If You Hate Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

The next morning, I’m sitting at the kitchen island with my laptop, sipping coffee and scouring the internet for a job. I plan to ask Flip if I can play around with his financial portfolio. It’ll add dimension to my resume. Rage-quitting means I can’t use my previous employer as a reference. Even putting them on my resume could lead to questions, since I was only there for three months.

Living here is not a long-term solution. Especially since it seems my brother has a habit of bringing home random women and having exceptionally enthusiastic sex until two in the morning. It was nice of him to put up the comforter curtain, but it’s far from soundproof. Thank God for noise-canceling earphones. They drowned out most of the screaming and moaning last night. Except between songs. I can’t do anything about that.

My phone pings with a new message, and my heart clenches. It’s Rob. We haven’t communicated since my whole drunken-voicemail episode. I have enough to deal with, so I figured pretending it didn’t happen was in both of our best interests.

I hover over his contact and reluctantly open the message.

ROB

I miss you.

It’s followed by a picture of a tub of my favorite ice cream.

I don’t want to have feelings about him sending I-miss-you messages. Half the country separates us. As much as breaking up has sucked, I understand why he did it. Making a relationship work like this would have been hard, harder than he was willing to manage. That should tell me everything I need to know right there.

I still send a reply, like an idiot.

RIX

Same.

I flip my phone over, though, so I’m not tempted to continue the back and forth. Things are complicated enough without poking that wound.

At nine fifty-two, Tristan’s bedroom door swings open. My eyes stay fixed on my laptop screen. The shit I pulled yesterday was stupid. Effective, but stupid. All I can think about is the look on his face. And the way his thigh magically found its way between mine. Beyond his initial confusion, there was lust—the kind that wets a girl’s panties. This girl’s panties.

He groans. Loudly.

I continue scrolling through employment ads and remind my vagina that he’s an asshole, and my brother’s best friend, and that I should not lube up because he made a sound that reminds me of sex.

“For a hot minute, I thought you living here was a shitty nightmare,” he says as he pads across to the bathroom.

That dries up my excited vagina in a hurry. I work to shake off the sting. “Shitty nightmare is redundant. All nightmares are shitty.” I shoot the middle finger in his direction.

He leaves the door open, flips the toilet seat up, and relieves himself.

I steal a quick glance. The mirror across from the toilet is visible from this vantage point. It gives me a perfect view of his sleep-messed hair, broad, thickly muscled back, and sculpted ass.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer!” he calls over his pee stream.

“Why? There’s nothing worth remembering anyway,” I reply.

His pee stream stops abruptly, and he appears in the bathroom doorway as he tucks himself back into his black boxer briefs. His jaw tics. There’s something in his expression I can’t quite figure out. Like I’ve hurt him somehow. But that’s what we do—fire arrows and see who can hurt the other one the most. He’s usually the winner, even if he doesn’t know it. He pours a whole vat of salt in the wound with his next shot. “You realize you’re not wanted here, right? Flip feels bad because your roommates were assholes. He’ll let you stay because he doesn’t want to deal with his guilty conscience. And neither do I. Especially not at the beginning of the season. But you’re a problem, and I don’t want you getting in the way, Beat.”

I can’t help it. I flinch at his words. He used to say something similar when we were teens, telling me I was annoying to have around. “I don’t want to deal with you any more than you want to deal with me.” Douchebag. Fuckboy. Arrogant asshole. I’m not the same little girl who wanted his affection. Now I wish he’d choke on his own dick half the time—the other half I wish I was choking on his dick.

“Everything you do drives me up the wall. Why is the counter covered in bottles?” He motions to the vanity.

I tried to keep all my stuff on Flip’s side, but a few things have been moved since last night. “The medicine cabinet is full.” Mostly of various types of condoms, plus menthol rub and a few over-the-counter painkillers.

He stalks over to the shower and pulls the curtain aside. “And how many products do you need to shower? It’s like a fucking drive-thru car wash in here!”

I only have the basics: shampoo, conditioner, body wash, a pouf, and sugar scrub. And they’re all contained in a small plastic bin, unlike the leaking three-in-one wash my brother favors and Tristan’s expensive shampoo and body wash.

“What crawled up your ass this morning?”

“You! Your shit is everywhere!”

Hating him is so easy sometimes. Maybe the stunt I pulled yesterday is having the same frustrating effect on him as it is on me. As soon as I think that, I brush it off as ridiculous. The knee between my thighs was reflexive. He can’t stand me. His overt disdain makes that clear.

A knock at the door prevents me from responding. Then the condo door opens. A woman in her mid-twenties, dressed for business, pokes her head in. “Hello? Hemi incoming!”

Her long, dark hair is styled like she’s been at the salon. High-waisted pants and a blue chiffon cap-sleeved blouse accentuate her curves. She’s carrying a messenger bag, and she doesn’t seem like one of my brother’s hookups. But she looks familiar. She sets a tray of coffees on the side table.

