll suddenly have nothing.
I never want to resort to brown sugar sandwiches while I’m waiting for the next paycheck to clear. ”
“Did that happen a lot when you were a kid?” he asks.
“Often enough. I know I keep freaking out on you, but this is one of my hang-ups.”
Tristan tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “If your name is on it, I won’t eat it. Unless it’s your pussy. I’ll eat that anytime.”
I roll my eyes but laugh. “I’m gonna jump in the shower.”
His eyes search my face. “Okay.”
I’m disappointed when he doesn’t join me, and I’m even more disappointed to find the condo empty after I come out. I have a new message from Essie asking about a video call, so I fire one back. A minute later, she calls me.
She makes a circle motion around her face. “What happened with the asshole now?”
I laugh. She knows we’ve been hate-fucking each other, but not the details. I fill her in on my freak-out, the hug, and the whole deal, including that he’s now disappeared.
“But he was good about it?”
“He listened. Or seemed to, anyway.”
“Maybe he had an emergency?”
“Maybe. But why didn’t he tell me he was leaving? I’m probably overthinking this. I’m definitely overthinking this. I know I’m weird about food.”
“You’re allowed to be. It was hard for you growing up.”
Essie knows what my situation was like. Her mom would pack extra snacks in her lunch for me.
And Essie would trade me when I had sugar sandwiches.
The next day, she always had an extra sandwich in her lunch.
“It’s the second time I’ve cried in front of him.
And both times have been about food. I feel like an idiot. ”