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She spins around, and her eyes flare. “Oh. Hi.” Her gaze moves over me in an assessing sweep.
I’m wearing the same shorts and baggy shirt I slept in. I’m also braless. Mostly on purpose.
Her smile turns tight. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but Phillip and Tristan have a meeting this morning, so you should be on your way. I can call you a car if you’d like.” She pulls her phone out of her bag. “I’ll just need an address.”
“Oh, uh...” She thinks I’m one of their bunnies. I suppress a gag. “I don’t think?—”
Tristan’s door swings open. He’s wearing gray sweats and one of those weird workout tanks with the huge armholes, so we can see his nipples and all eleven thousand abs when he turns sideways.
“Tristan, you’ll have to call your friend a car,” Hemi says in that same tight, no-nonsense tone.
I kind of love her already, even though she thinks I’m a bunny.
Tristan’s brows pull together. It’s irksome that even that expression is hot on him. “Huh?”
She tips her head in my direction. “Your friend. You need to take care of her.”
“Take care of—” His eyes go wide. “Oh! Oh, fuck.”
I hold up a hand and get in a dig before he can. “Even if humanity was on the brink of extinction, I wouldn’t let this fuckboy put his dirty hands on me.”
His eyes narrow. “I’d rather lose my dick to frostbite.”
It’s early to be hitting below the belt like this, but I’m ready with the next arrow of my own. “I would rather seal my vagina shut with super glue.”
Hemi, the poor thing, looks seriously confused.
Flip’s bedroom door opens, and I nearly throw up my coffee. He’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs with his team logo on the peen pouch, and sporting morning wood. “Are you two fighting again? I’m trying to sleep!”
“Good God! You two need to get dressed before you leave your bedrooms!” I shout. “I never, ever need to see my brother’s morning wood. Never again, Flip. You will pay for my therapy bills until I’m over this. And I will one hundred percent pick the priciest therapist in the world!”
A shrill whistle has me covering my ears with my hands. Tristan and Flip have followed suit. A body rustles around in Flip’s bedding.
Hemi looks less than impressed. “Phillip, get dressed and please see your guest out. Tristan, you’re being a giant asshole. Get a grip.” She turns to me. “I am so sorry. I was unaware you were visiting. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“It’s fine.” I wave a hand in the air, like Tristan’s nasty comments don’t affect me. I truly wish they didn’t. So I focus on how often I’ll have to see my brother’s morning wood if he continues to wander around in his underpants. It’s too early for humiliation tears. I clear my throat and smile at Hemi. “I’m Rix, Flip’s younger sister. I had a roommate situation, so I’m staying here until I find a new place. And a new job. It’s been a week.”
“Oh, God.” She presses her hand to her chest. “Living with these two must be hellish.”
“My previous roommates were slightly worse, which is saying something.”
“You poor, poor thing.” She crosses over and hugs me, whispering, “Tristan is always a dick of the first order. Just ignore him.”
“I know. He and Flip have been besties since elementary school. I’m used to this. Well, I had an eight-year break from it, and I can’t say I’ve really missed his brand of assholery, but there’s comfort in familiarity, isn’t there?”
She squeezes my arms. “That roommate situation must have been a real nightmare.”
“They struggled with boundaries, and it got a little harass-y at the end when they kept trying to convince me to have a threesome.”
“Oh wow, that’s…” She glances over her shoulder at Tristan.
“Just another day in a pro hockey player’s life?” I supply.
“They learn over time that their actions have consequences,” Hemi says.
“Seems to be a lesson Flip isn’t all that interested in.”
As if on cue, a girl-woman with mascara raccoon eyes comes sashaying out of Flip’s bedroom. She freezes when she sees us and tries to disappear back inside, but he blocks the way.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, we’re not the angry girlfriends,” Hemi says. “I’m their PR manager, and this is Phillip’s sister.” She gives my arm an affectionate squeeze, like we’re good friends, not two women who met five minutes ago. Awkwardly at that.
“Oh.” The woman slaps a hand to her chest. She’s wearing an altered Madden jersey that fits like a dress, and she’s carrying a pair of four-inch ice blue sparkly heels. Her hair looks like it’s been through a storm. “I thought this was about to get super awkward.”
Hemi smiles, and I wave.
“Your brother is like, wow.” She does jazz hands and makes a weird face.
