Dear Roomie (Rookie Rebels #5) - Kate Meader Page 0,47

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.

“Healthy, free, the world before you,” Kennedy finished, looking more than a little surprised. “That’s one of my favorite poems.”

Reid’s as well. Walt Whitman had always spoken to him, especially