The first thing I learn about Flip and Tristan is that wandering around shirtless is apparently commonplace. I’m sitting at the kitchen island the next morning, nursing a coffee and eating the chocolate chip cookies I brought with me because the only food in their fridge is old pizza and a sad, squishy tomato. Grocery shopping and cleaning are at the top of my to-do list.
Right after I get my stuff from my former apartment.
Tristan saunters into the kitchen. He’s fresh from the shower and wrapped in nothing but a towel. Water droplets dot his shoulders, and a rogue one tumbles gracefully over his defined pec, caressing each rolling ab on the way down. An image of Tristan fisting his massive erection pops into my head like a whack-a-mole. I shift my gaze back to my coffee cup, which is the only safe place for my eyes.
“So why are you here?”
It’s not possible to make me seem like more of a burden than Tristan does with that one sentence.
To my left, Flip runs his hand through his already messy mop of hair. I have no idea what time he got in last night, but he has an absurd number of hickeys on his neck, chest, and stomach. He’s wearing a pair of gray jogging pants that hang low on his hips. I assume the hickey trail continues, but I’m thankful I can only hypothesize.
“I might have accidentally quit my job,” I mumble. My first real adult job, and I blew up the opportunity after only three months. Embarrassment washes through me all over again.
“How do you accidentally quit your job?” Flip shoves his hand down the front of his joggers.
I look away, because no one needs to see that. My shoulders roll forward, and I lower my voice, as if that will make my actions yesterday less awful. “Fifteen minutes before the end of the day, my manager set four boxes filled with ten years of receipts on my desk. She told me they needed to be sorted and input by nine this morning. It’s the third time that’s happened in a month. I might have freaked out.”
“Huh. Well, that makes sense. Your manager sounds like a dick.”
“She was. Or still is.” As the newbie, I expected some shitty jobs, but less than twenty-four hours with four banker’s boxes is unreasonable. Especially when she did the same thing last week. And the week before that.
“We have waffles and some whole-grain bread in the freezer, if you want something other than cookies for breakfast.” Tristan gives my cookie box a pointed, slightly disapproving look.
“I’m fine. But thanks.” It’s bad enough that I’m crashing here and drinking their coffee. I don’t want to eat their food, too.
“Suit yourself.”
He grabs a mug and pours himself a coffee, then turns to me and Flip. “Either of you need a top up?”
“Sure, yeah.” Flip sets his cup on the counter.
Tristan gives him a look. “Dude. The fuck?”
Flip frowns. “What?”
“You’re covered in hickeys, and your sister is right here.” He points at me.
“So?”
“It’s fine,” I mutter. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Tristan fills Flip’s mug, still wearing his displeased-dad face, then looks to me.
“Please.” I push my mug toward him.
“What does rage-quitting have to do with you staying here?” he asks as he freshens my coffee.
I really wish I didn’t have to share the whys of my needing to stay in their loft. “My roommates are super into roleplay. They like to dress up in period costumes.” I had a boyfriend in university, before Rob, who was big into Dungeons & Dragons. Sometimes he would dress up as a wizard. It was quirky and adorable. I loved that he was this soccer-playing guy who nerded out with his friends off the field. And as an accountant, I consider myself also a bit of a nerd. But the situation in my apartment is not at all about being nerdy.
Tristan scoffs, and Flip arches a brow.
“Anyway.” I grip the edge of the island, but it’s sticky with orange juice, so I go back to holding my coffee cup. “On Sunday night they were dressed up in steampunk, which is totally fine. They have great costumes.” There’s an entire room dedicated to their roleplay costumes and props. And Eugenia makes most of them. She’s super talented. “Except they tried to get me to dress up as a pirate and…plunder them.” With a pegleg.
Flip’s bottom lip juts out. “Plunder them?”
“They have an open relationship, and they wanted me to join them.” I said no several times in the months I lived there, but they kept asking and putting me in awkward situations. I should have known the cheap rent was too good to be true.
Tristan bursts out laughing.
“Fuck you, asshole.” I flip him the bird.
“Are they hot? I mean, it’d be fun if they were hot,” Flip says, oblivious to how gross that is coming from my brother.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re hot. They’re my roommates. Were my roommates, because I can’t live there.” The roleplay isn’t the issue. It’s more what happened two nights ago and when I came home from work last night.
