If You Hate Me (The Toronto Terror Series)
If You Hate Me: Chapter 11

Flip messages at midnight to say he won’t be home and he’ll meet me at the arena tomorrow—unless I want to join the orgy at some model’s house in Vaughn. I tell him I’m good, but thanks for the offer.

The next morning, I wake up wrapped around Bea. My cock is nestled in the crack of her ass, I’m cupping one of her boobs, and my nose is in her hair. I can’t remember the last time I woke with a woman in my bed. I can count on one finger the number of times I’ve woken up with my best friend’s little sister in my bed, though.

That I don’t automatically want to jostle her awake and make her leave is…foreign. I check the clock on the nightstand. It’s only six thirty. I told Roman he could pick me up at eight and we’d hit the pool for laps.

This means I have time to get inside Bea before either of us has to get up—her for work, me for my pre-workout swim. But I don’t make a move. Not yet. I want a few more minutes like this, with Bea all warm and soft and not annoyed by my assholery.

I made up for being a giant dick last night with my giant dick, which she appreciated. Loudly. With several orgasms. My erection swells and twitches.

“I felt that,” she mumbles.

“How long have you been awake?” I nuzzle through her hair until I get to her ear and bite the shell.

“A minute? Maybe less. What time’s it?”

“Six thirty-three.” I throw my leg over hers and rub my cock on her ass.

“Too early to be poking me in the butt with that,” she grumbles.

I let go of her boob and slap around on the nightstand for my breath strips.

She makes a displeased sound. “Now my boob is cold.”

“Give me a sec.” I replace the packet, pop it open, and slide a strip onto my tongue. I pull out a second one. “Open for me.”

She bats my hand away. “I’m not awake enough for you to stuff your fingers in my mouth.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” I brush the strip over her lips.

She grabs my wrist. “What is that?”

“Breath strip.”

“Ooh. Smart.” Her lips close around the end of my finger.

When she releases it, I reach for the water bottle and take a sip before I pass it to her, along with the cap. While she takes a drink, I reclaim her boob. She puts the cap back on and moves my hand to her throat.

“Why does this one thing make my clit feel like it has its own pulse?” She shifts her hips, and my cock glides between her ass cheeks.

“It’s dominating, but not in a way that makes you feel out of control, maybe.” I don’t tell her it isn’t a go-to move for me. That, for reasons I don’t understand, I’m a little obsessed with how graceful her neck is. That I want to feel her pulse pound under my palm when I fuck her. That I want to bite her and mark her as mine. Even thinking it makes me sound like a caveman.

“Maybe.” Her fingers trail over mine. “Why aren’t you fucking me yet?”

I roll her onto her back and fit myself between her thighs. She’s wet already. My cock glides over her clit, and she wraps her legs around my waist, arching. I claim her mouth, rocking against her while our tongues tangle.

And then I kiss a quick path down her body, licking up the length of her and latching onto her clit as I loop my arms around her thighs.

“Oh, God.” She fists my hair, and then it hits her. The mint on my tongue registers between her thighs. Her eyes go wide, and she gasps. “Oh my fucking God! You asshole! It burns!” She keeps trying to rip out my hair, so I unhook my arms and grab her wrists, squeezing to make her release. I keep a firm grip and settle my forearms on her inner thighs, pressing them into the mattress.

“Relax, Bea. You just need to get past the initial shock. I promise it’s going to blow your mind.”

“My pussy feels like it’s on fire!”

“Let me make it better.” I kiss her inner thigh, then lick her again, softly.

“Oh, that’s better.”

And then I blow on her clit.

She jerks and shrieks.

I lick her again, and she moans. I swirl my tongue, alternating between suction, hard strokes of tongue, and cool air. She comes so hard she bows off the bed. I grab a condom, roll it on, and fit myself between her thighs again. I push in on one smooth stroke and replace an easy rhythm. We went hard last night, nice and hard, so this morning I take it easy on her. She comes twice more before I do.

When it’s over, I lie on top of her, breathing in her vanilla and citrus shampoo. I consider what it would be like if this was how I woke up every day—not with some random whose last name I don’t know, but with someone like Bea. No. Not someone like Bea…

She runs her fingers through my hair. “Let me up so I can pee and get breakfast started.”

“You always make us breakfast. I’ll make it for you today.” I roll off her, needing space.

“Pouring a bowl of Frosted Flakes doesn’t count as making breakfast.”

“Ha ha. I’ll make egg sandwiches. How does that sound?” I remove the spent condom and tie a knot in the end, tossing it in the trash.

“I do love a good egg sandwich.” Bea stretches and log rolls to the end of the bed, where she pops to her feet.

