If You Hate Me (The Toronto Terror Series)

After five days of living with my brother and Tristan, I’ve learned a few things. First, the media isn’t blowing my brother’s extremely prolific sex life out of proportion. He changes women as frequently as he changes his underwear. It’s a little disappointing if I’m honest.

In high school, he dated the same girl for two years. They broke up when they went to different universities. By twenty, Flip was playing professional hockey, and since then, he’s adopted an entirely different attitude. I get that attention comes with fame, but most players calm down after a year or two. Flip seems to keep ramping up instead.

I’ve also learned that it doesn’t matter how often I clean the bathroom. Within twelve hours, his side looks like a bomb site. Flip has a habit of leaving his towel bunched up on the floor. Adding bleach to the wash cycle helps remove the funk.

Third, I now understand why the fridge was practically bare when I arrived. It’s impossible to keep groceries in this house. I’ve been shopping twice already, and I need to go again tomorrow. I bought the first round, but Flip gave me a wad of cash to cover subsequent trips because he’s aware they eat an excessive amount of food.

But the most frustratingly annoying thing about living with my brother and his disgustingly hot asshole of a best friend is that they constantly walk around in their underwear. Half the time they leave the door open when they pee. And apparently neither of them knows how to flush.

I’m currently hiding out in the loft, comparing grocery flyers so I can price match as many items as possible. I also use an app, but sometimes there are hidden gems in the flyers. Ice cream is on sale this week. Not my preferred brand, but I’m an ice cream addict, so I’ll buy the cheaper stuff even if it isn’t as satisfying. I started my price-matching mission at the kitchen island, but Tristan came out in his black boxer briefs, looking like a delicious hate-fuck. I didn’t want to get caught ogling, so I moved to the loft where I can steal the occasional peek without his notice.

My phone pings with a new message. My chest tightens when I see Rob’s name on the screen. His I-miss-you message has been eating at me. Mostly because it feels unfair to send it and then go back to crickets for days.

The internal battle is real. I finally give in and check the message.

ROB

Checking in to see if you’re doing okay.

Responding right away puts the ball back in his court, and I’m not sure that’s where I want it, so I leave it and go back to my price matching. It annoyed Rob when I did this, and he refused to go shopping with me. Which was fine because I shopped with Essie anyway.

As I finish combing through the last flyer, someone knocks on the door. Hookups usually come over in the evening, so I’m curious who it could be.

Tristan answers the door. “Hey, guys, come on in.”

Two deep male voices filter up to the loft. “Where’s Madden?”

I shimmy to the edge of the couch for a better view. Two guys wearing baseball caps, with broad shoulders and asses I could bounce quarters off, stand in the middle of the kitchen. One is slightly shorter, with dark hair that curls under the edges of his ball cap. The other has tan skin and short hair. They’re clearly teammates. Tristan has put on shorts, but he remains shirtless.

“Still sleeping. He was out late,” Tristan replies.

I can confirm this. Flip came home at three a.m. and made a racket. He ate half the contents of the fridge, left a mess on the counter, and disappeared into his bedroom. Middle-of-the-night kitchen noise is preferrable to a woman screaming her brains out, though.

“I hope he finally gets this out of his system before the season starts,” the guy with the short hair says.

“We need him to channel some of that energy on the ice, instead of saving it all for the bedroom, or wherever he’s getting his fuck on,” his friend agrees.

“Hemi gave him shit earlier in the week, but I don’t know if it’s slowing him down much,” Tristan replies.

I slump as his gaze lifts to the loft.

“Like you’re any better, man,” one guy says.

“Hey, my dudes!” Flip’s sleep-raspy voice interrupts. “Give me five and we can get this party started.” The bathroom door closes.

My phone pings with a message from my bestie, asking to chat.

RIX

Bro’s teammates are here. Zero privacy right now.

ESSIE

Are they all dressed in underpants only?

RIX

Two are fully clothed. Bro is probably in underwear since he just woke up. Dickhead is wearing shorts, no shirt. It’s an upgrade from the boxer briefs earlier.

ESSIE

Or a downgrade. That guy is hotter than a ghost pepper.