“Hey, Hemi.” Tristan pulls the bathroom door closed.

I glance between them, a weird, unpleasant feeling twisting my stomach uncomfortably. It’s clear Tristan and Hemi know each other. I just don’t know how. Maybe I’m wrong about the whole girlfriend thing. But he came home the other day covered in glitter and cheap perfume. I recognize the smell of Chanel No. 5 on Hemi.

She purses her lips and props her fists on her hips. “For the love of God, I said I’d be here at ten. This isn’t your locker room. Put on some goddamn clothes.”

She’s definitely not his girlfriend. The instant relief I feel is ridiculous.

“Blame it on Flip. He was the one making a racket until two in the morning. I just got up.” Tristan heads for his bedroom. Maybe that’s why he’s so aggravated this morning. Maybe I was an unfortunate target for his wrath.

“Where is Phillip?” Hemi asks.

“Still in bed.” Tristan’s bedroom door closes.

Hemi, who hasn’t noticed me, huffs, and her heels click across the hardwood floor. She pounds three times on Flip’s door. “You better be out here in less than ten minutes, Phillip, or I will sign you up for a herpes endorsement!” she shouts.

And then I understand why she looks familiar. She’s head of the team’s PR. Her job is to manage unruly hockey players and their bad behavior. Making them participate in charity events smooths out rough edges in the public eye. She also helps players secure endorsements, which earn income on top of their already amazing salaries. It’s a cool job. And she seems like a badass.

She spins around, and her eyes flare. “Oh. Hi.” Her gaze moves over me in an assessing sweep.

I’m wearing the same shorts and baggy shirt I slept in. I’m also braless. Mostly on purpose.

Her smile turns tight. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Phillip and Tristan have a meeting this morning, so you should be on your way. I can call you a car if you’d like.” She pulls her phone out of her bag. “I’ll just need an address.”

“Oh, uh…” She thinks I’m one of their bunnies. I suppress a gag. “I don’t think⁠—”

Tristan’s door swings open. He’s wearing gray sweats and one of those weird workout tanks with the huge armholes, so we can see his nipples and all eleven thousand abs when he turns sideways.

“Tristan, you’ll have to call your friend a car,” Hemi says in that same tight, no-nonsense tone.

I kind of love her already, even though she thinks I’m a bunny.

Tristan’s brows pull together. It’s irksome that even that expression is hot on him. “Huh?”

She tips her head in my direction. “Your friend. You need to take care of her.”

“Take care of—” His eyes go wide. “Oh! Oh, fuck.”

I hold up a hand and get in a dig before he can. “Even if humanity was on the brink of extinction, I wouldn’t let this fuckboy put his dirty hands on me.”

His eyes narrow. “I’d rather lose my dick to frostbite.”

It’s early to be hitting below the belt like this, but I’m ready with the next arrow of my own. “I would rather seal my vagina shut with super glue.”

Hemi, the poor thing, looks seriously confused.

Flip’s bedroom door opens, and I nearly throw up my coffee. He’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs with his team logo on the peen pouch, and sporting morning wood. “Are you two fighting again? I’m trying to sleep!”

“Good God! You two need to get dressed before you leave your bedrooms!” I shout. “I never, ever need to see my brother’s morning wood. Never again, Flip. You will pay for my therapy bills until I’m over this. And I will one hundred percent pick the priciest therapist in the world!”

A shrill whistle has me covering my ears with my hands. Tristan and Flip have followed suit. A body rustles around in Flip’s bedding.

Hemi looks less than impressed. “Phillip, get dressed and please see your guest out. Tristan, you’re being a giant asshole. Get a grip.” She turns to me. “I am so sorry. I was unaware you were visiting. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“It’s fine.” I wave a hand in the air, like Tristan’s nasty comments don’t affect me. I truly wish they didn’t. So I focus on how often I’ll have to see my brother’s morning wood if he continues to wander around in his underpants. It’s too early for humiliation tears. I clear my throat and smile at Hemi. “I’m Rix, Flip’s younger sister. I had a roommate situation, so I’m staying here until I find a new place. And a new job. It’s been a week.”

“Oh, God.” She presses her hand to her chest. “Living with these two must be hellish.”

“My previous roommates were slightly worse, which is saying something.”

“You poor, poor thing.” She crosses over and hugs me, whispering, “Tristan is always a dick of the first order. Just ignore him.”

“I know. He and Flip have been besties since elementary school. I’m used to this. Well, I had an eight-year break from it, and I can’t say I’ve really missed his brand of assholery, but there’s comfort in familiarity, isn’t there?”

She squeezes my arms. “That roommate situation must have been a real nightmare.”