I hold up a hand. “I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

Her eyes flare. “I thought my brother wasn’t coming home,” she whispers.

“He said he wasn’t. I’m just making sure.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders come down from her ears. “Okay.”

I poke my head out. The condo is still empty. “You’re in the clear.”

“I’ll get dressed.”

I hook an arm around her waist and pull her against me as she passes, kissing her before I let her go. I watch her ass jiggle as she rushes across to the ladder and quickly climbs to the loft.

Our clothes from last night are still lying on the bathroom floor. Thank God Flip didn’t come home. I gather them and shove them into my laundry basket to deal with later.

By the time I return to the kitchen, Bea is already there, wearing a pair of shorts and one of her tanks, making a pot of coffee. I pull items out of the fridge so I can start breakfast. Flip was always about easy food. Before Bea, I made most of the meals, unless I wanted frozen pizza or noodles. I had to learn how to cook early on, and I resent having to do it sometimes. But this is different. I want to feed Bea. Especially since she’s the one usually taking care of meals these days. And grocery shopping. And almost everything, really. It’s been nice not to be on the hook for everything the last little while.

“You want peameal, strip bacon, or ham on yours?” I ask.

“Whatever is fine with me. Want me to throw a fruit salad together?” she asks.

“You don’t need to do that.” But she makes a killer fruit salad. She puts things like fresh mango and lime rind into it.

“I don’t mind.” Her fingers glide across my low back as she scoots past me and picks fruit from the bowl. I grab her a cutting board, and she hops up on a stool across from me.

“How’s your new job?” I ask, trying something new. Other than taking shots at each other and exchanging filthy words during sex, Bea and I don’t do a lot of talking. I like this with her. The peace and comfort of doing something normal is foreign, but appealing.

“Good. Better than my last job, for sure. I don’t think it’s my passion, but it pays the bills, which is more important, anyway.” She slices the top and bottom off an orange and carefully uses a paring knife to remove the peel.

I add slices of peameal bacon to the frying pan. “Is that why you got an accounting degree? So you’d have a stable job?” It seems like something Bea would do. Rage-quitting her job was out of character. She normally has a long fuse, except with me. I know how to push her buttons. She’s the only person I can do that with.

“Pretty much, yeah. There’s room for movement and growth, too.”

I put four English muffins into the toaster and crack eggs into the frying pan. “But you don’t love it?”

She shrugs. “I like it well enough. And I won’t waste four years of university education because it isn’t my dream job.”

Flip and Bea grew up in a tiny house. I spent a lot of time there as a kid. Mostly, it was an escape from the fighting before my mom left. But their fridge was always half bare, and they drank powdered milk and ate a lot of Kraft Dinner and cut-up hot dogs. It must have been hard when I came for dinner. They had to make double to feed me and Flip. But they always treated me like family. After my mom left, I had to help out with my brothers a lot, so Flip came to my place more often. Always having to be responsible for other people could get tiresome. But my brothers needed someone to take care of them, and it wasn’t their fault our mom bailed.

“If you could do anything, have any job, what would it be?” I ask.

“It’s not as lofty as being a pro hockey player, but I’d be a dietician—plan and prep meals for people. It’s a pretty linear job, though. Sports nutrition has more room for growth, but that might mean using Flip’s success to further my career, and I don’t want that. Also, it would definitely mean more school.”

Memories pop up from over a decade ago. I remember Bea as a kid, maybe six or seven years old at the most, in the kitchen with her mom, helping pack lunches and snacks for hockey practice. They rarely had fresh vegetables. Mostly they ate frozen. Except in the summer—they had a tiny garden with cherry tomatoes and carrots. Bea would cut the carrots into circles and put the ranch dip in a Tupperware container for Flip because it was the only vegetable he would eat without complaining.

“Why wouldn’t you want to use every advantage available to you?” I ask.

“Flip already helped pay for my degree. And I’m freeloading off of him and you right now. It’s not his fault he’s extraordinarily talented and I’m average.”

“You’re not average, Bea.” Since she’s been here, our place has been organized and spotless. We’re eating better than we ever have. The fridge is always stocked, and I’ve seen what she’s done with Flip’s financial portfolio. His investments are already up thanks to her tweaks. I’m tempted to hand over mine. Plus, she has a full-time job and still stays on top of everything else. And the sex is amazing.

She drops her gaze. “You know what I mean. His career pays him assloads of money while mine is stable and respectable.”

I want to brush her hair behind her ear, but I don’t. “His career will only last a decade, though, or two, if he’s lucky.” The toaster pops, and I arrange the English muffins on our plates.

“He’ll still make more in the next five years than I will in a lifetime, no matter what job I choose. So for now, I want the one that offers me more opportunities for growth.”