RIX

I know. I can’t stand him.

ESSIE

You can always fight fire with fire.

RIX

???

ESSIE

Sports bra + tiny running shorts = payback

RIX

YOU GENIUS

ESSIE

Report back once mission FFWF is complete ψ (｀∇´) ψ

I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner. Maybe because the only people who usually see me are Tristan and Flip. My brother won’t care, and Tristan can’t stand me. But with their teammates here, it might effectively make a point.

I rummage around in my clothing bin for a pair of those running shorts that barely contain my butt cheeks and a sports bra that doesn’t offer much support, but it’s strappy and sexy and makes the girls look fantastic. It’s also white.

I duck behind the divider for changing privacy and quickly put on the outfit, removing the pads from the bra so my nipples are nipple-y. Then I put on my running shoes and pull my hair into a ponytail. My earbuds get tucked between my boobs, and my phone goes in the slot at the back so it authentically looks like I plan to work out.

Fight-fire-with-fire mode engaged.

I climb down the ladder, and when I reach the halfway mark, I hold the edges and let it carry me to the floor. It’s loud, but it allows me to make an entrance.

All three heads turn my way. Tristan is in the middle of a sip of orange juice—he drinks an irrational amount of juice. He chokes and coughs into his arm.

I hop to the floor, plaster a bright smile on my face, and head for the fridge, passing Tristan. His eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open. It’s comical, really.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” he blurts.

I look down and run a hand over my bare stomach. “Gym clothes. Because I’m going to the gym. What the fuck are you wearing?” I turn my attention to his teammates. I might also flip my ponytail over my shoulder as I wave. “Hi.”

“Hey, hi.” The slightly shorter guy’s eyes light up as his gaze roves over me, stopping at my chest for a beat too long.

I extend a hand across the island. His gaze flicks over my shoulder, to where Tristan is standing, before returning to mine. “I’m Rix, Flip’s sister.”

He slips his palm into mine. “I’m Dallas, and this is Roman.”

Now that I see him up close, I recognize him. “Oh yeah, you’re lucky number seven, aren’t you? Your scoring record is impressive.”

“You follow hockey?” Dallas asks.

“I try to catch most of Flip’s games.” I’m supportive, even if it’s from the comfort of my couch. I turn to his friend and teammate. “And you’re Roman Hammerstein, the goalie.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. “I am. It’s nice to meet you, Rix.”

Flip comes out of the bathroom, and as expected, he’s dressed in underpants. He’s frowning at his phone. He stops halfway between the bathroom and the kitchen and drags his gaze away from the screen. “I need to call my agent. I shouldn’t be long. Oh, hey, Rix, you mind putting on a coffee for me? And get the guys whatever they want.” He motions to his friends, his phone already at his ear as he disappears back into his sex den.

“I’ll handle the coffee. You can grab a shirt and go to the gym,” Tristan all but growls.

I head for the coffeemaker. “The gym isn’t going anywhere. And you make weak coffee.” I toss a glance over my shoulder. “Boys, are you interested in coffee?” Am I laying it on a little thick? Absolutely.

“Yeah, I’d love one,” Dallas says.

“Me, too,” Roman seconds.

Of course, the canister with the grounds is practically empty. I open the cupboard and push up on my tiptoes, reaching for the whole beans and grinder, but they’re on the third shelf. While it’s fine for Flip and Tristan, who are over six feet, it’s too high for me. I stretch, but I’m short a few inches. I could ask for help, but that gives Tristan open season to shit-talk me. In front of their teammates. That’s a hard pass.

I brace my hands on the counter and pull myself up so I’m kneeling on the cold granite.

“The fuck are you doing?” Tristan asks.

“Getting the coffee beans, genius.”

“Keep your fucking eyes to yourself, Bright,” Tristan snaps.

I look over my shoulder and notice I have everyone’s attention. Jumping up on the counter probably put the emphasis on my ass. Perfect. I’m doing a great job of making my point.

