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)
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.”