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)
“Trixie Rixie, are you having trouble sitting down?” Essie inquires as she moves my purse from the passenger seat to the floor. She tucks the fortune cookie that fell out back inside.
I focus on leaving the Toronto airport without getting into a fender bender. It’s the worst. “How was your flight?”
“It was decent. The guy next to me was hot, which is much better than my last flight, where I ended up beside a grandfather who farted every fifteen minutes and seemed shocked by the smell.”
“Was the hot guy also nice?” I’m not above distracting her.
“He was self-absorbed. Talked about all the money he makes in finance. I did a lot of nodding and smiling. I also drank three glasses of wine, so that helped quell the boredom. His pretty face was a bonus.” She adjusts her position. “Nice try changing the subject, but you sat down rather gingerly. I’ve been dying for details, so spill them.”
“Some details are rather filthy,” I warn.
“I would expect nothing less from Tristan, considering he’s best friends with your brother and the stories floating around on the bunny sites are unreal. There has to be some truth to them.”
I avoid the bunny sites like the plague. I already know enough about my brother and his sex life. And I have no desire for any insider scoop on Tristan. But I finally have privacy to speak to Essie, so I fill in the gaps—there are many—in the dirty story since Tristan and I started sleeping together.
“Holy shit. He really is filthy. I can’t believe he ate the cucumber.”
“Yeah. He really commits.”
“I also can’t believe Flip hasn’t suspected anything,” she muses.
“He’s pretty busy with his own social life.”
“Does that bother you? Especially since Tristan is the same way.”
I consider telling Essie about the woman Flip brought home who Tristan had previously slept with but decide that’s one situation I don’t need to relive. “It’s awkward witnessing it firsthand,” I tell her. “There’s almost always someone in his bed. He had a long-term girlfriend in high school, and our parents have been married for over thirty years. It’s not like he’s had bad modeling.” I wave that away. “Anyway, I don’t need to psychoanalyze my brother, and you’ll probably see him in action when they get back tomorrow night.”
I pull into the underground lot and park my brother’s car, help Essie unload her suitcase, and take her up to the condo.
She lets out a low whistle and crosses to the wall of windows. “Wow, now that’s a view. The waterfront is amazing from here.”
“Right? It’s a great location.”
Essie surveys the rest of the condo. “It’s a sweet pad.”
“It is. Minus the single bathroom and the ladder to get to the loft.”
“Yeah, that’s a weird design flaw.”
Once we get Essie’s suitcase into the loft—no easy feat—we catch up while we make dinner together. I work in the morning, so Essie will visit friends from university while I’m gone.
The following evening, we’re snuggled together on the couch in the loft, eating buttered popcorn and watching a movie, when Flip and Tristan return from Ottawa. They won the game, and Flip and Tristan scored a goal apiece.
“Hey, sis! Hey, Ess!” Flip shouts.
“Hey!” we call back.
“Gotta shower off the sin,” he says, probably to Tristan. Two seconds later, the bathroom door closes.
Tristan grumbles something, and his suitcase rolls across the floor.
Essie side-eyes me and whispers, “Now we’re getting to the good part.”
I roll my eyes. “Nothing will happen while you’re here.”
“We’ll see how true that is, won’t we?”
Less than a minute later, Tristan pops into the loft.
“Hey.” I give him a questioning smile. This should be interesting.
“Hey.” His gaze shifts to Essie as he pulls himself up. “Essie, it’s been a while, eh?”
“It’s been a few years.” She pops a piece of popcorn into her mouth. She hasn’t seen him in the flesh since freshman year of high school.
He tucks his thumbs into his pockets. He’s wearing distressed black jeans and a long-sleeve shirt pushed up to reveal his delicious forearms. The look does a fantastic job of highlighting all his exceptionally defined muscles. His gaze shifts from us to the TV and back again. “What are you two up to?”
“Uh, watching a movie.” I motion to the TV. It seems obvious.
He kneads the back of his neck. “You look pretty cozy.”
We’re currently sharing a blanket. “Do you want to join us? We’re only about twenty minutes in.”
His brow furrows, and he bites his bottom lip.
Essie glances between us and holds up her insulated wineglass. “I need a refill.” She tosses off the blanket and untwines our legs. We’re both wearing shorts, those terrible-but-comfy reading socks, and hoodies. “I’ll be back up in a few. Holler if you need anything.”
Tristan’s eyes go to my mostly bare legs.
“Maybe bring the bottle up,” I say.