Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 735(@200wpm)___ 588(@250wpm)___ 490(@300wpm)
My stomach sinks. Of course she’s thinking about going to Vancouver. Why wouldn’t she? It’s only a matter of time before she’s out of the condo. Who knows how long it’ll be before she’s on the other side of the country.
CHAPTER 21
RIX
“What are you doing?” Tristan’s hands are on his hips. He’s blocking the ladder and thwarting my ability to toss shit into the bin at the bottom.
“Packing.” I load stuff into another empty bin, since he seems disinclined to move.
“But…why?”
“Because I’m moving out.”
“But…but…” He runs his hands through his hair. “We’re done if you move out.”
I stop packing to look at him. He’s anxious; that much is clear. His eyes are wild, there are circles under them, and his jaw keeps ticking.
“That was part of the deal,” I remind him.
His hands are on his hips again. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with them. They drop to his sides, and then he crosses them.
“Flip also wasn’t supposed to find out, and he did, so our sex pact is effectively dissolved. Also, we haven’t had sex in the past week, so me sticking around for more awkwardness seems pointless, don’t you think?”
I’m hurt that we still haven’t had an actual conversation since Flip found out. Tristan keeps coming up with elaborate ways for me to sneak into his bedroom, though. Which I’ve refused to do.
“I was away for three of those days.” He’s back to running his hands through his hair. “How can I make it better when you won’t let me do what I’m good at? Who’s going to fuck you like I do?”
I would laugh if every sentence out of his mouth wasn’t a punch to the heart. If Tristan replaced the word fuck with love or take care of or any combination of words with feelings attached to them, this would feel like an actual relationship. Which is a problem. Because he’s made it clear this is not a relationship. I might like having sex with him, and I might like him as a human being when he’s not being an emotionally stunted idiot, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s that Tristan and talking things through do not go hand in hand.
They had two back-to-back away games, and when they returned, Flip and I continued to ignore each other, and Tristan tried to get me back into bed via late-night texting. Sneaking into Tristan’s room before my brother found out was one thing. But I can’t do it when he’s here and he knows. And for whatever reason, Tristan doesn’t get that. Or doesn’t want to. Either way, it’s been horrifyingly awkward. I need space. So I’m getting out.
“Right now I’m packing, and honestly, I’m not in the mood to fuck.”
That’s not one hundred percent true.
Tristan looks damn well edible with his frustrated, furrowed brow and his low-slung gray jogging pants and team T-shirt. I could happily peel him out of his clothes and ride his face or his cock to multiple-orgasm bliss. But I don’t want to be just fucked by him. I want connection. I want him to rub his nose against mine and be all sweet and soft before he fucks me like a savage. And there’s also the whole matter of not dealing with the fallout of Flip finding out still hanging over our heads. Not to mention that Tristan refuses to acknowledge that what’s going on between us has escalated from hate-fucking, to fucking, to actually sort of maybe liking each other while also fucking. Throwing more sex on top of that slice of avoidance cake is a bad idea.
“When are you moving?”
“This afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” His eyes flare and the color drains from his face. “But that’s…how did you find a place so fast? Where are you moving? Is it even safe? Do you have roommates again? What if it’s the same situation you just got out of?”
My heart aches. I wish he could admit that he cares. But Tristan is a broken boy living inside an angry man, and I can’t fix that. “I’m moving in with Hammer. There’s a sublet in her dad’s building, and it’s a two bedroom.” Fates aligned yesterday when we were in the elevator on the way up to Hammer’s dad’s place. A woman a few floors down is moving to France for a year, and her tenant fell through at the last minute. We were in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. The apartment is fully furnished, and she left for France this morning, which means we can move in this afternoon.
“So you’re staying in Toronto?” Tristan asks.
“Yeah.” I glance at him, and my stupid heart clenches at his relieved expression. “I’m staying in Toronto.”
“And Hammer will be your roommate?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.” He nods once. “I can drive you over.”