“Here. Let me help.” Suddenly Tristan is right behind me, his chest pressed against my back as he grabs the coffee beans and grinder, setting them on the counter beside me. His mouth is at my ear, nose in my hair. “Roman’s daughter is your age. I don’t need another problem to deal with, and you’re making yourself one, Beat.” His hands wrap around my waist, fingertips digging in. He steps back and pulls me off the counter. My body slides down the front of his, and I swear I feel something semi-stiff nudge the small of my back. His fingers flex, and then he releases me, stepping away. His expression is flat as he repeats himself, insistent this time, “I’ll handle the coffee. You can head to the gym.”

“Sure.” I swallow my embarrassment and work to shrug it off. It’s so easy for him to cut me down and make me feel two inches tall. I grab my water bottle from the fridge, as well as the fruit tray I prepared earlier. I set it on the counter and remove the cellophane. “In case you guys get hungry. It was nice to meet you both.”

Dallas and Roman murmur their thanks, and I leave the condo without a backwards glance at Tristan. But I feel his eyes on me. I’m not sure if I successfully made my point, but Tristan sure didn’t love my lack of clothing, so I’ll take that as a win.

I don’t go to the gym. Instead, I go to the courtyard, plunk myself on one of the super comfy chairs under a tree, and video call Essie.

“I need all the details,” she says in greeting. “What the hell is going on? Why haven’t I seen your face in five days?”

I smile at her familiar long dark hair, smooth tanned skin, and almond-shaped eyes. Her makeup manages to be dramatic and understated. She’s a magician with a makeup brush. “I miss you, too, Essie.”

“It’s hard living this far away from you. They need to develop a portal between Vancouver and Toronto, like stat.”

“Right? Why couldn’t we live in the age of interdimensional travel?” I wish I could reach through the screen and hug her.

“You can move here. Come live with me. We’ll find you a job.”

“So alluring, but you know you’ll find some guy and ask him to move in with you within the next three months. Then I’ll be in the same position I am now, minus my brother’s annoyingly hot best friend.”

“He really is hot, isn’t he? It’s not just about camera angles,” Essie gripes.

“It’s so unfair. He’s such an asshole. And he’s stupid hot. I can’t stand him.” I fill her in on what it’s been like living with my brother and his best friend so far.

“All the stuff in the media about Flip isn’t just fodder?”

I shake my head. “I’ve heard it with my own ears and seen it with my own eyes. My mother must be so mortified. I wonder if that’s why they moved out to buttfuck nowhere. So they wouldn’t have to witness all the shit he’s up to.” It’s not the reason. They moved north because my dad got a job offer he couldn’t refuse, and it’s way cheaper up there. And colder.

Essie’s bottom lip juts out, and her expression is all empathy. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I know you low-key worship the ground your brother walks on.”

“I’m all for sexual freedom, but his bed is almost never empty. I don’t know. It all seems so hollow.” If my situation were different, I might call him on it. But I don’t want to create unnecessary friction, especially when he’s letting me stay here rent free.

“The offer stands, Rixie. You’re welcome to come here. Book a one-way ticket so you can stay as long as you want.”

“Rent is three grand a month in Vancouver.” I did the research when she moved.

“It would be half with you here, though.”

It’s enticing, but Essie is a serial monogamist. She’ll have a boyfriend before long, and he’ll move in soon after. Then it’ll get awkward, and I’ll have to figure things out again. “I love you, Essie, but moving to Vancouver probably isn’t the answer. How’s your job? Tell me everything.”

Essie fills me in on the latest with her position as a makeup artist for one of the movie studios out there. It’s clear she’s happy. I miss the hell out of her, but I’m glad she’s chasing her dream. It makes me wonder what mine is. I love handling the meal prep for Flip and Tristan, but that’s something to do on the side. Accounting is a stable job with a good paycheck, and understanding money was paramount in a house where there was never quite enough. But the job doesn’t fill me with joy. Can I do it? Yes. Is it my end goal? Probably not. Maybe it was the wrong firm. Maybe there’s a better fit.

My phone buzzes with an incoming call. I check the screen and see it’s Dean and Sons Financial Management. Hemi sent me a posting for a junior accountant position at the firm and said I could use her as a reference, which I did.