“Can’t you say no and leave it at that?” Flip asks.
“I’ve tried. More than once. Instead of respecting my boundaries, two nights ago they had excessively loud sex until three in the morning in the living room.” I was stuck in my bedroom, unable to pee until they finally went to bed. It was awful and may have contributed to my rage-quitting, although I didn’t love the job to begin with.
“Sounds familiar,” Tristan mutters into his coffee cup.
“Whatever, man. You’ve been part of the equation on plenty of occasions, so don’t bitch about how hard it is to be my wingman,” Flip retorts.
I gag. Those are not details I need. I hope I’m not trading a shitty situation for an even worse one. “You two are disgusting.”
“I’m in my twenties, and women literally throw themselves at me. I won’t be this pretty or virile forever. It’s about capitalizing while I can.” Flip has the nerve to sound defensive.
“What he said,” Tristan agrees like the fuckboy he is.
“I can’t wait for the regular season when we get to play in Vancouver.” Flip’s eyes are all dreamy and far away. “They have the best bunnies.”
“Accurate.” Tristan sips his coffee thoughtfully.
“Anyway.” I’d rather talk about my ex-roommates than my brother’s exceptionally prolific sex life. “They were at it again in the living room when I came home last night. I decided I’d had enough, so here I am. It’ll only be for a few days. Or a week at most.” I hope. “I just need to find a new job and an apartment.” Apart from staying at a hotel, which I can’t afford for long, this is my only option. My parents live three hours away in buttfuck-nowhere northern Ontario, and my best friend is on the other side of the country in Vancouver, where the best bunnies reside. God, I miss Essie so much.
“We start training camp next week and then exhibition games, so if you need more than a week to figure shit out, that’s cool. Right, Tris?”
Tristan gives me a withering look. “It’s fine, I guess. Just stay out of my shit.” Seems offering me a coffee refill was his one nice moment of the day.
I hate that he can make me feel like I’m thirteen again, getting in the way. “I see you’re still the same insufferable asshole.”
“And you’re still as irritating as a mosquito. And just as crushable.” His lip curls, and he has the audacity to look hot while also being a dick.
“Jesus. I forgot how awful it is when you two are in the same room. You’re already giving me a headache.” Flip rubs his temple.
“That’s probably from the pussy shots you were doing last night,” Tristan fires back.
I throw my hands in the air. “Oh my God! I don’t want to know about my brother doing pussy shots!”
“I guess you should have thought about that before you threw a hissy fit at your job, lost your apartment, and decided to crash on my futon. Deal with it or beat it,” Tristan snaps.
Flip snort-laughs. “Ah, man. I forgot about that nickname. Beat it, Beat.” My brother raises his hand in the air, and Tristan high-fives him.
They’re the literal worst. Fighting back is pointless. There’s no way I’ll win against them. Being thrust into the annoying-little-sister role, despite being twenty-two years old with an accounting degree, feels like a mammoth step backwards. I wish I had a pint of ice cream and a room I could mope in, but I’m here, in this crappy situation, and the only way out is to get my stuff from my old apartment, secure a job, and then find a place to live that isn’t here. Once that’s taken care of, I can start plotting revenge against my brother and Tristan. It’s all about biding my time—and not allowing myself to be affected by their needling. I’m channeling Teflon. Nothing sticks.
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.
He motions to me. “Rix, this is Mildred, Dred for short. Dred, this is my sister Rix. She’s staying with us for a couple of weeks.”
Dred smiles at me. “Nice to meet you, Rix.”
“You, too.”
“You up for a movie later this week?” Flip asks.
“For sure, just knock, I’m around most evenings.”
She lets herself into her condo and I wait until we’re on the elevator heading to the lobby before I say, “Is it really a good idea to bang your next-door neighbor?”
“I’m not banging her. We’re just friends. We watch movies and play board games and sometimes we listen to podcasts.”
“Huh.” I didn’t see that coming.
Two minutes later I’m crammed into my brother’s car. It’s a two-door, with a tiny back seat. Tristan pushes the passenger seat all the way back. There’s no room for my legs, and the headrest is almost touching my face.
“Can I get a couple of inches of space?” I grumble. “Or maybe you should stay behind, Tristan.” I’m concerned my stuff won’t fit in here, even without Tristan tagging along, and I’d prefer to get it all in one trip. But his enjoyment of my misery seems to be holding steady, even after all these years.