“I don’t know that you should discount using Flip’s career to your advantage. You had to give up a lot for him to get where he is,” I say. Maybe more than I realized, actually.

“He had talent that needed to be fostered,” she says, tone defensive.

Bea was always dragged along to games. She’d sit in the arena either reading a book or watching, at least until she was old enough to stay home on her own. Then she’d be in charge of things like household chores or making dinner. I remember dropping Flip off after practice and replaceing her home alone at age eleven, making dinner because both their parents worked shifts.

“He absolutely did,” I agree. “And clearly all that time and effort panned out. But you’re talented, too.”

She arches a brow. “At being turned into a sex pretzel?”

“You’re the complete package Bea. You’re smart, savvy, resourceful, and good at more than just one thing. And you’re fucking beautiful, which is a nice bonus. Me and Flip have all our eggs in this one basket, and our careers won’t last forever. But you? You’ve got options, if you want to take them. All I’m saying is that he has some great connections because of his job, and there’s nothing wrong with using them.”

“It just feels wrong.”

“It shouldn’t.” I layer the egg and peameal on top of the cheese and top it with English muffin. Then I put a second one on her plate.

“I only need one,” she says as I push the plate toward her.

“I rode you hard last night. You need to fuel up.” And she’s always waiting on me and Flip, making sure we’re fed before she serves herself.

Her cheeks flush. “And you don’t?”

“I’ll have breakfast round two after my workout. Besides, we’re doing laps, and I’ll end up with stomach cramps if I eat too much.”

I scarf down my egg sandwiches in under three minutes while Bea savors hers. I demolish most of the fruit salad, but then realize she hasn’t had any yet and leave the rest. Once we’ve finished breakfast, she goes up to the loft to change, and I tidy the kitchen. I’ve just finished getting dressed when Roman messages that he’s here. I buzz him up since we’re planning to use the pool here for laps. It’s quiet during the workday, and there are fewer distractions.

I let Roman in a minute later, and Bea comes down from the loft. She’s holding a pair of heels in one hand, and her giant purse is slung over her shoulder.

She gives Roman a wide, genuine smile. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“Good. How about you? Flip mentioned you got a new job. Congrats.”

“Thanks. I’m enjoying it so far. Now I need to replace an apartment and I’m all set.” She drops her purse and braces a hand on the counter, slipping on her shoes.

I immediately picture her naked except for the heels. They’d look great resting on my shoulders.

She snaps her fingers. “Earth to Tris.”

“Huh?”

“Have you seen the newspaper that was sitting on the counter? I circled a bunch of ads. I want to research neighborhoods before I make more calls.” She looks at me expectantly.

More calls? I don’t like the sound of that. “Maybe Flip tossed it in the recycling?” I know exactly where that newspaper is. In the garbage. Where I threw it while I was cleaning up breakfast. It’s under the eggshells and the extra ketchup I scraped off Bea’s plate. I already know those places she circled weren’t in great neighborhoods. I get that she’s looking for something affordable, but it needs to be safe, too.

She checks the time. “Crap. I gotta go. If you see that paper, can you save it? Oh, and I’ll be home around seven.”

I frown. She gets off at five. It only takes her half an hour to get home. “Why will you be so late? Are you taking the subway or an Uber?”

She gives me a funny look. “Uh, the subway, like I always do. I have to run a couple of errands. I prepped a bunch of pasta dinners, if you can’t wait, but I’m making quesadillas tonight. Roman, you’re always welcome to join.”

“Thanks, but Peggy and I have a dinner date tonight.”

Her hand goes to her chest. “It’s sweet that you have dinner dates. Tell her I said hi. Anyway, I gotta run. You boys have a good workout.” She picks up her messenger bag and clicks her way to the door.

I watch her leave. I briefly wonder what a dinner date would be like with Bea, but squash that since we’re just fucking and that can’t ever happen.

Once she’s gone, I turn to Roman. His arms are crossed.

“’Sup?”

“Dude.”

“Dude, what?” I grab a dishrag and start wiping down the counter.

“How long has that been going on?”

“How long has what been going on?” Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He shakes his head. “I know that look, man. You got it bad.”

I laugh. “You mean Beat?”

His left eyebrow climbs his forehead.

“Rix. Beatrix. Flip’s sister. We can’t stand each other.”

He nods slowly. “Uh-huh.”

“Seriously. That we managed to be in the same room and not rip each other’s heads off is a miracle.” Although it’s been better lately. Last night was good after I stopped being a dick. And this morning was…nice. I ball the rag up and toss it on the counter, then go back and smooth it out, because it drives her up the wall when Flip and I do that.

