by Kate Meader
“It’s a purely business arrangement. I look after the dog and go about my day. That’s it. If anything, I have more of a relationship with Bastian.”
Tara grasped her arm and dug her talons in deep. “His brother? How did you swing that?”
“He’s stopped by a couple of times and we’ve become friendly.”
Tara looked like she was about to pass out.
“Now you’ve done it,” Sadie said with a throaty laugh. Mia had introduced her as a fashion designer shacked up with Rebels player Gunnar Bond. The dress she wore, one of her own fabulous designs, certainly put Kennedy’s old-lady wardrobe to shame.
“I don’t get it,” Kennedy said. “Sure, they’re hot and fit and have great bodies—okay, I get it. But the personalities on some of them leave a lot of be desired. So moody. So grumpy.”
“That’s hot, too!” Tara wailed.
“Listen, I know most of these guys,” Mia said. “Hockey players, on the whole, are dicks. Sure, if you can find a good one, gold star.” Insert smug grin from the woman here. “But we’re talking about wading through deep oceans of dick to get there and not in a good way. Speaking of dick-wading, there’s Casey.” She waved at someone at the bar, who waved back and walked over.
The new arrival had long dark, curly hair, bright blue eyes, and an easy smile. Kennedy instantly took to her.
“If anyone has opinions on the players, it’s Casey Higgins,” Mia said with authority. “She sees them every day as they pass through the inner sanctum.”
“Uh-oh,” Casey said. “What have I walked in on?”
Mia turned to the table behind her and asked if she could borrow one of their chairs, then stood and placed it for Casey. “Sit and tell us all the Rebels gossip. I might have family and a boyfriend in the Rebels weeds but none of them will spill to me because of the vault. Casey, meet my pals Kennedy and Tara. And you know Sadie. Casey is Harper the boss lady’s assistant. She has all the dirt.”
My pals. That felt nicer than it should have.
Casey blinked. “Which I am sworn to keep close to my chest. I only popped in here for a bottle of wine because the liquor store on the corner is closed for inventory and Tina has the kind I like.” She held up a bottle of red with a picture of a fox on it.
“And now you’re going to sit with us and have a drink. Unless you have a hot man to go home to.”
Casey slumped in her seat. “No hot man, just this lovely bottle of wine, which is all I need. I’ll stay for one drink, but don’t make me say anything I shouldn’t.”
“Two drinks it is, then,” Mia said as she got the attention of the server.
By the time Kennedy was on her second glass of wine—Mia had ordered a bottle, the sly vixen—it was clear that Casey was not the problem. Kennedy had always been a lightweight. Now she was the embodiment of loose lips sink ships. As in relationships.
“But no sex? At all?” Mia gawped at Kennedy. “For a whole season?”
“That’s what he said. Something about focus. All part of his training regimen.”
“Cal tried that for a few weeks after …” She glanced Tara’s way. “I think he wanted to punish himself because he and Tara had that weird breakup.”
“You mean when he forced me to dump him at Levi Hunt’s wedding? The rascal.” Tara seemed very amused by this, which was good because otherwise, Awkwardsville. If Kennedy had the story right, after the Cal-Tara breakup, Mia had asked her brother’s best friend to train her for a shot at the Olympics—and a shot at another man. Sounded complicated, but probably no more so than Kennedy’s own living situation.
“Too right he should take a hit in the sex department,” Tara was saying. “Of course that didn’t last long as soon as you started wowing him with your moves on and off the ice. So how do we get Reid over his hang-ups and onto the Kennedy train?”
Kennedy held up a hand. “That’s not the goal here. Of course I’m attracted to him.” The memory of him emerging from that hot tub was burned into her retinas and playing on a loop. “But this isn’t just a case of hot, horny roomies with no choice but to consummate their lust. There are brains involved.”
“Hearts, too,” Casey said wisely.
