Dear Roomie (Rookie Rebels #5) - Kate Meader Page 0,74
in January. Just waiting for my visa to come through. This is the longest I’ve stayed in the US for years.”
Reid’s heart started an unsteady thump. Kennedy had made no secret of her plans, but talking about it pissed him off. Foreman had clearly deduced this.
“Just as your dog-walking business was taking off,” Foreman continued with a flicked glance at Reid. “Seems a shame.”
“Calling it a business is a stretch.” Kennedy picked up a torn Splenda packet and turned down the corners. “But it’s definitely helped to pad the travel funds.”
“Well, Gordie Howe is going to miss you. Bucky, too.” Mia sent a look of abject pity at Reid. Just great. Then to Kennedy, “You should come to a game. Be Reid’s good luck charm!”
“Watch him at work?” She turned to him. “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?”
Nope. “Might not be so terrible.”
She didn’t say anything, just held his gaze. So it was a terrible idea …
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I’d love to! I might not know much about hockey but I bet it’s even better in the stadium.”
Foreman opened his mouth to correct her, and Reid kicked him under the table. He wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more: Foreman’s yelp of pain or Kennedy’s enthusiasm about seeing him play at the “stadium.” Call it even.
“I get four tickets per game and I don’t usually give them out.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” More wisdom from the lips of the Masshole.
“Ooh, if that’s the case, could I bring Edie and her gentleman friend? I think she’d love it.”
“Of course. Only …”
She was on it in a flash. “I know you don’t want to leave Bucky alone but we could ask Sandy to watch him for the evening.” At his questioning look, she added, “Your neighbor in 3B? She has this gorgeous Mastiff, a gentle giant. She’d be happy to help out.”
A stranger? A neighbor-stranger, though he couldn’t place her. Probably because he hadn’t made any effort with his neighbors. Of course Kennedy would know her.
She gripped his hand under the table and squeezed. “Listen, just think about it. I’d love it if you can get tickets for Edie even if I can’t go. She’d go nuts for that.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
With Kennedy, it seemed he was saying that more and more these days, in complete opposition to his usual inflexibility. She smiled at him, and yep, he was lost in that sun. For someone who didn’t enjoy the light, he sure as hell was drinking in all the Vitamin D he could these days.
Don’t get used to it. After all, she had a one-way ticket out of here in a few weeks, as Foreman had been so quick to remind him.
Foreman sniffed. “Look at you two, problem-solving like good little roommates.”
Annoyed, Reid broke his gaze with Kennedy and redirected it at someone far less deserving. The Masshole smirk was in full flight.
The bread pudding arrived, which was about the only reason Reid didn’t kick Foreman again.
“Ask questions if you have them.”
She grinned. “You’re going to regret that offer.”
They had just returned from a walk around the park with Bucky. Reid had given her a scarf and too-big beanie because he was worried she’d catch a cold and pass it onto him, which would interfere with his play—at least that was his story. His spare pair of gloves were too big so he insisted on keeping her hand in a warm cocoon in his pocket.
Brunch with Mia and Cal had been good for Reid. He wasn’t a natural mixer, so Kennedy was all in favor of pushing him into “playdates” and modeling healthy relationships. Post-brunch they had spent the afternoon modeling a few new sex positions, and now she was cuddled up with him on the sofa, about to watch a game she knew nothing about. The Hawks, the other Chicago-based team, were playing the Boston Cougars in Beantown.
The TV was on mute during the pre-game because Reid said the commentators were “know-nothing idiots.” A grid of headshots appeared on the screen.
“Hey, it’s Bastian! I thought he was injured.”
“Hard to keep him down.”
Something occurred to her. “So how come your father didn’t come down to see you play, even if Bast couldn’t?”
“My father’s fine with watching me on TV. He’s a purist. Bast is so talented that watching him live is a thing of beauty.”
“And you’re not talented?”
“I’m a grinder. Effort’s not as pleasurable to watch.”
He really believed that, or someone had convinced him. Kennedy was not a fan