Dear Roomie

by Kate Meader

The pup was smaller than he looked from the shore. He was also a mess. A gash across his head, an eye completely shut. Worse, no eye at all. Anger and sympathy dueled in Reid’s chest.

  “It’s okay, fella. I’ve got you.” He placed his arm behind the animal’s front legs, cradling his body. A bag of bones, like coat hangers poking through a sheet. He thrashed in fear, but Reid held on.

  Until the little shit bit his shoulder.

  It was just a nip, though a touch close to his face. More surprised than hurt, Reid loosened his grip and the pup flailed even more. Reid’s legs were getting numb, so he needed to make a decision. He attempted another arm curl around the sodden pup, got a slippery hold, then turned back to the shore.

  Only to find that someone else was in the water. Now wait a damn second, Reid only had so much strength. He had this dog to save, he really couldn’t be worrying about someone else. Who the hell thought splashing about in the lake in November was a good idea?

  This person was swimming toward him. What the fuck?

  Distracted by the new arrival—who was actually a strong swimmer and Reid was beginning to realize, a woman—the dog squirmed and started paddling away.

  Stupid dog! I’m trying to save you!

  The interloper closed the gap. She looked oddly familiar, and even with wet hair he could tell it was streaked with pink.

  Coffee Shop Girl.

  “Are you okay?” she gasped.

  “Am I—what are you doing?”

  “Saving you!” She grabbed the dog and of course, the little fucker didn’t put up a fuss. Just went quietly like he’d been waiting for her to come to the dramatic rescue.

  “Do you have enough energy to swim back?” She held the dog to her shoulder, skillfully keeping his head above water.

  Did he have … “I’m fine! Hey—does he belong to you?”

  She blinked at him as if he was not all there. “He’s not with you?”

  “No!” They both looked at the dog who Reid swore appeared to be enjoying the attention. “You—you shouldn’t be in here,” Reid bit out, his legs wavering, his teeth starting to chatter. “I have it under control.”

  “Sure you do, Hot Jerk.” And then she kicked out her feet and headed back to shore, swimming on her back with the puppy held under one arm, his head above water. Like she rescued animals from freezing lakes every day.

  What in all that was fucking fucked was fucking happening here?

  Robbed of his chance to be a hero, he followed alongside, keeping an eye out for trouble (and maybe another chance to be a hero). She was a strong swimmer and it seemed best to leave her holding the dog who obviously preferred her rescuing arms to Reid’s. Once at the rocks, she held on to a boulder with one hand while treading water.

  “I’ll get out first,” he said, already pulling himself up over the first rock and looking for a foothold that wouldn’t have him slipping and hitting his head on the sharp stones.

  “Are you okay?” someone called out. The man in the couple he had overtaken earlier—or at least he thought it was him, except now he had a pack of dogs with him on leashes. “Should we call 911?”

  “We’re okay,” he called back. He leaned over and held out his hands for the dog. Coffee Shop Girl looked up, her hair dripping into her silver-disc eyes, like the swim in the lake had invigorated her. “I can take him.”

  She held the pup a few inches out of the water and he used every ounce of his training to keep his balance.

  “Got him?” Gripping the rock, she held tight while the lake rocked her. But she didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. He was glad he didn’t have to choose between her and the dog.

  Society would have expected him to go the way of the human.

  “I do. Back in a sec.”

  Quickly and carefully, he stepped over the rocks until he reached the grass. He placed the shivering puppy down and got a better look at him. Indeterminate breed, a brown and white streaked mess, plentiful scars, and a history of pain.

  He peered up at the couple. The woman had her phone out, but not to call for assistance. She was taking a picture. “Can you watch him for a minute?” Reid growled, annoyed that she was taking this opportunity to snap a stupid picture instead of helping.

  The man nodded. Reid turned, ready to yank Coffee Shop Girl out of the water only to run right into her. She had pulled herself out in no time at all, a testament to significant upper body strength.