“Yes—no! Not hearts. Not souls. Nothing in the chest area.” She waved at her breasts, then realized that this didn’t help the point she was trying to make given that her breasts, or more specifically, her nipples turned into bullets in Reid’s presence.
Nipples were always the first to know.
She came at it from another tack. “It’s not like whatever that dude said when asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest?” When all she received was a collection of unfocused stares—everyone was on their third glass by now—she said, “Because it’s there. That’s what the guy said.”
Mia squinted. “So you’re saying that proximity alone shouldn’t be enough to dictate how your genitals are used or not used in this situation.”
“Precisely! If you were to ask me ‘why do you want to ravish Reid Durand?’ the answer shouldn’t be ‘because he’s there!’ That’s ridiculous. It should be because there’s a connection, an attraction, a buzz whenever we’re in a room together.”
“And is there?” Casey eyed Kennedy over her glass. “A connection, an attraction, a buzz?” She emphasized buzz to the point Kennedy looked around for a nearby hive.
“Yes! But it’s probably only because he’s put it out there. Like a challenge. Behold, look at my muscles and hot scowl and cute dog. Do not touch!” Did she sound frustrated or was that the wine talking? “It’s just that I’ll be gone soon and this feels like a missed opportunity.”
“For boning,” Sadie said.
More than that. She felt a pull toward Reid unlike any guy she’d ever met. Maybe if they gave in to their attraction, she could treat him like any of her other on-the-road conquests. Place him firmly in her rear view instead of wondering what if.
“I can’t believe you’re only here for a few more weeks,” Mia said, her smile fond but sad. “A lot of clients and their humans are going to miss you.”
“And I’ll miss them. The dog-walking thing was only supposed to get me by for my few months here. I didn’t expect it to take off.” Or that she would enjoy it so much. She’d also started adding more personal errands for clients to her to-do list. “One of the players—Tate Kaminski—even asked me to help him with his grocery shopping. Apparently apps aren’t good enough. He needs someone he trusts to feel up the mangoes.”
“He’s recently divorced, right?” Tara asked as if she didn’t know the exact details of the settlement.
“Watch out,” Mia said. “Tara would love to give Tate a shot at feeling up her mangoes.”
“Mangoes? These babies are in the cantaloupe range!” Tara plumped her excellent rack, drawing appreciative cheers from the table. She pointed at Kennedy. “But seriously, that personal assistant lark can be good money. Ask Sadie.”
“You do that?”
“Used to for Allegra McKenzie of Punani Power fame,” Sadie said. “I do not miss that job but I did enjoy the free dildos. Before that I did concierge services for several clients. It was kind of fun, actually. Bigger in LA but definitely taking off here, especially if you have a needy and wealthy client base.”
“Hmm, like a team of multi-millionaire athletes,” Mia said with a wink at Kennedy.
Concierge services? That was a real thing? She had tried a number of jobs, and as much as she enjoyed yoga and teaching, there was something about her current gig that spoke to her. She liked the busyness of it and the notion she was truly getting shit done, even if it was other people’s shit. It didn’t hurt that she felt so comfortable under Reid’s roof.
In his arms, the lure of the open road faded.
“She’s already got one player on the hook,” Tara said. “Now she could have her pick of them.”
“Well, I’m living with one of them and he’s not interested in what I have to offer.”
Tara leaned in. �
��You two are so going to do it.”
“Tara! That is not the moral of the story. He’s hot. I’m hot. But these are not good enough reasons to be getting down and dirty.”
“I understand what you’re saying,” Casey said. “Though I’m a little worried about whether all this self-denial is good for the team.”
“She’s right,” Mia said, waving her empty glass. “What about the children? And by children, I mean, the players. These guys have killer libidos and urges up the wazoo. They need an outlet and the ice, while an excellent mistress, can also be cruel. No Rebel should be relying on the game to get his jollies!”
“Jollies,” Kennedy said with a tipsy giggle. That was a fun word, especially because it so did not apply to Reid.
