Dear Roomie

by Kate Meader

  The little spoon turned her mouth to the pillow to muffle a moan of lust.

  He was asleep, his body settled against hers, his breath soughing in and out against her neck. She turned over, gently, so as not to disturb him, only realizing now that at some point she had crawled under the covers.

  She met a pair of sleepy, come-to-Mama blue eyes. Her roomie was awake.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hi yourself. How do you feel?”

  “A little groggy, like I’m hungover though I haven’t touched a drop. Definitely better than before.” His hand had remained in position, though now it was flat against her back, like it never wanted to leave. “You stayed with me.”

  “I had to make sure you were okay. Sorry if I came off as intrusive.”

  “You didn’t. You have a soothing touch. I think you’ve missed your calling.” He moved his hand from her back—and she almost moved it back, it was that comfortable—and pushed her hair from her eyes. “Sorry about before, touching you. It’s been a while since I’ve been this close to anyone. My body can’t help it.” He withdrew his touch, appearing to second-guess any discussion of his seeking hand or errant erection. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  “Not at all. If it helps you sleep better.”

  His brow furrowed. “You mean you’d cuddle up with me for sleep quality reasons?”

  “I—I liked it. I guess I miss that affection. It’s been a while.” So much for Ms. Independence.

  His hand curled around her neck and she bit back another moan.“Why has it been a while?”

  “It’s hard to separate it from sex. Sometimes you want sex, but other times, you just want to be touched.”

  “And what do you want right now, Kennedy?”

  So many things. But to ask was to place him in danger of crossing the lines he needed to remain for his season goals.

  “It’s okay. I can’t expect you to—”

  “Just tell me.” He moved closer, his mouth mere inches away, his breath fanning her lips. “You helped soothe my head. Maybe I can return the favor.”

  That favor would make her body combust.

  Her lips parted, her tongue darted out. It might have looked manipulative or teasing, which was not her intention. She just wanted to make out with the guy.

  Instead she said something far more shocking. “To be held.”

  “I can do that. Come closer.” No hesitation, not even enough to create an awkward pause.

  Deciding for once not to second guess her instincts around Reid, she moved into the soft cage of his embrace, her head in the crook of his neck. His lips brushed her temple and her entire body trembled with pleasure.

  “You okay?’ His breath was a hot puff of sensation against her hair.

  She moved her head slightly, angling back up to look at him. “Not sure.”

  “Not comfortable?”

  She wouldn’t say that, only she was caught between tenderness and lust, the worst place on Planet Kennedy. What had she been thinking? Maybe that holding her would be less awkward for him and his celibate self rather than how this would truly work in practice. Now she was realizing that she didn’t need—or want—tenderness.

  She wanted those perfect, firm, forbidding lips.

  She wanted his hands on her body, his chest smashing her breasts, his cock driving inside her. But she would bargain with what was possible. Baby steps.

  Tentatively, she stroked his bottom lip with her thumb. He gripped her wrist and pulled it away.

  She had gone too far.

  In the velvet shadows, she saw his blue eyes dim, darken, smolder. He raised her wrist to his lips and dropped a gentle kiss there.

  It was the most erotic thing to ever happen to her.

  He continued in this vein, his eyes never leaving hers, his lips exploring the soft skin at her wrist, exciting the pulse point and setting every other part of her on fire. Sensuality and tenderness in one devastating package.

  “Reid.” His name sounded savage on her lips, a desperate plea for him to stop or escalate. One of those two things had to happen, anything to counteract the maddening sensation of … not enough.

  Something between a groan and a growl emerged from his throat before his mouth met hers. After their conversation—so gentle, so quiet, so reasonable—she would have expected more of a tease. But not Reid. He was all in. He held her jaw and moved his lips expertly over hers.

  The kiss blew up.

  A complete and utter exploration, his tongue twining, seeking, undoing. It was the kind of kiss she would dream about if she dreamed of such things. She’d given up on romantic fantasies long ago. Instead, she usually took what she wanted when it came to men, skipping the build-up because she needed immediate gratification.

