If You Hate Me: Chapter 6

I’ve done plenty of stupid things in my life. But antagonizing Tristan might top the list. Realizing he finds me attractive even though he can’t stand me gives me power. The problem is, I’m not sure how to wield it effectively.

Tristan is scarce over the next two days, which is curious. He leaves before Flip wakes, and returns in the evening, grabs food, and disappears into his room for the rest of the night. At first, I thought he was in avoidance mode. When I asked Flip if everything was okay, he said Nate was down for a visit and Brody had a hockey game, so he was spending time with family. I don’t want to find that sweet, but I do. Also, my ego prefers the avoidance option.

I catch Flip between hockey practice and one of his many dates and sit him down to go over his bank statements before my interview.

“All these small withdrawals? What are they for?” I tap the yellow-highlighted expenses, most ranging from twenty to fifty dollars, but occasionally there’s one for a hundred or two hundred bucks. This week he made a thousand-dollar withdrawal and gave me eight hundred to cover groceries.

He inspects the list and runs his fingers through his hair. “That’s bar money.”

“Are there other expenses on your credit card, too?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Not typically. I usually pay cash at the bar.”

“And you only spend between twenty and fifty dollars a night?” I confirm.

He nods. “Yeah. I only ever drink one beer and then switch to water. Sometimes it’s my turn to buy a round, so those are the nights when it’s more expensive, or I’ll buy someone a drink. But I don’t bring wasted women home, and I don’t get wasted if the plan is to find a hookup, which it usually is.”

“You only have one drink?” I parrot.

He gives me a look. “Bars are expensive, and getting drunk is a bad idea if I want some action.”

“Right. Okay. That makes sense.” In some ways, I suppose it’s better that he’s sober when he’s bringing all these women home. But the fact that he’s totally clear-headed when he makes these choices is also unexpected. I file that one away to think about later. Or not. “Okay, I’ll add up your monthly bar expenses and everything else and tailor a better plan for you.”

“Cool. I gotta meet with my agent this afternoon, but text if you have questions.” He leaves me to my job-interview prep.

Yesterday, I spent a few hours with Hemi going over mock interview questions, so I feel more prepared. It takes most of today to come up with a new plan for Flip and turn it into a dynamic presentation, but by the time I’m done, I have projected investment-revenue streams spanning one, three, and five years based on his current annual salary.

Flip and Tristan don’t come back until late, which means I don’t have to deal with them before bed. Hopefully by next week I’ll be gainfully employed again and I can start the apartment-hunting mission.

The following afternoon, I head to my interview at Dean and Sons. I’m nervous, but Hemi has assured me I have this in the bag. Graduating at the top of my class doesn’t hurt, and neither does her recommendation. Then there’s having a brother who plays pro hockey and lets me comb through his financial portfolio.

All those negligible amounts he spends at the bar add up, but it’s certainly within what he can afford. And he further ensures that by living with his best friend in a much cheaper condo than he could reasonably pay for each month. My goal for Flip is to maximize his current investments, so he doesn’t have to continue to live in fear of all his earnings disappearing and he’ll know his lifestyle is secure even after he retires from hockey.

Dean and Sons is in a gorgeous, modern building with a great team and friendly, dynamic staff. I’m one of several candidates for two positions, and I have another interview set up for a lower-level position with a different firm early next week, in case this doesn’t go the way I hope.

But they whisk me inside, and then it’s all happening, and the interview goes incredibly smoothly. They love the financial-plan revisions I made for my brother—the way I consider his travel schedule and condo fees versus property management expenses for a house with a yard. I provide a budget for each option, along with the pros and cons of each. By the end, we’re all laughing about creative accounting techniques for professional athletes and what expenses need the most massaging.

I text Hemi as soon as I leave the interview.

She calls me a few seconds later. “Where are you right now?”

“Just leaving Dean and Sons, heading for the subway.”

“I’m a block away. Want to meet for a drink? You can tell me about it in three dimensions?”

“Are you sure you have time?” I ask.

“Yup. I just finished making Dallas’s life miserable, and I need to celebrate. There’s a martini bar called The Dirty Olive on the corner of Church and Yonge. Meet us there in ten?”

“Sure. Sounds great.” It isn’t until after she ends the call that the “us” registers.