“Harper wouldn’t like it,” Casey said. “She’s very much in favor of the guys taking a healthy stance to sex.”
“Do not tell Harper what you have learned here!” Mia pointed at her. “You’re in the circle and you better not break the sacred trust we’ve placed in you while we discuss how Kennedy can get inside Reid’s hockey pants.”
“But, I don’t—”
“Reid’s hockey pants? What have we missed?”
They looked up to find Erik Jorgenson, the Rebels goalie with a big grin on his face. Beside him was Theo Kershaw, one of the defensemen. Insta-famous, Kennedy had heard, as well as hockey-famous.
Mia’s eyes gleamed with mischief. “Just joking about Reid’s roommate situation.”
Theo shook his head sadly. “You mean how he’s keeping little D under wraps?”
“Oh, you guys heard about that? Hold on—does Cal know?” She threw a semi-annoyed look around the group. “What did I tell you? The damn team vault!”
Erik laughed. “Durand let it slip the other night by accident, the weirdo. Not that he should be automatically jumping on you, Kennedy. We gave him some strategies on how to resist you.”
Reid had sought advice from his teammates on how to not give her the satisfaction she was starting to see as her God-given right? This man’s training regimen was going to be the death of her.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she murmured morosely, which drew a laugh from everyone but Casey who was too busy throwing eye-daggers at Erik.
Erik seemed oblivious to Casey’s stank-eyed stare. “Ladies, can we get you a drink?”
Tara opened her mouth to no doubt say yes, when Casey stood suddenly and grabbed her unopened bottle of wine.
“I have to go. Uh, thanks for—” She waved at the table and added, “I need to leave.”
Erik took a step back to give her room. “Something I said, Casey?”
Her eyes flashed with emotion then dimmed quickly, almost practiced in its control. “No, not at all. I—I need to get home, that’s all.” Before anyone could dig deeper, she was out the door leaving a gust of wind and wide-eyed confusion in her wake.
“Hell, with moves like that, we should have her on the team,” Theo said. “Fess up, Fish, what did you do to piss her off?”
Erik appeared as baffled as the rest of them. “I’ve no idea. Maybe she really just had to leave.”
Theo rubbed his hands together. “Well, that awkwardness aside, how about another round? And then we can gossip about the people we know and who they’re banging.” He pointed at Kennedy. “Or going to an awful lot of trouble not to bang.”
23
Reid’s phone rang with a call from Henri. Usually he would pick up, but tonight, Coach was planning to put him in at center. If he talked to his father now, he’d have to tell him about the position switch and suffer an earful.
Almost immediately after the voice mail notification, a call came in from Bastian.
“You okay?” his brother asked.
“Fine.”
It was BS, but then so much of his life these days was. No such thing as fine anymore. Kennedy was at the sink, rinsing something and moving fluidly in a way that was far too attractive for Reid’s kitchen or peace of mind or sanity of dick.
Everything turned him on. Kitchen counter stools. The toaster. That fork, just lying there.
A couple of nights ago he had just about lost his mind when she touched him, toweling him off after he’d given her a nice show of cute dog-bathing and wet muscles. Only moments earlier she had mentioned her visa problem and how it wouldn’t stop her from leaving.
You can stay as long as you like. This is your home.
He couldn’t believe he had said that, or maybe he couldn’t believe that she had dismissed the offer so readily. Not even a hint that she might regret leaving Reid and Bucky behind. Her heart was set on a place far away from here. From them.
This shouldn’t have surprised him. He wasn’t boyfriend material, hadn’t dated much, and had a hard time making connections. A woman like Kennedy with friends all over the world wasn’t going to change her plans for a man with ice in his veins.
“You’re trending on Twitter.”
He refocused on Bast who was yammering on about something. “What?”
“The no sex thing. Someone spilled.”
He hung up and started checking the bird app. Sure enough there was some tabloid rag discussing the inside track they had on Reid’s preparation for his game.