“I have to let you go,” I tell Essie. “This might be a new job.”

“Oh! Shit. Good luck. You’ve got this! Text me later. I love you!”

She ends the call, and I answer the one from Dean and Sons.

Five minutes later, I have a job interview and less than forty-eight hours to prepare for it. I text Hemi right away, and she calls me five seconds later.

“This is such great news! I knew you’d get an interview if you applied. You graduated at the top of your freaking class. They want you more than a hockey player wants a full set of teeth.”

“I feel like I’m grossly unprepared for this.”

“Come over to my place tomorrow morning. Or I can come to you. We’ll do a couple of dry runs.”

“It’s probably better if I come to you.”

“I’ll text you my address. Ten o’clock work for you?”

“That’s perfect. Thank you, Hemi. For everything.”

“No thanks necessary. Your resume speaks for itself. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I end the call feeling more settled. Flip doesn’t understand interview stress. He’s been highly sought after since he was sixteen. It was never if he would end up with a contract. It was where and for how much.

Since I’m already on a phone call roll, I call my mom on the way back into the building. I’ve been playing down the whole job-apartment situation so she doesn’t worry.

“Hey, honey, how are you? Is everything okay? What’s this about you moving in with Phillip and Tristan?”

“I just had an issue with my former roommates; it’s not a big deal and Flip is being cool about the whole thing.”

“What about your job? I don’t understand how they could let you go with no warning?”

I also might have fibbed about how I ended up unemployed. “Sometimes these things happen. I already have an interview lined up for later in the week. So everything should work out just fine. How are you? How’s Dad?” I switch the subject and we talk for a few more minutes before I let her go with a promise to update her on the job situation.

I almost head back to the condo, but I said I was going to the gym. The athletic facilities here are nice, and when I get there, the place is almost empty. I grab a magazine and hop on a treadmill.

Yesterday, I convinced Flip to give me access to his banking files and expenses so I could create a basic financial portfolio with predicted revenue streams and investment incentives. There was a lot to get through. He rarely spends more than a hundred dollars at a time, even on groceries, which may account for the frequent shopping trips.

I leaf through the magazine, frowning at the dated hairstyles. Flipping to the cover, I find it’s more than twenty-five years old. I browse the contents and reach an ad that’s iconic in the hockey world: the Alex Waters milk advertisement. Back then it was acceptable to be a fuckboy when milk came knocking. Although, from what I understand, Alex Waters made out with copious women, but few experienced his skill set in the bedroom.

According to some uncensored interviews with his wife, it’s because most women are terrified of his junk. Those were her exact words. I stare at the ad, smiling at the old-school look that does nothing to detract from the hotness of Alex Waters in the prime of his hockey career. He’s built like Adonis. He’s pouring a two-liter container of milk down his body. It licks over the ridges and planes of his muscular chest and abs. The ad cuts off just below the delightful V that leads to his terrifying cock. It’s a sexy ad. I wonder how this magazine ended up here.

An idea takes shape as I ogle Alex Waters. It has potential to be equally great or terrible. But I’m pretty damn sure my brother’s best friend had a semi when he pulled me off that counter. I might loathe him with the fire of a thousand burning yeast infections, but if he finds me attractive, I can use that to my advantage. I can fuck with him the way he used to fuck with me as a teenager, when he viewed me solely as an annoyance. I might still be one, but it’s even better if I annoy him and he finds me hot. Then we’re in the same frustrating boat. I’m about to find out if that’s the case.

I’m the perfect amount of lightly dewy and slightly breathless when I end my run. The magazine comes with me. I don’t care if Alex Waters is old enough to be my dad now, in this ad he’s total jill-off material. I take the elevator back to the condo and run into Dred in the hall. We exchange brief hellos since she’s on her way out and I’m on my way in, crossing my fingers that the guys are still having a strategy meeting. Luck is on my side. They’re sitting around the island.

All four heads turn in my direction.

“Hey, Rix. How was the workout?” Flip goes back to staring at his iPad.

“Good, thanks.” I wave a hand in front of my face. “It’s hot in here. You mind if I open a couple of windows?”