Seven minutes later, I arrive at The Dirty Olive. It’s swanky, and not a place I would typically frequent because the drinks are pricey. But I just had an interview, and it seems to have gone well. I can afford to splurge on one expensive cocktail. I’ll trim my entertainment budget for the week and won’t buy that tub of Moose Tracks ice cream. Totally worth the sacrifice.

With Essie in Vancouver and the end of me and Rob, I’ve felt untethered. I miss the comfort of Essie’s friendship and the security of a long-term boyfriend. I’d hoped Eugenia and Claude would be fun roommates, but that turned into a bag of shit real fast. So it’s nice to have a potential new friend, even if she’s connected to my brother’s job.

When I enter, Hemi is already seated at a high-top table with another woman. She has a chin-length bob, dark eyes framed with enviably thick lashes, and the physique of an athlete.

“Hey, Rix!” Hemi stands and pulls me in for a hug. “I hope you don’t mind. I brought along a friend.”

“The more the merrier,” I reply. I’m not dying to get home and hang out with Flip and Tristan and their flavors of the night. Although so far only Flip is bringing home bedroom friends.

“Rix, this is Hammer. Hammer, this is Rix.” Hemi motions between us. “Rix is Madden’s sister; Hammer is Hammerstein’s daughter.”

“Hey!” I recall Tristan saying something about Hammerstein having a daughter my age the day of the fight-fire-with-fire mission. Hammerstein is the oldest member of the team, but he’s not even forty. And Hammer looks like she might be fresh out of her teens. She’s in a bar, drinking, so she must be at least nineteen. I can’t see Hemi bringing her here otherwise.

“Hammer’s completing her university internship with me this semester, and we’re having an absolute blast, aren’t we?” Hemi says with a smile.

Hammer grins. “Best internship already, and I started two days ago. And my actual name is Peggy, which is also my great-grandma’s name. Rest in peace.” She makes the sign of the cross. “But the team calls me Hammer.”

“Got it. My actual name is Beatrix, which is also a grandma’s name. My parents liked to shorten our names, so I became Rix, and my brother became Flip because I couldn’t pronounce it when I was a kid. It took on a whole new meaning when he became a pro hockey player, though.”

Hammer makes a face. “Oh yeah, he’s got quite the reputation.”

“He does,” I agree.

“I’m also named after my grandmother, who thankfully is still around and full of sass,” Hemi notes. “But Wilhelmina is a ridiculously long name, and I drove a Hemi in high school. The nickname stuck.”

“Why did you drive a Hemi?” I ask.

“My moms wanted a safe vehicle. They thought a truck with a powerful engine that also could drive over pretty much anything qualified.”

“That’s legit.” I still don’t own a car. Living in Toronto means relying on public transit.

Hemi nods and switches gears. “So, tell me about the interview. Did you show them all your fancy charts and wow their socks off?”

“I think it went well. By the end, we were laughing and chatting. It was relaxed. I feel like they’re a lot more my speed than my last job.” Although I’m still not one hundred percent sure accounting is the right field for me. I do love putting together weekly meal plans for my brother and Tristan. I’m not sure how I could spin that into a money-making career, though. It would require a lot more school.

“Who interviewed you? Mike and Laura?” Hemi asks.

“Yeah, and Fergie.”

“You made Fergie laugh? You’re definitely getting the job. We need to celebrate your impending employment.”

The server comes over, and I order a glass of water and a chocolate martini.

Hammer’s phone buzzes, and she checks the screen, rolling her eyes. “Hold on a second. It’s my dad.” She answers the call. “Hey, I’m in the middle of a debriefing with Hemi. Can I call you back later?” She purses her lips. “You don’t need to wait on me for dinner. I’ll probably be another hour, maybe a bit more. We’ll grab a bite… No, I don’t need a ride. Dad, I’ve been living off-campus for the past three years. I’m super well versed in taking the subway. I’ll be fine. Yes, I’ll message when I’m on my way home. Oh my God, no. Do not have Hollis pick me up. That’s ridiculous. I’m fine. I need to go. I love you.” She ends the call.

“Is everything okay?” I ask. Maybe I pegged Roman wrong. He seemed pretty laid back when I met him.