  “Are you okay?” He grasped her shoulders and instinctively rubbed them trying to get warmth into her ice-cold skin, or maybe into his hands.

  She nodded, pushing wet strands out of her eyes, and he didn’t imagine that slight angle of her body toward his. “F-fine. How’s our guy?”

  Our guy.

  Not waiting for a response, she hunkered to a crouch and ran assured hands over the dog’s body. “There, there, buddy, we’ve got you now. No one’s going to hurt you again.” She peered up at Reid through spiky, wet lashes. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “No, I just saw him struggling in the water.”

  She held his gaze, bit her lip, and something sparked between them: a recognition of what had occurred and a simpatico that now connected them. Some fucker had thrown the dog into the water, discarded him like trash. No way did the pup make that decision. If he was with someone, where was his owner?

  She reached over a few feet and picked up a piece of clothing. As she rolled it out, he realized what she was doing: giving the dog her coat. Reid should have thought of that. He hunkered down and together they moved the dog onto the coat’s fleece lining. She wrapped it around him and started rubbing the dog’s body, gently but vigorously.

  “You can quit filming now,” she said without taking her eyes off the dog.

  “I’m—I’m not.” The woman lowered the phone, caught Reid’s flinty stare, and reddened. Yeah, you were, lady.

  Reid picked up his phone from where he’d dropped it with his running jacket. “We should take him to a vet.”

  “Maybe.” Coffee Shop Girl rubbed the dog’s head. “It’s hard to find one open on Sundays, but there’s one just off the main street in Riverbrook that has emergency hours. He’s actually not doing too bad. Might just need to warm up.”

  She was right. The dog was definitely perking up, his one eye bright with life and adrenaline.

  Reid would probably feel the same if a woman as attractive as this was giving him a rub-down.

  “You seem to know a lot about it.”

  “I work with dogs all the time. Got him?” Pulling herself to a stand, she smiled at the man of the couple and reached for the dog leashes in his hand. “Thanks for holding them.”

  “Sure, Miss. You were pretty amazing out there.” He shot a quick glance at Reid. “You, too,” he added.

  Yes, let’s not forget who jumped in the water first.

  Now that the adrenaline of the adventure was starting to wear off, Reid was feeling the chill. Coffee Shop Girl must be freezing as well now that she’d handed her coat off to the dog.

  He picked up his hoodie and placed it over her shoulders. “Here, you need this.”

  “Oh.” She flushed an uncommonly attractive hue. “Thanks.”

  Reid picked up the dog, still wrapped in Coffee Shop Girl’s coat. “I’m parked near the beach entrance,” he said to her.

  “Me, too.” She looked at him expectantly.

  “We should get him somewhere warm.”

  “Agreed.” She pulled at the leashes. “Come on, guys, let’s go.”

  5

  The first minute walking back to the cars was spent in silence except for the intermittent yapping of one of the dogs in Coffee Shop Girl’s care. The bundle in his arms didn’t squirm or struggle, apparently accepting of Reid’s firm hold. But Reid watched him closely anyway, looking for changes in his demeanor. He seemed content to snuggle in Reid’s arms.

  No weight had ever felt better.

  “You shouldn’t have jumped in,” Reid said
after a moment. “I had it under control.”

  “Did you? Because from where I was standing it looked like you were having a hard time wrangling this little guy.”

  “He was scared, that was all. You didn’t need to get wet.” Or save Reid, which is what she had claimed she was doing. How ridiculous.

  “Admit it, you were starting to panic.”

  “I was not.” He stared at her, and she laughed. Ah, she had been teasing him. “I was not,” he repeated in a lower voice, so they were clear, teasing or not.

  “I’m a good swimmer. I don’t know how strong you are but I know how strong I am. It was a no-brainer.”

  So foolish. No decision like that should ever be a no-brainer.

  “I’m Kennedy, since you haven’t asked.”

  “Reid.”

  “Yeah, I know. Reid D.”

