“We’ll agree to differ on how true that is. No more kissing, Kennedy. But if you need to be held, I’m available for that.”
Oh. He had her number. That moment of weakness in him had revealed a bigger weakness in her. She would need to be careful about that.
“I should go check on Bucky,” she said.
He didn’t respond, just watched her as she stole out of his room like a thief in the night.
17
Reid opened the front door and sent Bucky in ahead of him. It wasn’t as if he was lingering outside but Reid liked to be sure he was safe and warm. He hoped Kennedy was being careful, too. He would add it to the ever-growing list of things he needed to tell her.
Don’t leave your shampoo in my shower. It smells of you.
Don’t smile at me when I come home from practice. It makes me feel … weird.
Don’t give me that look—you know the one I mean—that tells me you’re still thinking about that kiss. We both know it was a mistake.
So it was the best kind of mistake, the kind that gave you immense pleasure in the moment even if you were filled with regret later. Like pounding an opposing player you hate—enjoyable at the time though you have to sit your ass in the sin bin after.
Now all he could think of was the pillowy softness of her body. How supple her lips had felt moving against his. How she gave it her all while he was trying desperately to rein it in. How sweet she tasted, unlike anyone or anything he could recall.
Consider his diet, all the fucking diets, blown.
Offering to hold her when she needed it was absolute shit-levels of stupidity. As if he could separate that from her taste and touch and scent. But in that moment he’d seen Kennedy’s need, the emotion she tried to cover with her independent streak.
Her most precious possession, indeed.
This morning he’d gone for a run, taking Bucky with him, and now he would share breakfast with Kennedy and they would discuss what had happened and how to ensure it didn’t happen again.
The first thing he heard was Kennedy’s laugh. She rarely used it around him but she did when she was on the phone, talking to her grandmother or one of her clients.
Next came a deep rumble. Someone else was here.
“No! I don’t believe you!” That was Kennedy, her tone animated. “Oh, Bucky’s home. Hey, boy. Did you enjoy your walk?”
“Hey, fella.” Bastian. Of course.
Bucky came rushing back and hid behind Reid’s legs, something Reid shouldn’t enjoy because he wanted Bucky to be at ease with new people. But he didn’t completely hate if his dog wasn’t immediately at ease with his brother.
In the living room, Reid found his brother doing what his brother always did: ingratiating himself, just one of his many talents along with hogging the last pizza slice and whining to Mom when Reid was mean to him.
“Reid!” Bastian beamed at him, as if genuinely glad to see him. He probably was. His brother didn’t have an inauthentic bone in his body.
“What are you doing here?”
“I brought over groceries. On my fucking day off, too, asshole.”
So maybe he had sounded ungrateful, but it was a surprise to see him here, so comfortable with Kennedy.
Reid snuck a look at her. She was rubbing Bucky down, letting him know he was cared for. She had a tactile way about her, probably because she was in tune with her body. The yoga thing.
Don’t spare a thought for her yoga-tuned body.
“I didn’t expect you. Maybe text next time.”
Bastian turned to Kennedy with a look of this guy. She smiled like they were in cahoots, Bastian’s new best friend.
“I need to wash my hands.” Reid headed to the bathroom and shut the door, aiming for calm.
He and his brother were so different, night and day. Anyone would think that Bastian, the biological son of Henri Durand, the ball-busting enforcer of the NHL would be the asshole, but not so. Bastian was sunshine, not like his father at all. Reid was more like Henri—uncompromising, gruff, rude. It was weird that he was so similar to the old man when they didn’t even share a strand of DNA.
He had never thought so until his mother pointed it out. He might not have given you his genes but you are Henri Durand’s son to the marrow.
Reid had hated hearing that. Hated knowing he had absorbed so much of Henri’s personality that now he was just as much a dick as him. The natural-born son had inherited their mother’s charm along with his father’s hockey talent. Reid was left with the rage and the will to prove himself.
A tricky legacy.
Reid hated himself for his jealousy of Bastian’s ease with people as well as his talent on the ice. It was absurd and unmanly.
Henri had created the cauldron of tension but he didn’t mind pointing out that Reid was stupid to be envious. It was another way to maintain the competition between brothers. Reid knew exactly what his father was doing, yet even that self-awareness couldn’t veer him away from his tunnel vision.
You just need to work harder, Reid. Put in the hours.
Now Kennedy was laughing and giving his brother sly looks. He had left the apartment for thirty minutes and Bastian was already ahead. Again.
“You’re better than this,” he said to his reflection, hating the taste of the lie on his tongue. Because he wasn’t better. He was petty and small-minded.
He opened the bathroom door. Kennedy stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together.
“What’s wrong with you?”
He blinked. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Your brother came over to say hi, brought you groceries, and you’re all ‘doom and gloom, I need to wash my hands.’”
He held his hands up. “I did need to wash them. It’s a cess pool out there!”
She laughed and squeezed his forearm. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just thought you were mad at me.”
“Why would—I’m not mad at you.”
“Because of yesterday afternoon. You headed out to your game right after so we didn’t get a chance to discuss it.” She placed a hand on his chest, leaned in, and whispered, “That kiss.”
He would do anything—fucking anything—to kiss her again. But he would only be doing it to one-up Bast. Probably.
So he said the first, most stupid thing he could think of. “It was a mistake.”
Her eyes remained bright and oddly amused. “Of course it was! But it was good, Reid. Really good. Just in case you were worried I didn’t enjoy 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?”