“They struggled with boundaries, and it got a little harass-y at the end when they kept trying to convince me to have a threesome.”

“Oh wow, that’s…” She glances over her shoulder at Tristan.

“Just another day in a pro hockey player’s life?” I supply.

“They learn over time that their actions have consequences,” Hemi says.

“Seems to be a lesson Flip isn’t all that interested in.”

As if on cue, a girl-woman with mascara raccoon eyes comes sashaying out of Flip’s bedroom. She freezes when she sees us and tries to disappear back inside, but he blocks the way.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, we’re not the angry girlfriends,” Hemi says. “I’m their PR manager, and this is Phillip’s sister.” She gives my arm an affectionate squeeze, like we’re good friends, not two women who met five minutes ago. Awkwardly at that.

“Oh.” The woman slaps a hand to her chest. She’s wearing an altered Madden jersey that fits like a dress, and she’s carrying a pair of four-inch ice blue sparkly heels. Her hair looks like it’s been through a storm. “I thought this was about to get super awkward.”

Hemi smiles, and I wave.

“Your brother is like, wow.” She does jazz hands and makes a weird face.

“And now it’s getting awkward,” I say with a stiff smile.

Hemi coughs into her elbow.

“I’ve already ordered you an Uber. Just give them an address. Thanks for a fun night.” Flip ushers her to the door—he’s now wearing shorts, thankfully—and follows her into the hall.

The door closes behind him.

“That was entertaining,” Tristan says.

“Zip it, Stiles. People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. You’re as bad as he is. See the video that was posted a few days ago for details,” Hemi snaps.

“There were shots involved.”

“I know. You were consuming them out of a woman’s orifice for the world to see.”

I choke on my coffee.

Tristan throws his hands in the air. “It was her navel! You make it sound like I was sucking vodka out of her pussy!”

“How do we know you weren’t? Being his wingman makes you as bad as he is. You don’t just condone the behavior, Tristan. You engage in debauchery with him.” She struts to the side table, picks up the tray of coffees, and brings them to the island, passing me one. “This was for Phillip, but since he can’t respect my time, it’s yours. It’s one of those caramel things, so it’s heavy on the sugar.”

“At this point I’d drink it out of spite, but I actually like those.” I pry the lid off and pour it into my half-empty coffee mug. It’s like a bowl, so the entire cup fits, but I leave a few mouthfuls behind. Enough that Flip can have a taste of what he’s missing for being such a player.

Flip knocks on the front door. Tristan takes a step toward it, but Hemi points a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.” She makes Flip knock twice more before she opens it herself.

When Hemi finally swings it wide, she makes a face. “Oh, God, you smell like used condoms and ass.”

“Sounds about right,” Flip says with a grin. “She was fun.”

“Seriously, man, Beat is right here.” Tristan points at me with both arms.

I don’t understand why he would insult me one second and defend me the next.

“She doesn’t care. Right, Rix?” Flip says.

I sip his delicious coffee, which I would not be drinking if he hadn’t said yes to me crashing here. I still needle him though. “I guess as long as you don’t get on my case when I bring a guy back here and have excessively loud sex, it’s fine.”

Tristan’s head snaps in my direction. I avoid looking at him. I don’t want to see his reaction.

Flip wrinkles his nose. “You can’t bring guys back here.”

“Why not?” I wouldn’t bring a guy here for many reasons, but my brother doesn’t need to know that.

He motions to the loft. “You don’t have a door. Or walls.”

“I’m super aware, thanks. And as nice as it was for you to put up a curtain, it’s not soundproof.” I motion to the hanging duvet.

“I didn’t do that,” Flip says.

Tristan is suddenly busy looking for a coffee mug, despite the cup Hemi brought him.

“Oh.” I didn’t expect that, especially not with all the shot-taking this morning. “Thanks?”

“It’s as much for me as it is for you.” And he’s back to looking annoyed.

“Phillip, please do us all a favor and shower and change. We need to discuss how to save your endorsement campaign with milk.”

“Wait, what?”

“They aren’t in love with your reputation right now, and frankly, neither am I.” She points at the bathroom.

He trudges past her and disappears inside, closing the door.

“Are you hungry, Hemi? I was about to make breakfast hash,” I offer.

“Breakfast hash? What’s that?”

“Shredded potatoes, chopped peppers and onions, sausage, ham, and bacon, and it’s topped with two eggs any style, shredded cheese if you like, and fresh chopped tomatoes.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Tristan, if you can be nice for twenty minutes, I’ll even feed your surly ass.” Even if the curtain was more for him than me, it was still nice, and I am staying in his place. This is my way of showing gratitude.

He nods. “I’ll try my best.”

“Let’s hope it’s good enough.” I pull ingredients from the fridge. I chopped and prepared most of it yesterday so it would be easy to throw together this morning. And I already made a fruit platter because my brother’s typical breakfast seems to be sugary cereal.