  Attachment is the root of all suffering, so said the Buddha. Letting herself stay still, put down roots, try to mimic even for a moment what she once had with her long-gone family, was impossible. Because that’s what she would be doing: faking it. Trying to reclaim a sliver of joy from the past, then worrying every moment if it could last.

  Instead, she lived in the now. Took what she needed and moved on.

  This kiss was more than the lead-up to something. This was the main event. They could go no further, and even if she wanted to, she wouldn’t do that to him. He had his reasons and she would respect them.

  Probably shouldn’t have started this, a voice said inside her head, or she insisted that was the voice’s location.

  She pulled back, her eyes steeling open to meet his. “That was nice,” she murmured.

  “Nice?” He smirked because she’d just made the understatement of the millennium.

  “You’re a good kisser. What do you want, a medal?”

  “A medal wouldn’t cut it. I want …” He leaned in. “More.”

  Her entire body shuddered with bone-deep sensation. That was exactly how she felt. How she needed. It was so good to meet someone who felt the same way, even if it was a small moment of connection.

  He gave it to her good, and this time, she responded with more hunger. His hand moved to her back and pulled her close, coasting down to her ass and squeezing.

  Music: Making our Dreams Come True, Laverne & Shirley (in her head)

  Mood: Horny

  Mantra: I am here for you

  This was a kiss that lingered, that teased, the ultimate foreplay. She moved in, angling for the weight of him but he maintained a rigid control. As if he had decided this would stay inside the lines.

  Well, screw that.

  She dipped a hand to his shoulder, needing to feel the heat of him through the fabric of his tee. Fluttering her fingertips over his collar bone, she placed the heel of her hand to his pec. Further down, a brush over a cotton-covered nipple.

  Still the kiss went on, changing direction, his lips slanting and seeking more avenues to pleasure.

  She rubbed against his nipple. He moaned into her mouth, and she cheered at finding a weak spot in a man so strong.

  “Don’t you dare, roomie,” he murmured, moving his lips to her jaw.

  “Dare what?”

  “This goes no further.” He drew back, taking her wicked hand and placing it above the comforter.

  “That’s enough for you?”

  “It has to be.”

  She touched his cheek, tracing a thumb over his cheekbone. “Such a tease.”

  “We’ll agree to differ on how true that is. No more kissing, Kennedy. But if you need to be held, I’m available for that.”

  Oh. He had her number. That moment of weakness in him had revealed a bigger weakness in her. She would need to be careful about that.

  “I should go check on Bucky,” she said.

  He didn’t respond, just watched her as she stole out of his room like a thief in the night.

  17

  Reid opened the front door and sent Bucky in ahead of him. It wasn’t as if he was lingering outside but Reid liked to be sure he was safe and warm. He hoped Kennedy
was being careful, too. He would add it to the ever-growing list of things he needed to tell her.

  Don’t leave your shampoo in my shower. It smells of you.

  Don’t smile at me when I come home from practice. It makes me feel … weird.

  Don’t give me that look—you know the one I mean—that tells me you’re still thinking about that kiss. We both know it was a mistake.

  So it was the best kind of mistake, the kind that gave you immense pleasure in the moment even if you were filled with regret later. Like pounding an opposing player you hate—enjoyable at the time though you have to sit your ass in the sin bin after.

  Now all he could think of was the pillowy softness of her body. How supple her lips had felt moving against his. How she gave it her all while he was trying desperately to rein it in. How sweet she tasted, unlike anyone or anything he could recall.

  Consider his diet, all the fucking diets, blown.

  Offering to hold her when she needed it was absolute shit-levels of stupidity. As if he could separate that from her taste and touch and scent. But in that moment he’d seen Kennedy’s need, the emotion she tried to cover with her independent streak.

  Her most precious possession, indeed.

