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He chuckles, but it’s a flat, humorless sound. “Is that why you’ve been moaning my name in your sleep?”
The ache in my chest is infuriating. He said I would regret it, and when he acts like this, I do. What we did crossed so many lines. I ignore him and pick up my phone, giving him my back as I call Hemi. “Hey! Guess who got that job?”
“Ahhh! That’s such great news! We need to celebrate. Are you free for drinks? Or dinner? You can come to my place. Hammer and I are working on a project, but we’ll be done in about an hour.”
I need to get out of here. “That sounds great. Can I bring anything?”
“Just your sexy self. Are you so excited?”
“Super excited. Thank you so much for the recommendation.”
“No problem. Does this mean you get to move out soon?”
“Not soon enough, but yeah. I’d like a place within walking distance, but at this point I’ll take just about anything. The sooner, the better. Living with my brother and his asshole best friend is a nightmare I want out of.”
The heavy click of Tristan’s bedroom door closing startles me.
At least I’m getting under his skin the same way he gets under mine.
Over the next two days I go shopping for a few new work outfits, manage the grocery situation, meal prep for Flip and Tristan, and make sure I have food for lunches before I start my new job.
When that happens, on day one I can tell for sure that this firm is a much better fit. I have several female-identifying coworkers around my age, and everyone is so much kinder and friendlier here. But there’s a lot to take in as the newest hire, and at the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I’m looking forward to vegging out to some cheesy reality TV and digging into my pint of special ice cream. Unless the TV room-slash-my-bedroom is occupied. Now that I have a job, finding an apartment is at the top of my priority list.
Flip’s bedroom door is open when I get home. His wallet is on the counter, though, so I assume he’s at Dred’s. Tristan’s shoes are on the mat, but his door is closed, and hopefully it stays that way. There’s a half pint of perfection waiting for me. I practically skip to the fridge and pull open the freezer drawer. I’ve been eating the ice cream a few spoonfuls at a time, keeping it hidden under the frozen peas. I move the bag aside, but the container isn’t there. Maybe it sank to the bottom. I empty the entire freezer, but I can’t find it. Which means someone ate it and didn’t leave even a little behind.
Disappointment and frustration weigh me down as I climb to the loft. My comforter is heaped on the floor, and my pillow has been used as a footrest. Sitting on the coffee table is the empty ice cream container. All that remains is a swipe of chocolate fudge at the bottom.
“That fucker.” I grab the empty container and climb down the ladder. My anger isn’t entirely rational and doesn’t quite match the crime, but Tristan’s clearly done this on purpose. Between his snide comments and making me feel like trash, this is the icing on the shit cake he’s served me since we had sex. He’s taking up way too much real estate in my head lately, and I’m pissed. I slam my fist against his door.
It flies open a few seconds later. His gorgeous brows are furrowed, and his nostrils flare. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I shove the empty container in his face. “Did you eat this?”
He bats it away, and it lands on the floor at our feet. Residual chocolate splatters my foot. “Yeah. So what?”
My voice rises. “What do you mean so what? Fuck you!” I hate how irrational I am. How out of control I feel. But all my hurt and anger is spilling out, and I’m powerless to stop it.
He flinches, but his eyes darken. “It’s just ice cream, Beat.”
He does this on purpose. Calls me Beat to hurt me. And it works. I try to defend myself, though I’m already overreacting. “It was on sale this week.” I grew up in a house where treats were exceedingly rare. Every splurge is a big deal even now.
His jaw tics. “It was almost empty.”
I clench my fists and bite back another irrational accusation. I hate that we can’t stop being assholes to each other, that I crave a glimpse of the other version of Tristan. I wonder what it would be like if we didn’t fight all the time.
He takes a small step backward. But he doesn’t shut the door in my face or raise his voice. Instead, he lowers it to a near whisper. He appears calm, but there’s a barely there tremor in his hand. “You’re being unreasonable about ice cream, Beat. Just buy more.”