By the time Flip is done with his shower, the hash is nearly ready. I crack the eggs into the pan, letting them fry while I plate the hash, sprinkle it with shredded cheddar, and top it with eggs and chopped tomatoes.

“Damn, it smells good in here.” Flip peers over my shoulder. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Grandma Madden’s breakfast hash.”

“I haven’t had this in years. Thanks, Rix.” He gives me a side hug.

I smile. “I enjoy cooking for other people. It’s kind of my happy place.” I set the fruit platter on the table, and everyone digs in.

“Shit. This is delicious,” Tristan mumbles with his hand in front of his mouth. His gaze lifts to mine, and for a second I don’t understand his expression. It’s almost…longing? But that doesn’t make sense. He says something else that sounds either like he’s repeating himself or I missed this.

Grandma Madden’s breakfast hash was one of the first things I learned how to make. It was usually mostly potatoes and leftover meat I’d squirreled away. Sometimes I’d get up extra early on the weekend if Flip and Tristan had a game and help my mom make it for them.

“It really is. And so much better than the donuts and stale pizza these two usually eat,” Hemi says.

“So what’s this about my milk endorsement being at risk?” Flip asks. He glances at the take-out cups beside Tristan and Hemi. “Is there a coffee for me?”

“I gave it to someone who values my time more than you do.”

“Here, I saved you a little.” I pass him the mostly empty take-out cup.

“I deserve that.” He finishes what’s left in one gulp and goes back to shoveling food into his face.

“They’re hosting a charity event, and it’s family friendly, but your current behavior isn’t in line with their mission,” Hemi says.

Flip stops shoveling food into his face long enough to ask, “What does that mean?”

“It means they don’t want to use someone who appears as though he has no respect for family values,” she explains.

“How does my prolific sex life mean I have no respect for family values?”

“You slept with someone’s wife this summer, Phillip,” she reminds him.

“She said they were divorced.”

Hemi purses her lips. “You dropped her off at her house, and her husband was mowing the lawn.”

“I sure as hell mowed her lawn,” Flip mumbles.

“She has two kids, Phillip.” Hemi looks appropriately unimpressed.

“Seriously, Flip? Where the hell is your moral compass?” I’m flabbergasted.

Tristan gives him a disgusted look. “You want to sleep with every single bunny in the world, that’s on you, but as someone whose mom left to shack up with one of her colleagues, maybe leave the married women alone.”

Now I’m back to feeling bad for Tristan.

Flip raises his hands. “I’ll stay away from the married ones and dial it back.”

“And no more videos,” Hemi adds. “I can’t help you if you keep posting your antics for the world to see. And stop letting these women take selfies with you while you’re sleeping. You’ll have your own hashtag soon if you’re not careful.” She points her fork at Tristan. “That goes for you, too. You two are magic on the ice, but off it you’re a PR nightmare. Take responsibility for your actions.” She sighs. “Okay, lecture over. I need you two to get dressed. Business casual.”

“What for?” Flip asks.

“You’re serving lunch at a retirement home. Vander Zee’s grandmother lives there, and it’s her ninetieth birthday. You’ll serve sandwiches and cake, and we’ll take some photos and post to socials so fans see you doing something other than making out with women in bars.”

They grumble but shovel in the last few bites of their breakfast hash and Tristan puts their plates in the dishwasher. Flip disappears into his bedroom, but Tristan pauses on the way to his.

He rubs the back of his neck and meets my eyes for a moment. “Thanks for breakfast, Bea.”

“You’re welcome.”

I wait until his bedroom door closes before I turn to Hemi. “Your job is wild.”

“It is. Most of the time, I love it. But these two need to get their heads out of their asses. Anyway, you said something about needing a job. Do you design meal plans for athletes? I know a few guys on the team who would love the help.”

“Oh. No. I just like to cook. I’m actually an accountant.” It’s a stable job with options for growth, and I spent four years getting a degree to do it. Right now I’m happy that I get to cook for more than myself, and that I have a stocked fridge to work with. It’s so much easier to plan meals with a full veggie crisper.

“Really? That’s so cool. No offense, but you seem young to have a degree.”

“I finished school in May. I had a job at a firm, but it wasn’t the right fit.” That is true.

She nods. “Most of our players use our recommended firm for financial management and planning. I’d be happy to see if they have any openings.”

“Really? That would be amazing.”

“Great. Why don’t we exchange numbers? I’ll reach out to my contact and see if they’re hiring, or if they know anyone who is.”

We exchange numbers, and she sends me a message right away.

“Thanks, Hemi. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Let me know if I can do anything else to help.”

Normally I don’t like to use my brother’s career to further my own, but the sooner I get a job, the sooner I can get out of here. Even if that means I’m back to cooking for one.