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

in Texas, who had never shown any interest after her parents died. The fire had destroyed everything, burned Kennedy’s childhood and the future of her family to ash, and her only remaining blood relative wasn’t willing to step up.

Edie was. Edie treated Kennedy like a granddaughter.

That was how she introduced her to everyone. Have you met my granddaughter?

Pressing back the threat of tears—she was so emotional these days!—she refocused on Edie and her damn list.

“There’s nothing wrong with living life to the fullest. I just want to be sure you also have longevity in there. I’ll do some research on tattoo parlors and see what I can find.”

“You should do research on your own list,” Edie said. “Give you something to look forward to.”

Kennedy’s list would be comprised of one item: live another day.

“Bucket lists are for things you’ve left hanging.” Kennedy wasn’t even a fan of the fact that Edie had one. It had the stink of a death countdown about it.

“For people like you, they usually involve sex.”

Good thing Kennedy had finished her smoothie or she might have choked on it. “At my age?”

“You’re twenty-five, hardly on the shelf just yet, honey. I’m sure there are lots of positions you might want to try.”

“I’m going to very obviously change the subject here. Are you flying out to LA for Thanksgiving or is Louis coming here?”

Edie screwed up her lips in horror. “Whatsherface has already told him she wants to go to Mexico.” Whatsherface was Louis’s third wife of four years, and would you have guessed that Edie wasn’t a fan? Neither were she and her son all that close.

“I’ll be here, so I can stop by. A lot of the dog walking clients go out of town so I might have a couple of canine friends with me.”

“I worry about you. Not settled. All these different jobs.”

“I like my freedom. I don’t need a lot to get by.” For the last seven years she had stayed on the balls of her feet, ready to make a break when she got bored or reflective or close to anyone.

Though that last one rarely happened. As soon as she saw the telltale signs—a softness in a guy’s expression, a tight hand caging her body in that sleepy post-orgasmic state—she was out of there as quick as her wanderlusting feet could carry her. Constant movement was an art, and now she was saving up to ensure there was always a destination.

Edie leaned in. “I’d like to see you happy … before I go.”

Kennedy rolled her eyes at this obvious play on her emotions. “Where are you going? The spa?”

“I might be in excellent health now but when it’s your time, it’s your time. And I’m definitely closer to the end than the beginning.”

“Keep up the smoothie diet and yoga classes and you will live forever.”

“I’d mostly like to see you with a nice man. Or a woman. Whatever makes you happy.”

Edie added a maudlin smile, the one that said Kennedy’s act might have fooled the masses but Edie Dobson was not one of them. Buddha said that attachment was the root of all suffering, and Kennedy embodied that philosophy to its core.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t have a little fun. She was a hit it and quit it kind of girl, and used her rolling stone status to ensure no mossy entanglements. There was always some cute Australian backpacker or a nice British digital nomad type available to service her needs. These days in the Chicago burbs with that cold air whipping off the lake, pickings were slim, however, especially when you spent most of your time with the elderly, cute puppies, and entitled coffee shop customers.

A sudden image of cheekbones and a forbidding scowl flashed before her eyes: Mr. Extra Shot Americano, or Hot Jerk, as she had dubbed him. Six-two, midnight-dark hair, denim-blue eyes.

Kennedy wasn’t prone to hyperbole, but even she recognized the zing in the air when this guy was on the premises. “Reid D” was the name he gave, usually with a haughty arch of his eyebrow as if they should have memorized it by now. As if they didn’t see a thousand faces a day and his was the one that should rise above the ho-hum invisibility of the coffee-loving crowd.

So what if it is was a handsome face.

A gorgeous face.

For Kennedy, it was ruined by the scowl of the beast.

He rarely responded to anyone’s attempts at small talk. Half the time he looked at his phone