“No sex, said one of our insiders. Reid Durand is one of the most focused players in the NHL and he’s determined that not indulging his vices during the season is the best way for him to prepare. We haven’t seen it pay any dividends on the ice yet, but maybe Reid knows something we don’t. Will the Rebels reward that kind of dedication with a multi-year contract? Only time will tell.”
The rest was the usual commentary from fans, non-fans, and the perennial know-nothing know-it-alls. Maybe the source was Foreman, trying to throw him off his game.
On cue, a text came in from the man himself. That wasn’t me.
“What’s wrong?” Kennedy was leaning on the counter. “You look like you’re—oh no, are you getting another headache?” She reached out to his jaw and cupped it, as if that had ever helped anyone with a headache. It helped with something, though.
He shifted on the stool, glad he was behind the counter.
“Someone told the press about my no sex rule.”
She dropped her hand. “It wasn’t me!”
“I never thought it was.”
“Oh, okay, then.” She looked stricken. “I thought you were accusing me.”
“I’m pretty sure it was some big mouth on the team. Though Foreman has already reached out to deny.”
“What are they saying?”
He passed his phone with the news article to her and watched as she scrolled.
“You’ve made a list of the greatest sportsmen to keep it in their pants during the season, though I find it hard to believe Tom Brady is on here. I’d be all over Giselle if I lived with her.”
He snorted. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He would just have to “no comment” any questions at the next press bloodbath.
“My father won’t like it.”
“Sounds like your father doesn’t like anything. Oh, wait a second.” She scrolled some more. “Listen to this: Reid Durand has a female roommate, a situation, which while challenging, he uses to prove his mettle.”
“That’s not on there.”
“There’s more: Durand now spends so much time with his right hand that the circumference of his right bicep is three millimeters thicker than his left. Fascinating. And in metric measurements, too. Must be a Canadian source.”
“It does not say that.” He went to retrieve the phone but she deftly dipped away from him, so he rounded the counter and bore down on her. She held the phone behind her back which forced him to cage her in, his forearms on either side of her curvy, fuckable body.
“Maybe I’ll sell my story to the tabloids. Flexible dog-nanny slash roommate tells all! Reid Durand and his never-cold-enough showers!”
Okay, that was funny. “Give it back.”
“Or what?” She set her chin, her ruby-
pink lips in a tempting pout. In outright challenge. The air churned thick with sudden—or not so sudden—sexual tension.
“You want to push a man this close to the brink?”
“Maybe.” She splayed the hand not holding his phone on his chest, right over his thumping heart. Her heat, her nearness, her scent … he was about to lose all semblance of control. Just step away.
Or move closer.
He could resist her. He’d already held her in his bed, hugged her when she cried, kissed her until he almost exploded. This should be child’s play, yet his hips had their own momentum. His cock was a heat-seeking missile, and there was no missing its intent.
Destination Kennedy.
She wasn’t sure how they got here.
You little liar. You know exactly the route you took.
One minute she was joking around with fake news, the next she had two hundred pounds of magnificent male all up in her space. The heartbeat of incitement in between had been all her doing.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, roomie,” he muttered. More like a growl, and she felt it deep in her core. Her mouth dried to dust, about the only part of her that could claim to be parched.
“Am I?”
The constant charge in the air for the last week since the make-out session was a powder keg ready to blow. This moment felt different, though. Like the burning fuse had almost reached its end, explosion was imminent, and not even MacGyver could save them. His breathing had picked up, evident in the lift of that magnificent chest, unfairly covered by a plain gray tee. His pupils were wider, flared with dangerous intent.
Whip fast, he grasped one wrist firmly. It didn’t hurt. Reid didn’t have it in him to hurt anyone but himself. Surprised, she dropped his phone on the counter, and now got the full effect. Reid Durand, a tower of energy ready to uncoil. Muscled back to the counter, she relished the edge as an anchor.
She had nothing else to keep her moored.