“Yeah. Just my dad being overbearing. He already had a toddler at my age, so he gets freaked out about where I am and who I’m with. I get it, but seriously, I have no plans to get knocked up anytime soon. I’m fully committed to my vibrator these days. Which I can no longer keep on my bathroom vanity because my dad saw it the other day and nearly lost his goddamn mind.”

“Why was he even in your bathroom?” I ask.

“He was washing towels and figured he’d toss mine in too. My Batdick was lying on the sink. I thought he was going to have a heart attack. He turned so red.”

“Batdick?” Hemi quirks a brow.

“They have vibes inspired by comic heroes. I might have a small collection. Anyway, I’m sure he’ll get over it, but having my dad as my roommate when I’ve been living away from home for three years is an adjustment.”

“Rix’s roommates invited her to join their pirate role-playing sex party, which is how she ended up living with Madden and Stiles,” Hemi says, then cringes. “Sorry. That wasn’t my story to share.”

I shake my head. “I tell anyone who will listen. It’s like free therapy. I came home to find my roommate, naked, tied to a pillar in the living room. I decided it was best that I move out.”

Hammer nods slowly. “That’s understandable.”

“Yeah. But my brother’s place only has one bathroom, and I’m sleeping on a futon in their game room-slash-loft. It has no doors, so the shower is my only private time.”

Hammer puts a hand to her chest. “Please tell me the showerhead is removable.”

“Unfortunately, it’s not.”

“You poor thing.” Hammer’s tone is full of empathy.

“I’m sure Stiles would be more than happy to help you out with that.” Hemi smiles slyly.

I almost choke on a mouthful of martini. “We can’t stand each other.”

Hemi shrugs. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you. And imagine how good the hate-fucking would be.”

“Stiles is highly fuckable,” Hammer says.

“I’m sure there are an extraordinarily high number of women who can attest to that,” I mutter.

“I need those two to settle down. I get it during the rookie years, but Madden has sowed more oats than a farmer.” Hemi stops herself. “Which I’m sure you don’t want to talk about since you get to witness it firsthand.”

I nod. “It’s one thing to know it’s happening, thanks to the media. It’s another to listen to it.”

“Oh, God.” Hammer blanches.

“I’ll be moving out as soon as I’ve nailed down a job,” I assure her.

“Totally reasonable.”

Hemi orders us another round of drinks and some appetizers. I internally cringe as I do the math and realize I’ve blown my entire monthly entertainment budget and cut into my grocery fund. I have savings, but without a source of income, I need to be extra careful. It’s a tough line to toe, having fun with friends but not spending money I can’t afford to part with.

But then we get to laughing again, and I relax. Eventually Hemi calls for the bill and waves us off when Hammer and I pull out our credit cards. “I invited you out, and this was a debrief meeting,” she says to Hammer. “I got this.”

“Are you sure? That was the excuse I gave my dad so he wouldn’t keep texting, asking for updates on when I’m coming home.”

“Still, we talked about the team, so it counts.”

I thank Hemi profusely, and we part ways outside the bar with a promise that I’ll message when I have job news. A new text appears as I reach the subway. Hemi has set up a group chat. I love that I’ve been living in this new spot less than a week, and I’m making friends. Most of my colleagues at my previous firm were older with families, so we never hung out after hours.

I’m riding the high of the interview and the buzz of two martinis as I head home. And I spend the entire train ride listening to a spicy romance audiobook, which probably isn’t the best plan since I’m coming back to a doorless, wall-less room. But when I arrive, my brother’s door is wide open, meaning he’s out. Tristan’s door is shut, so he may or may not be home.

I quietly climb to the loft. Someone was playing video games earlier, based on the empty chip bag on the coffee table. The futon and the floor are littered with crumbs.

I sweep the crumbs onto the floor and spread a blanket out over the surface of the futon, debating my options. Listening to delicious smut has me all amped up. The bathroom offers privacy, but if Tristan is home, he’ll probably knock on the door to be annoying.

I can be quiet about it. I can get myself off without making a ton of noise. I rummage around in my tote bins and find my trusty purple vibrator. It’s nothing fancy, but it does the trick. I grab my clit sucker while I’m at it. It’s noisier, but super effective.

I lie on the futon. Mood music would be helpful, but I don’t want to make unnecessary noise. I get up to shuck off my clothes and change into one of my nightshirts. Easy access is where it’s at. I stretch back out on the couch, pulling a sheet over me. It’s hot up here, but I can always shower when I’m done. I need some release. Maybe I can stockpile a few orgasms. That’s a best-case scenario, but one will take the edge off.