  So she recognized him—he hadn’t been sure before. But now he recalled something else. Something from their time in the lake.

  She had called him Hot Jerk.

  Maybe he was mistaken. He couldn’t exactly ask if that was her nickname for him. Neither was he sure he wanted to know.

  He took a furtive look at her. The clothes she wore clung to her body—a long-sleeved T-shirt over amazing breasts and leggings hugging nicely-shaped thighs. She was short, maybe five feet two inches, but she didn’t seem fragile. She seemed strong.

  What an incredibly brave woman. A hot, tempting, incredibly brave woman.

  “What you did back there—jumping in like that—it was courageous. Foolish, but courageous.”

  Two spots of color appeared high on her cheekbones. “Anyone would have done it.”

  “Not anyone. You did it. And this little guy is here because of it.”

  “You would have been fine.”

  “A minute ago you said I was starting to panic.”

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” One of the dogs strained at the leash, trying to get ahead of the others. She reined him in gently.

  “Who are your friends?”

  “My friends?” She looked down at the dogs. “Oh, these beauties! Meet Tiger, Dylan, and Smoky.”

  “Hallo, boys.” He nodded at the dogs who paid him no heed.

  “Dylan’s a lady.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Kennedy smiled, and it was only the most gorgeous smile he had ever seen. How had he not noticed it before?

  Oh yeah. Because she never smiled at you in the coffee shop.

  They reached the parking lot and Reid switched the dog to one arm while he fished his keys out.

  “I have a blanket in my car,” Kennedy said. Adroitly while still holding the dogs, she opened the door of a battered-looking, older model Ford Focus and funneled the dogs into the back seat. Then she popped the trunk and took out a plaid blanket. As she closed the trunk, he could have sworn he saw a suitcase.

  With great efficiency, she placed the blanket in the back seat of Reid’s car and stood back while he transferred the puppy to the new blanket and wrapped him up. The dog nuzzled his nose against Reid’s hand, a gesture that pleased him to no end. He was an affectionate little thing.

  Reid shook out Kennedy’s coat, letting the sand fall to the icy ground, and draped it over the passenger seat.

  “Your car is warm. Even the back seats.” She pressed her palm to the leather.

  “I did it remotely when we started walking back. Get in.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He opened the car door. “Just for a second to warm up.”

  With a quick glance toward her car, she shivered, and that seemed to decide it. She climbed in, he shut the door, then skirted the car to the driver’s side. The combination of wet dog, soaked humans, and frigid temperatures quickly turned the SUV’s interior into a steamy cave.

  “This is pretty nice,” she murmured, her hand smoothing over the hand-stitched leather arm rest.

  “Feeling a little better?”

  “Could be worse. I could still be in that lake.” She chuckled, and the tone of it—sort of naughty—mixed with the sauna-like cocoon put his body on lust-alert. Of all the times …

  “So tell me the truth,” he said.

  “About?” Mon Dieu, there was something about those silver eyes that sent a pulse of desire through him. When he really should be feeling nothing of the sort after that unplanned dip.

  “Should I take our friend to the vet?”

  She twisted to take another look at the dog. “I think he just needs to get warm and fed. When you drop him off at the shelter, they’ll figure out what kind of care he needs.”

  “The shelter?”

  “You said you travel too much to care for a dog.”

  He had said that. It seemed like a long time ago, but that was only … a couple of days?

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Suddenly her hand was on his jaw. “You’re injured! Did you hit a rock out there?”

  He placed his hand over hers, only now remembering his ice-dance with Foreman. “No, this was something else. I got into a fight with someone.”

  “I see.” She hesitated, then asked, “Did you deserve to get hit?”

  There was that feeling he’d had back at the coffee shop, the sense that she knew something about him. But it wasn’t because she had witnessed his abruptness in pressers or heard some coach bawl him out. This was something more innate.

  “Definitely.”