“Right. Okay. You keep living in the land of denial.” Roman stands.

“I’m not in the land of denial. She annoys the hell out of me.” Especially when she wears those tiny shorts when Flip’s around, and I can’t bend her over the nearest surface and spank her naughty ass.

“If you say so. Ready to hit the pool?”

“Yeah.” I put on my slides and grab my duffle.

“One last question, though, and then I’ll drop it.”

I make a go-on motion.

“Does Flip know you’ve got a thing for his sister?”

“Fuck off. We barely tolerate each other.” At least that’s how I felt when she moved in. Now, though…I’m not so sure.

I push myself hard during my workout with Roman, and push myself even harder during the team skate. I need to play tighter during our next exhibition game or Hollis will take my place on first line. And rightfully so if I keep playing like it’s my first year in the pros.

Then I meet my dad for a quick coffee since he’s in the city and between meetings.

“How you feeling about the exhibition game this weekend?” he asks.

“All right. Hoping it goes better than last night.” I shake my head.

“Hollis being back is stressing you out, eh?” He sips his coffee.

“Yeah. Got inside my own head. I’m my own worst enemy sometimes.”

Dad nods.

“How’s Brody doing?” I ask.

“He’s okay. He had an off game the other night. He was supposed to go out with some of his teammates, but decided to stay home instead, which isn’t like him.”

Those hickeys and bite marks the last time he and I shot the puck around come to mind. Maybe he’s avoiding that girl because he’s not into her and doesn’t want the awkwardness. I’ve done the same thing when Flip has brought home girls and I didn’t feel like being part of the party. “I should call him. Make sure he knows we all have bad games.”

Dad nods. “It’d be good for him to hear that from you. He has practice until eight tonight, but maybe after that.”

“Okay. And once I’m back from the game this weekend, I’ll come your way for dinner or something.”

We talk for a bit longer, and I go over my brother’s game schedule and compare it with mine. It looks like I’ll be able to make a few of his games this month, but once the season starts, it’ll be harder. I promise to call later in the week, and when Dad leaves for his next meeting, I head to the gym so I can run out some of my stress.

Flip and Bea are already in the kitchen when I get home a couple hours later. It smells freaking fantastic.

“Dude, we’re having a quesadilla fiesta tonight!” Flip passes me a beer. “How was your dad?”

“Good. We had a quick coffee between meetings. This looks amazing. Can I do anything to help?”

“Nope. You’re good.” Bea keeps her eyes on the lime she’s cutting into wedges.

We sit down for dinner, but everything feels off. Bea ignores my existence and gives me one-word answers. I would have expected that before, but I sort of thought we were heading for civil territory, especially after last night.

Maybe she’s so quiet and standoffish because we’re lying to Flip. Fresh guilt gnaws at me, along with a general unease. I can’t decide why I feel bad—because I’m lying to my best friend, or because it puts Bea in a weird position. Or both. I don’t want her to call off our sex pact, though. I still want more.

I get a minute with her after dinner when Flip disappears into the bathroom. “What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “I’m trying not to be obvious, and it’s hard when you look like that.” She flings a hand toward me.

“Like what?” I run a palm down my chest. I’m wearing a T-shirt and joggers.

She rolls her eyes. “A snack.”

I smirk. “You should come to my bedroom later. I’ll give you something to snack on.”

She pokes my chest and grabs her purse. “Ugh. Your ego is annoying.”

Flip comes out of the bathroom as she slips into her shoes.

“You heading out?” Flip asks the question I can’t.

“Yeah. I’m getting a drink with Hemi and Hammer. You boys have a good night.”

And then she’s out the door.

“You wanna go out?” Flip asks. “I met a couple of superfans last night, and they’re heading to this club tonight.”

“Uh, nah. I’m not really feeling it tonight. But you have fun.” If Bea wasn’t so edgy, we might have had a few hours alone, and I could have gotten another fix.

“Come on, man. You’ve been a pretty shitty wingman lately,” he presses.

I rub the back of my neck. I don’t want to replace creative ways to avoid sleeping with a bunny tonight. “Hemi’s not wrong, man.”

“Not wrong about what?”

“About this shit coming back to bite us in the ass. My youngest brother sees what’s going on in my life through social media. It’s not really the best role modeling.”

Flip snorts. “Since when have you been worried about being a good role model?”

I can’t explain it to him without adding more lies to the pile, and another side of guilt for wanting his sister. “I just… I’m not in the mood to pick up.”

He holds his hands up. “Okay. It’s cool. I’ll call Dallas.”

He grabs his phone and heads for his bedroom.

Roman’s words keep rolling around in my head. I’m not staying home because of Bea. We’re just fucking. That’s it.