  This morning he’d gone for a run, taking Bucky with him, and now he would share breakfast with Kennedy and they would discuss what had happened and how to ensure it didn’t happen again.

  The first thing he heard was Kennedy’s laugh. She rarely used it around him but she did when she was on the phone, talking to her grandmother or one of her clients.

  Next came a deep rumble. Someone else was here.

  “No! I don’t believe you!” That was Kennedy, her tone animated. “Oh, Bucky’s home. Hey, boy. Did you enjoy your walk?”

  “Hey, fella.” Bastian. Of course.

  Bucky came rushing back and hid behind Reid’s legs, something Reid shouldn’t enjoy because he wanted Bucky to be at ease with new people. But he didn’t completely hate if his dog wasn’t immediately at ease with his brother.

  In the living room, Reid found his brother doing what his brother always did: ingratiating himself, just one of his many talents along with hogging the last pizza slice and whining to Mom when Reid was mean to him.

  “Reid!” Bastian beamed at him, as if genuinely glad to see him. He probably was. His brother didn’t have an inauthentic bone in his body.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought over groceries. On my fucking day off, too, asshole.”

  So maybe he had sounded ungrateful, but it was a surprise to see him here, so comfortable with Kennedy.

  Reid snuck a look at her. She was rubbing Bucky down, letting him know he was cared for. She had a tactile way about her, probably because she was in tune with her body. The yoga thing.

  Don’t spare a thought for her yoga-tuned body.

  “I didn’t expect you. Maybe text next time.”

  Bastian turned to Kennedy with a look of this guy. She smiled like they were in cahoots, Bastian’s new best friend.

  “I need to wash my hands.” Reid headed to the bathroom and shut the door, aiming for calm.

  He and his brother were so different, night and day. Anyone would think that Bastian, the biological son of Henri Durand, the ball-busting enforcer of the NHL would be the asshole, but not so. Bastian was sunshine, not like his father at all. Reid was more like Henri—uncompromising, gruff, rude. It was weird that he was so similar to the old man when they didn’t even share a strand of DNA.

  He had never thought so until his mother pointed it out. He might not have given you his genes but you are Henri Durand’s son to the marrow.

  Reid had hated hearing that. Hated knowing he had absorbed so much of Henri’s personality that now he was just as much a dick as him. The natural-born son had inherited their mother’s charm along with his father’s hockey talent. Reid was left with the rage and the will to prove himself.

  A tricky legacy.

  Reid hated himself for his jealousy of Bastian’s ease with people as well as his talent on the ice. It was absurd and unmanly.

  Henri had created the cauldron of tension but he didn’t mind pointing out that Reid was stupid to be envious. It was another way to maintain the competition between brothers. Reid knew exactly what his father was doing, yet even that self-awareness couldn’t veer him away from his tunnel vision.

  You just need to work harder, Reid. Put in the hours.

  Now Kennedy was laughing and giving his brother sly looks. He had left the apartment for thirty minutes and Bastian was already ahead. Again.

  “You’re better than this,” he said to his reflection, hating the taste of the lie on his tongue. Because he wasn’t better. He was petty and small-minded.

  He opened the bathroom door. Kennedy stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  He blinked. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Your brother came over to say hi, brought you groceries, and you’re all ‘doom and gloom, I need to wash my hands.’”

  He held his hands up. “I did need to wash them. It’s a cess pool out there!”

  She laughed and squeezed his forearm. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just thought you were mad at me.”

  “Why would—I’m not mad at you.”

  “Because of yesterday afternoon. You headed out to your game right after so we didn’t get a chance to discuss it.” She placed a hand on his chest, leaned in, and whispered, “That kiss.”

  He would do anything—fucking anything—to kiss her again. But he would only be doing it to one-up Bast. Probably.

  So he said the first, most stupid thing he could think of. “It was a mistake.”

  Her eyes remained bright and oddly amused. “Of course it was! But it was good, Reid. Really good. Just in case you were worried I didn’t enjoy it.”