“And miss out on this quality bonding time?”
“Can it, you two.” Flip pulls out of the underground lot and follows the GPS instructions to turn right.
I’m practically eating Tristan’s hair, his seat is so close. And of course, they put the windows down, so my hair is blowing all over the place in a wind vortex. My hair tie is in my purse, which is at my feet, and I can’t reach it.
I carefully pinch a strand of Tristan’s hair between my fingers and tug it free from his head. He runs his hand through it. He loses four hairs before he clues in.
“The fuck are you doing?” His fingers wrap around my wrist before I pull out a fifth.
It sends an electric jolt up my arm and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Relieving you of your grays.”
“I don’t have grays!”
“That you can see.” I try to free my arm, but his hold tightens.
He reaches between the seat and the door with his free hand and reclines further. The headrest pushes into my stomach and the backrest hits my knees, forcing me to flatten my legs.
“Stop! You’re crushing me!” I yelp.
“Stop ripping out my hair!” Tristan snaps.
“Give me some space!”
“Give it a rest, you two! I missed the turn because you’re distracting me.”
Tristan’s head is almost in my lap. He tips his chin up, his green gaze meeting mine.
I mouth, You’re an asshole.
An amused smirk tips the corner of his deliciously full mouth. “I know. What are you going to do about it, Beat?”
He’s still holding my wrist, and I’m trapped under his seat. I lean forward, my chest pressing against the top of his head, my hair forming a curtain around us. Something shifts, and a tangible, raw energy crackles between us—hate, annoyance, frustration, who knows what else. But I shock even myself when I lick the edge of his jaw.
His free hand slides into my hair and curls into a fist, holding my head. “You know what they say about playing with fire.” He twists my head, his lips dragging across my cheek until they reach my ear. “Bad little Bea,” he taunts, catching my earlobe between his teeth.
Warmth floods my body as he sucks the skin, then nips at it again. “Don’t you dare bite me!”
“Use your manners, and maybe I’ll be nice.” His voice is a gritty whisper. His grip on my hair tightens, and his tongue sweeps the shell of my ear.
I can’t tell if this is retaliation or foreplay. Which is…a messed-up thing to think, especially since my brother is less than a foot away, in the driver’s seat. But that doesn’t stop me from slipping my hand down the front of his shirt. I try not to admire how firm his pec is as I find his nipple and roll it between my thumb and finger.
His surprised sound makes my nipples peak. “Any excuse to put your hands on me, huh, Beat?”
His ego is ridiculous. I stop playing nice and pinch. Instead of releasing my ear, he sucks it, then bites harder. I twirl some chest hair between my thumb and finger and tug.
“Ah!” he grunts. “That was dirty!”
“You’re biting me!” I twist my head away, but he’s still fisting my hair.
The car jerks, and the tires squeal.
Tristan releases my hair, and I sit back in a rush.
“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you two?” Flip gapes at us.
We’re both red-faced and panting. I have no idea why that felt equal parts aggressive and sexual.
“He started it!”
“She started it!”
“I don’t care who started it. It ends right now, or you can get out and catch a rideshare home. Or call one of your fun-time friends to pick you up.” Flip gives Tristan a pointed look.
“I’ll stop if she stops.” Tristan rubs his pec.
“Can you put your seat up so I can breathe?” I grouse.
“Ask nicely,” he sneers.
“Move your seat, Tris. You’re literally lying on top of her,” Flip orders.
Tristan grumbles but raises the seat so the headrest is no longer digging into my ribs. I can take a full breath again.
“Don’t say a word to each other for the rest of the ride,” Flip snaps.
We spend the next twenty minutes in awkward silence. The closer we get to the apartment, the drier my mouth becomes. Flip parks in a visitor’s spot, and I un-pretzel myself from the back seat while Tristan pulls the seat belt aside, presumably so I don’t clothesline myself getting out of the car.
“This is a shitty fucking neighborhood,” he announces. It sounds like an accusation. I don’t know what it is about Tristan, but he always makes me feel small.
“I thought when you said you lived close to East Side’s, you were in the nicer part.” Flip frowns as he takes in the surrounding buildings and houses. I’ve met him at the restaurant all three times we’ve seen each other since I moved here. This is the first time he’s seen where I live. Lived. Past tense, once I get my things. A few blocks west, the neighborhood is less run down, but also more expensive.