  She grinned, and it made him want to smile back. He fought that impulse, but not the one to keep his hand covering hers. Sentimental, perhaps, but it was nice to have this connection. He usually forewent most human contact during the season.

  Not just the season.

  “Why do you think you deserved it?”

  “I have a habit of provoking people.” They remained still, staring at each other, provoking, if you will. That chill he felt vanished in the heat of her touch.

  “Now why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  The grin he had fought finally found residence on his face, his muscles straining slightly at the unusual call to action. Good aim, this girl, calling him out on his emo posturing. Removing her hand from his jaw, he wrapped it in his to keep it warm.

  “Are you busy right now?”

  “Busy?” Her gaze dropped to his lips.

  “I could do with some help.” He squeezed her hand, and instantly regretted it because until then she seemed to have forgotten he was holding it. She looked down at their joined hands, almost confused that they’d come so far, then back at his face.

  “I have to take care of my charges. Get them back to their humans.”

  Their humans. He liked that phrasing. The idea of the animal owning them instead of the other way around. There was something liberating in that unconditional love.

  But love had no use for practicalities. He needed help, and while it went against every cell in his being to ask, he recognized it was necessary.

  “I don’t want to take him to a shelter. He needs someone to care for him. Perhaps you’d want to …”

  “No, I can’t. I walk them but then I give them back. My living situation is—it’s not suitable for a dog. I don’t even have a—” She broke off, her speech and the connection of their hands. Her eyes burned bright with something closer to annoyance.

  Just as he was thinking he would hate to be on the end of that, he realized that perhaps he already was. His head was heating up under the force of that death ray glare.

  “I need to go.”

  “Okay. Send me the bill for your dry cleaning.”

  Her lip curled in disgust. “I knew what I was doing. I’ll be fine.” She turned around and rubbed a hand along the puppy’s body. He lifted his head to acknowledge the affection and made a light mewling sound. “Take care, little guy. I hope you find a forever home.”

  She opened the door and clambered out.

  He followed, wondering what he had done wrong. “Kennedy, your coat.”

  She stopped half-way to her car and turned.


  “I know you’re wet, but you’d probably be better off putting this back on.”

  Silently but still fuming, she walked the few steps toward him and slipped off his hoodie. He held the coat open for her and she pivoted, inserting her arms. With her back to his front, the proximity to her stirred something in his gut. She should have smelled of stinky lake water, but instead her scent was weirdly intoxicating.

  Losing it, Durand.

  He would have given anything to wrap his body around hers from behind, to do the job of that blanket around the half-drowned dog. Transfer his body heat, or what little of it remained, to her. Instead he held the collar of her coat. It was frayed, the threads unraveling at the edges, a situation he understood.

  “Take care of him,” she bit out, almost accusing.

  “I will. See you at the coffee shop.”

  One more glare, then without a word she got in her car and drove away.

  6

  Reid made it all the way home before he realized he had no food fit for dogs.

  Google could probably tell him what human food dogs could eat. Ideally he would have liked to ask Coffee Shop Girl—Kennedy—to come home with him to guide him through the next steps. But she obviously had her own life to run and dogs to walk. She’d also hightailed it out of there whip quick. He’d said something to offend her, so no surprise there.

  He pulled up to the resident parking and lo and behold, a recognizable form stood leaning against a car in the space next to Reid’s usual spot.

  Right-wing Masshole, Cal Foreman.

  Please, not another apology. Reid couldn’t stand the idea of any man feeling he needed to apologize for something as ludicrous as a couple of punches, especially when he was blameless. Reid had provoked him and deserved to be struck.

  He stepped out of the car, wincing at the loud squelching noise as his running shoes hit the tarmac. Foreman stepped forward, looked him over, and asked, “Been swimming?”

  “Something like that.” He opened the back door and carefully removed his precious cargo. The dog had been mostly quiet all the way home and Reid prayed he wasn’t in some sort of shock. Perhaps he should have gone to the emergency vet after all.