I bend one leg at the knee and rest it against the back of the couch. The other one I leave outstretched. My heart rate spikes as I run my hand down my stomach and pull my nightshirt up to my waist. I’m already clenching at the possibility of getting off.

I hear movement below me. Tristan is home. A thump and other low noises follow. Whatever. It’s fine. I can do this. I drag my fingers through my folds and sigh as I brush my clit. Oh yeah. It shouldn’t take long. I close my eyes, sliding a finger inside, withdrawing to drag the wetness over my clit and circle a few times. I slap my hand over my mouth to muffle my moan.

I try pulling the pillow beside my head over my face, but it’s too hard to breathe, so I toss it on the floor. I find my vibrator and run the smooth head between my folds, sliding it inside me to muffle the sound before I turn it on.

Tristan’s bedroom door opens, and I quickly turn off the vibrator. He rummages around in the fridge. Two minutes later, he disappears back into his room. I should be good for a while. I can get this done in five minutes.

I turn the vibrator back on and angle it to hit the right spot. At the same time, I circle my clit with my fingers. I close my eyes, but I’m tense, aware Tristan is below me.

And because my brain is an asshole, it keeps going back to that first night when I watched him whack off. Now I’m picturing him on his bed, jerking it while I’m up here jilling. I try to redirect my imagination. If that magazine I borrowed from the workout room was within reach, I might look at that freaking milk ad. Anything to distract me from thoughts of Tristan fisting his goddamn enormous cock.

His bedroom door opens again. I turn off the vibrator. My pussy is raging. I’m so on edge now. I just want to come. This time Tristan uses the microwave. I make slow circles around my clit to keep the vibe flowing—it won’t be enough to tip me over. Eventually he returns to his room. Then comes out thirty seconds later. The door closes again.

I turn the vibrator to full blast and jill off in earnest. I need to come before Tristan makes another appearance. But I can’t seem to get there. I’m teetering on the edge, but every time things tighten up, an image of Tristan pops into my head. And I can hear him below me. Whatever. I’ll use him as fodder. I close my eyes and go back to the time I brazenly faked an orgasm in front of him. I hadn’t meant to grind on him, but then he’d put his hand on my hip, and his thigh somehow ended up between my legs.

I imagine what it might have been like if we’d given in to the electric draw. If he’d pulled me closer. If his mouth had been on mine, his hands in my hair, the sting soothed by the feel of his soft lips against my neck. The rough pads of his fingers working between my thighs.

The gritty sound of his voice when he’d called me bad little Bea.

I give up being quiet and pull out the clit sucker. I’m so close. It won’t take long now. It lights up, then promptly dies. Shit. It needs to be charged.

When Tristan comes out of his bedroom for a fifth time, I lose the battle to stay quiet. “Can I help you with something?” I snap.

“All your masturbating is making me hungry.”

That fucker is fucking with me. I yank the still-humming vibrator from my angry, extra juicy vagina and rush to the railing, pushing the duvet-curtain aside.

He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing a pair of gray boxer briefs and nothing else. My eyes rake over his ridiculously cut body, memorizing the dips and curves for later. I hate that I appreciate his hotness. My empty vagina clenches as my gaze reaches the massive erection impressively tenting the front of his boxer briefs.

“You’re really going for it, eh?” He has the audacity to adjust himself.

I don’t know what I’m thinking as I hurl my still-buzzing vibrator at him. Maybe that it will bean him in the head?

He catches it out of the air. His eyebrow rises as he inspects my silicone pleasure friend. “One, fuck you.” He holds up his middle finger. “And two…” He maintains his grip on the vibrator as he fires a second middle finger my way. “I’m keeping this.”

“Wait. What?” I scramble to the ladder and climb halfway down before I miss a step and fall to the floor, landing on my ass. “Give it back!” I jump to my feet and sprint across the condo as he disappears into his bedroom. I try the knob, but he’s locked it. I pound on the door. “Give it back. Right now, Tristan!”

He opens the door enough to reveal his face, six inches of chest, and his still-straining erection. “No.”

“What are you even going to do with it?” I splutter.

His smile turns downright evil. “You’ll never know.” And he closes the door in my face.