“How long have you been living here?” Tristan asks with a frown.
“A few months.” I shrug. “It’s affordable.”
“But there are bars on all the windows of the corner store.” Tristan flings a hand toward the Tasty Mart across the street.
“The store where Flip and I grew up wasn’t any different,” I point out.
“Yeah, but we knew everyone. This is totally sketch,” Flip says.
“How far was your job from here?” Tristan looks annoyed.
“Half an hour on the subway, but I don’t work there anymore.”
“But you did, for three months. Where’s the closest subway station?” Tristan’s nostrils flare.
“A couple of blocks. It’s a seven-minute walk.”
Tristan’s jaw tics. “And you walked there by yourself?”
“I have pepper spray, and I’ve taken self-defense classes. Besides, after today, I won’t be living here, so it doesn’t really matter, does it?” I don’t get why he’s suddenly so concerned. He was biting my ear and crushing me twenty minutes ago.
“Let’s pick a better neighborhood for your new apartment,” Flip says.
“As long as it fits into my budget, sure.” Toronto is an expensive place to live.
Flip falls into step beside me, and Tristan follows with his phone in his hand. He’s probably sexting tonight’s victim.
My nerves kick into high gear as we pile into the tiny elevator with the little old lady who smells like tuna and mothballs. She makes small talk about how nice the weather finally is and how hard Canadian winters are on her old bones. It’s a standard conversation. Canadians like to bitch about the six months of snow and subzero temperatures. We also like to moan when it gets too hot. There’s really no pleasing us.
The little old lady gets off on the twelfth floor, and we continue to the twenty-third. The elevator clunks and groans, but the doors open, which is awesome. I got stuck in here once when it stopped between floors. I was trapped with a pizza delivery guy. He’d been worried about the forty-five-minutes-or-free situation. I was worried I’d pee my pants. Ten interminable minutes later, they pried the doors open. I’d used the stairs for two weeks after that.
Flip and Tristan follow me out of the elevator and down the hall to my soon-to-be former apartment. I stupidly dropped my fob back into my purse, so they stand there awkwardly while I rummage around searching for it.
“What’s all that crinkling?” Tristan asks.
“Mini bags of goldfish crackers and a few fortune cookies,” I mutter. I always carry snacks in my purse. I finally find my key fob and swipe it over the censor. I didn’t warn my roommates I was coming. I figured the element of surprise would benefit me.
But as I examine the scene before me, I reconsider that strategy. On the upside, Eugenia isn’t tied to the pillar in the middle of the living room. On the downside, her boyfriend, Claude, my other former roommate, is doing the helicopter, and every rotation of his wiener slaps Eugenia’s cheek. She’s dressed in another impressively designed period piece, her boobs hanging out.
I’d like to say this is a first, but that would be a lie.
“What the fuck?” Tristan mutters.
“Is he slapping her in the face with his flaccid dick?” Flip asks.
“Yeah,” I confirm.
Eugenia is the first to notice me. My brother and Tristan are still in the hall. For now. She scrambles to her feet. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes flare as two shadows appear on either side of me. “Oh! You brought friends! Is this your way of apologizing for calling me a psycho bitch last night? I have dibs on the yummy one behind you. Claude, you can have the other one.” Eugenia squeezes Claude’s arm, her voice trembling with excitement.
I hold up a hand. “I’m not apologizing. I’m here to get my stuff. Then I’ll try to erase this nightmarish little blip in my life, probably with copious quantities of booze.” Cheap wine, most likely.
“You still need to pay next month’s rent. It’s on the lease that you have to give thirty days’ notice, and you gave us no notice,” Claude says. He’s tucked his penis back into his pants, thank God.
“These two asked you to take part in a threesome, yeah?” Flip confirms.
“Yeah.”
“And you said no, yeah?”
“That’s correct. I said no.”
“And they still tried to get you involved again?” Tristan asks.
“Uh, yeah.”
“So they asked twice?” he presses. “And both times you said no?” For a second, I expect him to tack something shitty on the end, but after a few seconds of silence, I realize Tristan’s on my team.
