Dear Roomie (Rookie Rebels #5) - Kate Meader Page 0,8
Rebels family unit, Foreman would be the big brother everyone looked up to—or that’s what he aspired to.
Reid didn’t like Foreman much, though if pressed, he would have a hard time thinking of an exact reason. The Bostonian was beloved by the team, an all-around stand-up guy. No one had a bad word or was ever on the receiving end of his temper, which was so even Reid wondered how the man managed to score any goals. In his experience, anger fueled competitive play. It was the foundation for winning. Foreman and Reid had roomed together for away games this season, someone’s idea of a joke given that they were competing for a spot on the first line.
Foreman adjusted his shorts then took a seat on the bench to lace up his skates. “You come to any big conclusions out there, Durand? Sitting all alone, gazing at the ice.”
“Just that I’m going to get to every puck before you in the next hour.”
“Visualize it and it’ll happen, that kind of thing?” Foreman was smiling, but it wasn’t reaching his eyes.
“I don’t need to employ my imagination, Foreman. I say it, it happens.”
Foreman studied him, probably trying to puzzle him out. Reid knew that look. He’d been on the receiving end of it from pretty much every player, coach, and reporter for the last seven years. People were usually confused about why he didn’t try harder to make friends with his teammates. If he made more of an effort to get along with people, surely he’d integrate better, be more of a team player.
Maybe. Or maybe the next time he came across one of his former teammates on an opposing team, he’d let up and go easy on him, all because they were friendly. Not worth the risk.
The game is half won before the puck is dropped.
Words of wisdom from the Book of Henri. His stepfather instilled it in both Reid and his brother but only Reid took it to heart. Bastian didn’t need it, not with his abundant talent, but Reid had to rely on other stratagems. If he could earn a slight advantage by getting inside an opponent’s head, then he would.
Such as now. “How’s Mia?”
Those unsmiling eyes of the nicest guy in the NHL turned to dark slits. “Why do you want to know?”
“After your purchases yesterday, I assumed she was under the weather.”
Foreman was currently engaged in supposedly-secret affair with Mia Wallace, sister to the captain who was also Foreman’s best bud. Reid had run into Foreman yesterday at the drug store where the man was buying tampons. He didn’t need three guesses to figure out who those were for. Dog food, too, for Mia’s Pomeranian, the cutest bundle of fur this side of the Mississippi.
Foreman hadn’t liked it when Reid tried to give advice, on the tampon purchase and the idiot’s love life. I mean, ya try to be a guy’s friend … If you wanted to be with someone, why would you let an asshole like Petrov stand in your way?
This was why having buddies on the team was a mistake. Foreman wanted a woman but was deferring to his Russian bestie. So fucked up. All these ridiculous social contracts merely got in the way of progress.
“Don’t you worry about Mia,” Foreman gritted out. “Just worry about your game.”
“Sure, Foreman. See you out there.” Point to Reid.
Satisfied he’d added a burr to his competition’s skate boot, Reid headed out to start practice.
Kennedy was mixing up a batch of coffee frappe, marveling that people actually wanted to drink this frigid, sugary junk in November, when her co-worker Elena spoke up.
“Your boy was in earlier. Hot Jerk himself in the flesh.”
Kennedy should never have shared her nickname for her least favorite customer. Though she had to admit a twinge of disappointment at having missed his visit, especially after their semi-decent connection the other day.
“Did he scowl from door to bar?”
“You know it. But he also—get this—said “thank you” when I handed him his drink. And he kept looking toward the back office door as if he was expecting someone to walk through it.”
Kennedy’s pulse drummed a little harder. Surely she shouldn’t read anything into that.
“He was in on Sunday and he actually spoke to me,” Kennedy said. “I’d just got off the phone with the realtor from hell and my damage could be felt in earthquake aftershocks all the way to Navy Pier. He asked if I was all right.”