Dear Roomie (Rookie Rebels #5) - Kate Meader Page 0,63

use. She wanted more of those muscles, that heat, this man. Touching him properly—towel-free—would only happen at his invitation. She’d be RSVP’ing the hell out of that if she got it.

A dip of her gaze to the space between them told her all she needed to know. That erection was … wow.

“Might be best if I handle that myself.” He took the towel from her, as if this was a normal interaction. None of this was normal! “I’m going to take a shower.”

Kennedy dismissed.

Backing up, she kept her eyes on his face because to look anywhere else would turn her into a crazy, sex-starved nympho. Only his eyes were burning suns of Reid-level intensity that told her exactly what would be happening as soon as the shower spray hit those pectorals.

She didn’t even bother with headphones back in her room. When Reid Durand came, he probably made a sound no louder than a church mouse.

22

Downtown Riverbrook was dressed and ready for the holidays now that Thanksgiving was a memory and Christmas was just three weeks away. This had always been her mom’s favorite time of year, and Kennedy couldn’t help but remember Libby Clark’s infectious joy as she trimmed, cooked, and yuletided her way through the season. Without her—without them both—it was hard to imagine ever enjoying the holidays again. There was a reason she avoided visits to the US.

Tonight, though, Kennedy would give it a shot and try to enjoy it at a surface level. This bar was certainly festive with garlands draped over the mirrors, the staff crowned with Santa hats, and “Fairytale of New York” blasting from the speakers. Kennedy might have to buy some of those hats for her doggie clients. Bucky would look adorable in one!

Apparently the Empty Net was the regular hangout of Rebels and their fans. Why would a famous person go to a place with the expectation of being left alone by fans, unless you didn’t want that at all? Unless you wanted to be seen and fawned over.

Sports ball people, the strangest people of all.

Tonight was Rebels-free as far as Kennedy could tell, but some of those present were Rebels-adjacent. Mia and Sadie were dating a couple of them, Kennedy was rooming with one of them, and Tara was—Kennedy wasn’t sure what Tara’s deal was but she definitely harbored ambitions in the Rebels’ direction.

First, the woman was shocked to her “strong-as-shit core” that Kennedy had somehow managed to sneak her feet “under the Reid Durand king-sized bed.”

“But she had to jump into a freezing lake and save a dog to do it,” Mia pointed out, not unreasonably.

“She saw an opportunity and went for it.” On the back of a hilarious, faux-weepy “Way to go, Paula” rendition from An Officer and a Gentleman, Tara clinked her wine glass against Kennedy’s, still sitting on the table because she wasn’t officially acknowledging that as a valid toast. Also, twelve bucks for a glass of Pinot Grigio? She would be sticking to the one and nursing it to the bitter end.

“Believe me, I’m not looking for a shot at Reid. He’s wide open, so have at it.”

“But you’re living with him!”

“As roommates. Not even friends.” Though that felt like a lie given that he’d gone out of his way to get her car fixed and had held her when she needed it. And then there was the Great Hot Tub Incident. On that last one, she suspected Reid was getting revenge for spotting her baking in her underwear. Well, joke was on him!

“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,