“They asked more than twice, and I always said no.” I’m embarrassed that it’s gone on as long as it has, but with the hours I’d been pulling at work, I didn’t have time to look for another place. Nor the ability to comfortably afford something on my own.
“So they kept pressuring you, even though you’d made it clear you weren’t interested in participating?” Tristan’s nostrils flare, and I try not to notice how hot he is when he’s defending me.
“I’m pretty sure that’s sexual harassment.” Flip looks like he wants to punch Claude.
“If someone says they’re not interested, but the other person keeps pushing them, and then gets naked in the living room when their roommate could come home any minute, knowing full well it makes them uncomfortable…” Tristan and Flip exchange a look, and I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but there seems to be a weird tension between them. “It does sound a lot like sexual harassment.” Tristan turns to me. “Would you agree, Bea?”
“Um… Yes.” This is the Tristan I had a crush on. The one who did nice things unexpectedly, like bring me my favorite chocolate bar for real and not throw a toad in my face.
“I could post about it on my social media, see what other people say. You know, in case we’re off base,” Flip says.
“How many followers do you have again, Flip? Two million, or is it three?” Tristan pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts scrolling through social media apps.
“You’re lying.” Eugenia crosses her arms, which thankfully cover her nipples.
“Am I?” Flip pulls up one of his social media accounts, where he has over three million followers, and shows it to Eugenia.
“Flip Madden?” Her eyes bounce from the small screen to my brother’s face and then to me. “He’s your brother? And he plays professional hockey?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I often keep my brother’s status to myself, in part because people can get weird about it. I turn to Flip. “I’m gonna get my things so we can get out of here.”
“I can help,” Flip says.
“It’s fine. It won’t take long. It’s just clothes and books and stuff.”
Tristan says nothing, but carries the empty plastic bins into my bedroom, then stands outside the door with his arms crossed. I frantically toss stuff in the bins, glancing over my shoulder to make sure Tristan isn’t paying attention as I empty my top drawer. It contains all my most important items—bras, panties, and self-gratification toys. It takes less than twenty minutes to pack my belongings, and they fit into three bins. One for each of us.
Eugenia and Claude are sitting on the living room couch, looking terrified and slightly awestruck. Flip is standing in the doorway of their roleplay room, rubbing his bottom lip. Tristan is being his annoyingly attractive self, hair flopping over one eye as he leans against the wall outside my bedroom, wearing a pensive expression.
“All set,” I squeak. I want to GTFO and forget this ever happened.
Flip turns as I set the heaviest of the bins on the floor. He makes a circle motion with his finger. “Anything out here that belongs to you?”
With my brother and Tristan standing sentinel, I scan the room for any of my personal effects. The role-playing living-room sex-capades had escalated in frequency recently, so I’d been disappearing into my bedroom most nights.
I cross over to the fridge and tuck my bottle of orange juice into my purse, as well as the half-block of sharp cheddar and two apples. My condiments will take up too much room and are mostly empty. But the freezer contains a box of ice cream sandwiches. The good ones. They were my grocery splurge this week. I check for those. It was unopened yesterday, and now there are only three left. Jerks.
I hold up the box. “Either of you interested in an ice cream sandwich?”
“Sure. Let’s take them to go. Ready to roll out?” Flip grabs one of the heavy bins and heads for the door.
I set the apartment key on the counter.
Tristan picks up the lighter bin, then he sets it down and takes the one full of books. His biceps pop under the strain. He waits at the door, keeping it propped open with his foot as I pass through with my bin.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
He grunts and turns his attention to Eugenia and Claude. “You two are fucking assholes. If you cause Bea any more drama, Flip and I will make your lives a living hell.” He lets the door fall shut, his expression unreadable. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
I follow Flip down the hall to the elevators.
It isn’t until we’re inside and on our way back to the lobby that anyone says anything. “How long has that shit been going on?” Tristan’s right eye tics.
“It only escalated into super-weird territory over the past few weeks.”
“What about your financial situation? Is it bad? Is that why you were living there?” Flip asks.
“Rent was cheap. I know why now. It meant I could save twenty-five percent of every paycheck instead of ten. I’d only planned to stay for a year, and then I’d have a cushion and could afford a nice studio or something.”