  What the—? “I wasn’t worried at all. I could tell you did.”

  “As did you.” She grinned. So infuriating. It felt like he was falling into some sort of trap here. Falling into something.

  “We’ve established the kiss was enjoyed by both parties, but I’ve already said it can’t happen again.” He wouldn’t mention the offer to hold her—not unless she brought it up. And somehow he knew she wouldn’t. Kennedy had let down her walls in that second and now the bricks were being rebuilt before his eyes between her ready agreement with him that it was mistake and her blasé discussion as if it was all a grand joke.

  He should be happy she was being such a cool girl about it.

  “Right, you did say.” She tilted her head. “So you and your brother don’t get along?”

  “We get along fine. We were supposed to play each other this week but he’s injured.” Though not enough that he couldn’t just show up out of the blue. “Instead, he’s here to mess with me. Typical mind games.”

  “Ah, got it. Well, don’t worry, Bucky and I are on your side, roomie.”

  Roomie. Every time she said it, he felt warm. Unworthy.

  He followed her out, his eyes inevitably drawn to her perky ass covered in yoga pants. On days like this he wouldn’t mind if she wore some of her grandmother’s tat, anything that might cover up those sweet cheeks he wanted to grip and hold and …

  “There he is! Kennedy invited me for breakfast.” Bastian grinned.

  “So kind of Kennedy,” Reid said, and she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue.

  “I’d make pancakes but Reid won’t eat the carbs.”

  “Who cares about Reid? Bring ’em on!” Bast stood and stretched. “I can always do a little extra time on the treadmill later.”

  “Thought you were injured,” Reid said archly.

  Bast turned glum, and Reid regretted his poke. “Yeah, I am. Bad enough not to play but I can still get my exercise.” He winked at Kennedy, who giggled. Jesus.

  “Pancakes it is!” She moved toward the fridge. “Reid can eat the fruit you brought. Not even any
melon in that fruit salad—well done, Durand the younger! Sit at the kitchen counter and talk to me while I cook. I get lonely in the kitchen.”

  “Can I help?” Bastian offered.

  “No need. Make yourself a coffee in the Keurig and then prepare to be wowed by my chocolate chip beauties.”

  Reid pushed his brother toward one of the island stools. “I’ll make your coffee. There’s not enough room in the kitchen.”

  It was a lie but he didn’t want Bastian anywhere near Kennedy. While she started whipping up an eggy batter, he made the coffee. No need to ask his brother what he liked. He would get what was given to him.

  “So I want to hear all about growing up in the wilds of Quebec.” Kennedy smiled at Bastian. “Was it a farm?”

  “Why would you think it’s a farm? What has Reid been telling you?”

  “Not much. I’ve been trying to guess but he said you guys had a rink so I assumed it was a farm. Or some place with tons of space.”

  “Not a farm,” Bastian said. “But it was in a wooded area just outside of Grenville. Dad and a couple of his buddies chopped down trees and cleared a space to build a rink. It was so cool. I was three and Reid was five when we started.” Bast shook his head, a fond smile touching his lips. He always got this way when their childhood came up. Nostalgic. Forgetful. “He was better than me for a while. Then I caught up but he must have improved over the summer. Getting plenty of shift time these last couple of games, bro!”

  “You are?” Kennedy nudged him. “You never said that.”

  “Do you even know what that means?”

  She quirked those luscious lips he’d explored with abandon yesterday. “It sounds like somebody likes you enough to let you play this sport you love for the big bucks. Am I right?”

  “A-plus,” Bast said. “So, Kennedy, tell us all about you. You’re a world traveler, I hear.”

  “I’ve traveled. I will travel again.”

  “Favorite place?”

  She gave it a moment’s thought. “Halong Bay, Vietnam. Or Cinque Terre, Italy. Or maybe Santorini, Greece. Ask me again next week and I might change my mind.”

  “Afoot and lighthearted, take to the open road,” Reid murmured.