“Adjust the thermostat so the air isn’t running for no reason,” Flip says absently.

“Cool. Thanks.” I head for the balcony. “How’s the strategy meeting? You’re up against Montreal first in the exhibition games, right?”

“I love that your sister knows hockey. Mine couldn’t care less,” Dallas says.

“Flip has always been supportive of me. I want to do the same.” I smile at Dallas as I open the sliding door and step onto the balcony. “Oh wow. The breeze out here is amazing.”

Everyone’s attention but Flip’s is on me. He’s focused on the two devices in front of him. Here goes nothing. I open my water bottle, take a small sip, and then tip my head back and pour the contents down my chest. Water soaks into my white sports bra, turning the opaque fabric transparent. All three sets of eyebrows rise. Roman looks away and takes a long drink of the glass he’s now white knuckling. Dallas grins like he’s just found his new favorite TV show, and Tristan’s lip curls into something akin to a snarl. His gaze darts from me to Dallas and then to Flip, whose eyes are still on his phone.

Tristan points a finger at Dallas. “Eyes off, fucker.”

Dallas holds up his hands and focuses on his coffee cup.

Tristan stalks toward me, yanking his tank top over his head. He stops when his big toe hits the end of my running shoe. He glares down at me, and I tip my head back to smile at him. I pour the last few drops right into my cleavage. His ravenous gaze dips lower, and his hands curl into fists, one holding his tank. “What the fuck are you playing at, Beat?”

“Making a point, Trissy. You and Flip are always in your underwear. Why can’t I be in mine?”

His jaw clenches, and he jams his shirt aggressively over my head.

“Ow! What the hell?” I try to swat his hands away, but my arms are caught in the shirt and my hair is in my eyes.

He grabs the hem of his shirt and gathers it at my waist. “This shit is unnecessary. Everyone was already looking at you before you pulled this, Beat. It’s overkill, and you have a hell of a lot more to offer than your body.”

I’m so shocked by the compliment hidden in his chastisement I don’t know what to say. His fingers graze the bare skin of my hip, and it feels like a direct link to my clit. And my nipples. Which he’s just covered up. He ties a knot at my right side, pulling it tighter than he needs to. It takes me that long to free my arms from the tank prison, which seems impossible since it’s mostly armholes.

“I already told you, I don’t need another problem to manage. Stop being an antagonistic brat,” he grinds out.

The whiplash is hard to handle, but that unintentional compliment gives me the courage I need to keep pushing his buttons. “Stop being an asshole. Oh, wait. You can’t. It’s your natural state of being.”

His eyes darken, his glare menacing. “What’s your plan now that you’ve proven your point?”

“Pretty sure Dallas wants my number. Maybe I’ll give it to him.”

His jaw tics. “Like hell you will.”

I tip my head and drag a single finger down his chest. “It must burn your ass.”

He grabs my wrist but doesn’t pull my hand away. “What are you talking about?”

“Being attracted to me, even though you can’t stand me. So frustrating to abhor something and want it at the same time.”

His eyes flare with surprise before they narrow. “Tread carefully, or you’ll wind up in over your head.”

I poke him through his shorts. He’s definitely sporting a semi. I bet if I looked down, I’d see the ridge pushing against the fabric. “Your body betrays you,” I murmur. “What you wouldn’t give right now to be able to shut me up with your cock in my mouth, eh?”

His teeth grind together, and he leans in until our noses almost touch. His body eclipses mine. I can’t see Flip and his teammates, and they can’t see me. I’m surrounded by Tristan. I could tip my chin up and our lips would touch. “You don’t want my attention, Beat.” His voice is soft and menacing, sending a shiver down my spine. “I promise you, you’re playing with fire, and I will fucking incinerate you.”

I smile. “That sounds like a challenge.”

His expression grows sinister. “Oh, little girl, you have no idea what you’re signing on for.”

“Hey! What the hell’s going on out there? Tristan, you can’t throw Rix off the balcony, no matter how much she annoys you!” Flip calls.

I pat Tristan on the chest. “Game on, big boy.”