I want to have at least five thousand in savings. That’s enough of a buffer to cover first and last at a new place and incidentals for a couple of months. Our parents never had savings. It didn’t matter that they both had full-time jobs and my dad even had a side hustle painting houses on the weekend. Every time they tried to sock away money, something would happen, and they’d need it to cover an emergency. And Flip’s hockey was expensive. I don’t ever want to be in the same position.
“I would’ve helped you out, Rix. You know that.” Flip’s forehead is furrowed.
“You already helped with university tuition, and that was a big enough deal. I had it mostly handled. I’ll get a new job and find a decent apartment and be out of your hair.”
The elevator stops on the eleventh floor, and we pick up an adorable elderly couple. We’re silent for the rest of the trip. I exit after the couple, and we troop out to the car. Two of the bins fit in the trunk, which seems like a minor miracle. The third takes up seventy-five percent of the back seat.
I try to savor ice cream sandwiches because they’re my favorite indulgence, but these are melting, so I’m forced to devour mine while standing beside Flip’s car. Afterward, I cram myself into the back seat again.
“East Side’s?” Flip asks.
I tuck my hands between my legs. “We don’t have to. I know you probably have stuff to do.”
“You hungry, Tris? Wanna go for lunch?” Flip asks.
“I’m always hungry,” Tristan replies.
Two minutes later, we pull into East Side’s parking lot.
Tristan snorts. “Dude, I haven’t been here since we got drafted. Do they still do the unlimited salad and garlic bread?”
“They sure do.”
“Ah, man. They’re gonna hate us by the time we leave.” Tristan hops out of the car.
I flip the seat forward and push it as far as I can to make it easier to get out, but he closes the door on me. Obviously the being-nice blip is over. “For fuck’s sake.” I grab the handle, opening it back up.
“I forgot you were back there.” He holds the seat belt for me again.
I fight the sting of that comment and extricate myself from the back seat. Once I’m back on my feet, I stretch out the kinks. Despite the ice cream sandwich, I’m starving. Chocolate chip cookies aren’t a filling breakfast.
The hostess takes us to a booth, and I scoot in first, Flip taking the spot beside me. Tristan sits across from us. He sets his phone on the table, screen-side up. It flashes every few seconds with a new notification.
The server comes over to take our drink order.
“Hey! I didn’t expect to see you for another week!” Adelaide, our usual server, greets us with a wide smile as she approaches. “Oh! And you brought a friend.”
“Hey, Addy. This is Tristan. We were in the area and figured we’d stop for lunch.” Flip’s smile makes her blush.
“Well, that’s a nice surprise.” She turns her dimpled grin to Tristan. “Hi. Welcome to East Side’s.”
He gives her a smirky smile and chin tip in greeting.
Such a dirtbag. He’d better not try to pick up Addy and ruin me ever coming back here.
Addy turns back to us. “Should I start you two with the usual?” She glances over her shoulder before lowering her voice. “The regular manager isn’t on, so it might be harder to get two salads on the table at a time, but I’ll bring two loaves of bread and put in a second salad order right away.”
“Don’t get in shit on our account,” Flip says.
She waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll tell him we’ve got a pro hockey player in the restaurant, and he’ll probably have a mini coronary. It’ll be fine.”
She takes our drink orders and leaves us to look at the menu. I don’t need it. I get the same thing every time.
“Have you slept with that girl or something?” Tristan asks Flip once she’s gone.
“Nah, man. Rix and I come here once a month. She’s usually our server.” Flip looks through the menu. He typically orders one of three things.
“You could go somewhere nicer. With fewer screaming children.” Tristan glances to our right, where a family with three kids, all under six, fight over crayons. The toddler is smashing goldfish crackers into dust and screaming his head off. Who is he to look down on those who appreciate unlimited salad and garlic bread?
Flip shrugs. “It’s where we go.”
“You’re more than welcome to leave if the noise bothers you,” I say with a smile.
Our server returns with drinks. Flip and I have Coke, and Tristan has a draft beer. We order our mains, and a minute later, the salad and garlic bread arrive. Addy waits while we empty the bowl onto our three side plates and tells us she’ll be right back with salad round two. I spread my napkin on my lap and cross my legs. My foot connects with a shin because Tristan is manspreading.
“Sorry,” I mumble around a mouthful of delicious salad.
He grunts but doesn’t move his leg or comment otherwise.
Every few minutes, Addy passes by with another bowl of salad and more garlic bread.
