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)
While they continue laughing at my expense, I drink my coffee, eat chocolate chip cookies, and fantasize about shaving their heads while they sleep.
“Kidding aside, what about your furniture?” Flip asks. “Does it need to go into storage?”
“The apartment came fully furnished, so I just need to grab the rest of my clothes and personal effects.”
“What about your bedroom set from the old house?” he asks.
“Mom and Dad sold it.”
Tristan frowns. “You don’t have any furniture at all?”
I shake my head. “I always rent places that are furnished.” It’s easier and cheaper to move that way. “A few tote bins should cover what’s left there. I didn’t have a lot. I can bus over and Uber back.”
“I’ll drive you. You’re close to that East Side’s we go to, right?”
“Yeah, a couple of blocks south.”
The two of us have a standing monthly dinner date at East Side’s. Our parents used to take us there for a treat as kids. We’d always fill up on salad and bread because there were unlimited free refills, and then we’d take two bites of our dinner and save it for the next day.
“I’ll come for the ride,” Tristan announces.
Wait, what? “You don’t need to. I don’t have that much stuff.”
His expression remains flat. “I want to meet these roommates.”
Of course he does. “Why? So you can invite yourself over for a gangbang? Eugenia isn’t your type.”
“How do you know?”
“Because she’s not a bunny.” I know my brother’s type, which means I also know Tristan’s.
“Okay, as fun as this is, I need to shower,” Flip says. “Then we’ll pick up your stuff, Rix. Please try not to kill each other while I’m gone.” He leaves me alone with Tristan, who is still clad in only a towel.
There’s no escape.
“I should grab my keys.” I’m wearing shorts, a tank top I stuffed in my bag last night, and the same bra and underwear from yesterday. Getting away from mostly naked Tristan is my current top priority.
I hustle around the island, but he’s right there—a wall of hot, muscular flesh that I’d like to punch and run my nails over with equal measure, especially now that he’s not covered in glitter or smelling like cheap perfume. Instead, he smells like fresh fucking rain and warm skin, and I want to hump his leg a little. Which is so, so wrong. Especially when I know what he gets up to with my brother. My emotions about Tristan should be fully channeled in the hate direction.
I consider sidestepping him, but he’s a hockey player, and I only went to weekly yoga with Essie because she was allowed to bring a friend for free. And Kawartha Dairy ice cream was my reward after. Now she’s in Vancouver, and I’ll never yoga again without thinking of her. I give him a “come on” gesture. “Say what you’re going to say, Tris. I don’t have all day.”
“Don’t you, though?” He lifts his hand, and I twist my head away but refuse to back down or step aside. He doesn’t make contact, but his fingers trail along the edge of my jaw, so close I feel his heat. He leans in until his warm, humid breath breaks against my cheek. “You’re the one drinking my coffee, sleeping on my couch without anywhere to be.”
His words hit home in a way I don’t like. “You think I asked for this?”
He tips his head. “Is that your interpretation?”
He’s playing with me. Pushing me. Needling. “Must be nice to have a throne to sit on so you can pass judgment on us peons. Of the three of us, I had to fight hardest to get where I am. I’ve always been the afterthought, never a big, shiny star.”
His smirk slides off his face. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, I barrel on, wanting to slice him like he has me.
“And look how quickly both of you have tarnished that shine. How lovely that you can be assholes of the highest order and no one ever calls you on it. How proud your parents must be. Mommy must love that you’re a big hockey star.” The words are out of my mouth before I consider their impact. His mom left when he was twelve. It was a low blow. Too low. I try to backtrack. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yeah, you did.” He turns around and disappears into his bedroom.
My heart is pounding, and my palms are sweaty. I may have made things infinitely worse for myself.
Twenty minutes later, we file out of the condo. The woman across the hall is letting herself into her unit.
“Hey Dred, how’s it going?” Flip asks.
Tristan raises a hand in a wave.
“It’ll be the best day ever as soon as I’m in comfy clothes.” She’s currently wearing flats, a pair of dress pants, a white blouse, and a cardigan. She looks like a librarian with her bun and her glasses.