Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
I throw the question back at him. “How’s your self-loathing meter?”
He shrugs, like he’s unaffected. He still won’t look at me. “Did you think you were special, Beat? That I’d buy you flowers and sneak up to the loft, looking for more?”
I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it. I shoot an arrow before he can. “I’m not stupid enough to believe I’m more than another warm hole you got to fill. Did you actually think I’d want you again?”
His gaze is flat, expression unreadable as he leans in, lips at my ear. “You were right about one thing, though. You choking on my cock is a great way to get you to shut up.”
It’s the sucker punch I was waiting for, but it still hurts. “Fuck you,” I spit.
“Been there. Done that. Once was enough.” He disappears into his bedroom, leaving me fuming in a steaming pile of regret.
For the next two days I successfully avoid Tristan. It’s too awkward. I can’t look at him without thinking about the sex, or the way he cut me off at the knees after. I’m angry at myself for letting him make me feel anything at all. But my mind keeps going back to when he said he wouldn’t hurt me. That if I didn’t like it, all I had to do was tell him and he’d stop. Even though the sex was filthy and rough, he was tender in that moment. That’s the Tristan I had glimpses of as a teen. The one who would steal a peony from his neighbor’s garden and leave it on my dresser because he knew I loved them. That was the Tristan who reassured me. Then fucked the living hell out of me. It’s confusing. And frustrating. I don’t know how to be around him now. I still hate him, but something shifted between us the minute he kissed me. And I feel as transparent as a jellyfish. Especially when Flip is here.
So when Tristan is home, I go out. Thankfully, they’re in training camp now, so they’re up and out early, and they spend hours on the ice. It doesn’t do much to slow Flip’s sex life, but at least the three a.m. marathons seem to be over.
Four days post fuck-a-thon, I’m in the kitchen, prepping their food for the next couple of days. The amount of groceries Tristan and Flip go through is unreal. I bought fresh pasta and made marinara sauce and meatballs, because they need to carb load after long practices. Each serving goes in a microwavable container with reheating instructions. I’ve been out at dinnertime lately for obvious reasons. I also haven’t told anyone what happened. Not even Essie—not purposely, but because every time we’ve talked, my brother has been around.
My phone rings as I seal the fourth container of pasta, meatballs, and sauce. My stomach flips when I see Dean and Sons flash across the screen. “Oh my God. Okay. Take a breath, Rix.” I look toward the ceiling. “Please let me be employed. Sorry for always taking your name in vain. And for screaming it a lot earlier in the week.” I shake my head, erasing memories before they surface, and answer on the third ring.
Three minutes later, I have a new job. And I start in two days.
“I have a job!” I dance around the kitchen, then remember the meals sitting on the counter and put them in the fridge. I call my mom right away to tell her the good news.
“That’s wonderful, sweetheart. Is it a good firm? Tell me all about it.”
I fill her in on the job, which isn’t a whole lot different than my last one, just different clientele. “I’ll start looking for my own place now that I have a steady paycheck again.”
“That’s good. You and Phillip are getting along okay? He must be busy with the season starting so soon.”
“Oh yeah, we get along fine.” His best friend is a different story, though.
We chat for a few more minutes, Mom filling me in on what her and Dad have been up to lately before we end the call.
With that task done, I decide a new work outfit is a reasonable splurge and a good reason to go shopping. I’m making a to-do list when the condo door opens. “I have some awesome n—” I turn to find Tristan toeing off his shoes. He’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looks delicious and gorgeous, and for a second he actually looks happy to see me, which doesn’t make sense.
“Oh. It’s you.” Every part of me wants to run away. But I have nowhere to go.
The right side of his mouth curls up in a mean smile. “Thinking about how I won’t fuck you again?”
I give him back his own words. “Once was enough.” Lie, lie, lie.