Flip eats like someone is going to steal his food, while Tristan is methodical and mannerly. He grew up in an upper-middle-class family, so having manners and not eating like every meal might be the last one he’ll get makes sense.
I’m already stuffed to bursting by the time our main courses arrive. Tristan has manspread so much that his foot keeps hitting mine. Even without trying, he manages to take up all the space—and not just on his side of the booth, but in the room. Everyone who passes the table gives him a second glance.
I kick him not-so-gently. “Can you stop?”
He arches a brow while he twirls noodles on his fork with the help of a spoon. “You’re the one kicking me.”
“Because you’re manspreading into my space.”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m six-five, and these booths aren’t designed to hold someone my size, let alone two people this size.” He motions to Flip.
“You keep stepping on my foot!”
“And you keep kicking me in the shin. Seems like maybe we’re even.”
“Can you cut the bickering for two minutes? You’re worse than that table over there.” Flip nods toward a table of tween-girl soccer players who are shrieking and taking endless selfies.
I cross my legs and angle my body toward the edge of the booth. My heel rests against Tristan’s calf. I peek under the table. He and my brother are strategically positioned so their legs don’t hit each other. I stop bitching and pop a slice of spicy sausage into my mouth, even though I’m already full.
The whole point of eating at East Side’s is to fill up on salad and bread and take my pasta home. I can usually make it last for an additional lunch and dinner the next day.
A minute later, a pair of twelve-year-old boys walk by and do a double take. They’re wearing Terror ball caps with the raging goose mascot emblem. One elbows the other. “Holy crap. Flip Madden and Tristan Stiles?”
Flip’s grin is instantaneous—he loves the fame. Tristan takes a moment to catch up, but he, too, smiles. The shift is disarming, in part because all it does is make him hotter. He and Flip entertain the boys for a minute, scooting out of their seats to take a few photos and sign the boys’ hats before their parents usher them back to their table.
“You just made their day.” I don’t want to find how kind Tristan was to those boys attractive.
“Part of the job.” Tristan’s phone lights up, and he frowns as he taps on the screen. “Well, shit.”
“Shit what?” Flip asks through a mouthful of noodles.
“Hendrix is coming back. I thought he was still recovering from knee surgery.”
“Guess he healed up better than they expected,” Flip says.
“Yeah, I guess.” Tristan pokes at his noodles but doesn’t spin any onto his fork.
“It’ll be good to have him back on the ice,” Flip offers.
“Yeah.” Tristan rubs his bottom lip. He doesn’t look like he feels the same way. “I wonder what line they’ll start him on?”
“You’re talking about Hollis Hendrix, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. He’s been out since the middle of last season,” Flip says.
“I thought he might retire. Isn’t he in his mid-thirties?” I spear a mushroom.
“He’s thirty-three.”
“How many years are left on his contract?” I ask.
“Two,” Flip replies.
“So maybe they want to make the most of whatever time he has left? Especially since he’s pulling six million a year.” Flip has three more years on his current contract with Toronto, but I don’t know about Tristan. They’re peaking in their careers while Hendrix is on his way out. He’s played for the league since he was nineteen, which is a solid run.
Tristan’s brows are pulled together, and he’s staring at me with an unreadable expression.
“What?” I ask.
His phone buzzes, dragging his attention away. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He slides out of the booth, his phone already at his ear. “Hey, Brody, everything okay?”
Brody is Tristan’s youngest brother. I think he’s still in high school.
He’s gone so long we have the remains of his lunch boxed up, and I offer to pay as a thank you. But Flip refuses and covers it.
Tristan is quiet on the ride home, and as soon as we arrive, he hops in his flashy sports car and says he needs to take care of something.
“Is he okay?” I ask. Not that I care about his feelings.
“Yeah. He’ll be fine. Brody has hockey competitions coming up, and Tristan gets on the ice with him when he can.”
“What about his dad?”
“He’s not a pro hockey player, and Brody’s on track to be drafted this year.”
“Right. That makes sense.”
I try to fit that piece somewhere into the puzzle. I don’t know how to take Tristan. He’s still a jerk, but he stood up for me today. And then there was whatever happened in the car.
Flip pops the trunk. “Come on, let’s get you settled in the loft.”
“I promise it won’t be for long.”
