Reid shook his head, trying to hide his smile. Sex, or discussions of it, didn’t make him uncomfortable. He was just surprised that Kennedy was so forward about it. Admirably so.
Reid had grown up with a father who insisted that nothing should get in the way of his ambition to be the best, including women. For Henri, sex was a biological function rather than an opportunity for intimacy. Until you proved yourself, connection wasn’t an option. It only led to weakness. Work first, play later.
Henri had married Reid’s mom on the downside of his career when he realized he needed to do more to extend his legacy. Creating a family was one way to do that. Reid had often wondered why he’d chosen a woman who already had a toddler, the result of a one-night stand. Perhaps he wanted to be sure she could produce a child. Not a charitable viewpoint, but Reid understood his stepfather’s psyche better than most. The man wouldn’t want to risk an infertile wife.
His parents had divorced when Bast went to college, which meant his mother had held on through years of Henri being gruff, brusque, and emotionally constipated. She was happily remarried to a chef who adored her while his father was on his third wife. Conclusion: men like Henri didn’t make women happy.
Men like Reid, either.
“You know Henri’s gonna freak about this,” Bast said, reading Reid’s mind.
“Not if you don’t tell him.” Reid held his brother’s gaze until he shook his head and addressed his roommate.
“So what about you, Kennedy?” Bast asked. “Have you left broken hearts in all these places you’ve visited?”
“Oh yeah. That’s me,” she said with a laugh he might have considered strained if he examined it closely. “Love ’em and leave ’em Kennedy.”
Reid wondered, especially when her eyes turned a little sad. “That was too personal. Bast is very sorry.” He glared at his brother who merely shrugged.
“Not at all! After all I’ve done poking at you? Turnabout’s fair play, boys. Okay, pancakes are up and Reid, you will eat at least one!”
He ate five—because it was one more than Bast.
18
Kennedy couldn’t tell if Reid liked his brother. There was definitely love there, but it was mixed up with a ton of other emotions she tried to label throughout breakfast.
Bastian was Reid’s opposite: lightness, charm, a chatterbox, and easy with his smiles. They shared the same mother and even though Bastian (call me Bast, Kennedy!) referred to Henri Durand as “our dad,” Kennedy sensed her roomie’s unease with the dynamics. With both Bastian and his stepfather.
About ten minutes after the last pancake slid down Bastian’s gullet, he left with a slap on the back for his brother, a (double) cheek-kiss for Kennedy, and a friendly rub of Bucky. Quite the glad-hander.
As Reid started on the dishes—and he just jumped right in without prompting, what a good roommate—she got straight to the point. “So are you close with your brother? I couldn’t really tell.”
“We are. It’s complicated.”
She would do anything to have even the chance of a complicated relationship with her family. Sometimes the pain in missing her parents was almost unbearable. “In what way?”
“Henri would prefer we didn’t get along. He’s always wanted us to be competitive. He thought it would make us stronger players, but Bast doesn’t need that kind of push. He’s already too good.”
“And you? Are you good?”
“I’m a grinder. I work hard to be good. Henri used to think that toughening us up, putting us in contention for his approval, would push us to greatness. He’s a stick-not-a-carrot kind of coach.”
“But as a father, doesn’t he want you to get along?”
Reid’s cynical smile broke her heart a little. “If we get along too well, it means we might not strive to better each other. Henri is a coach first, a father second.”
“Not digging Henri much.”
His expression was mildly amused. No doubt he’d heard this criticism before. “He just has high standards. It’s okay, I want to be the best. I’ve always trusted him to be tough on me for the right reasons.”
“Sounds like you’re tougher on yourself than your stepfather is. I’m sorry about my blabbing, by the way. I really thought your brother knew.”
“It’s not something I talk about. And Bastian wouldn’t understand. Most pro athletes are fucking anything on two legs.”
That’s what she thought, so Reid’s approach fascinated her. He really shouldn’t be so hard on himself.
When he could be hard on her. Zing!
“Maybe you shouldn’t expect such perfection all the time.”
Plates stowed in the dishwasher, he flipped and leaned against the counter with his arms folded. The move made his guns bulge even more indecently. She had touched one bicep earlier, in a roommate-friendly kind of way.
Big mistake. Huge.
“Isn’t yoga all about achieving some sort of perfect state?”
“Not quite. It’s more about fostering harmony in mind and body. One of the reasons I love it is that it helps me to eliminate all those negative thoughts, even if it’s just for an hour. For that hour, I only wallow in peace instead of self-pity.” And then for the other hours in the day she found more ways to keep the negativity at bay. A busy little bee had no time for navel-gazing.
“You should try it.” It had to be better than the strategy he was employing now.
Thoughts chased each other across his face for a second. Rivers ran deep with this man, and she loved watching him think. “Peace is … I don’t think I’ve ever known it. And I don’t think it’s attainable on a yoga mat.”
“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. It has to be better than shredding the skin off your dick on a daily basis.”
He gave an eye roll but then two seconds later, the oddest thing happened: Reid’s climb-aboard-me shoulders started to shake.
“Oh my God, Reid!” She grasped his arm. The bicep was calling and this was the perfect excuse. “Are you actually laughing at something I said? Let me capture this moment.” She closed her eyes, and though ostensibly she was joking, she found herself snapping a mental image and storing it away.
“It wasn’t even that funny,” he muttered.
“Is this one of those can’t cry for laughing situations?”
“Sure it is, Coffee Shop Girl.”
“Really? Two can play at that game, Hot Jerk.”
“You said that in the lake! I thought I was hearing things.” He cocked his head, which was so damn sexy. “You think I’m hot?”
“It’s a modifying word, a what do you call it? Adjective!” She squeezed his arm, not wanting to let go of all that heat and because, yes, the man was smokin’. “Meaning that it modifies, and in this case, emphasizes the primary word in the compound phrase which is jerk. Did you hear that part?”
“Just heard hot.” He bent down, bringing him close enough to kiss again.
Could she push him? Should she? “I don’t mind admitting it. In fact, I think you’re really hot and when we kissed yesterday, you knew that. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I’ll continue to think you’re hot, you’ll continue to be mildly attracted to me, and you’ll also continue be a self-denying-can’t-have-sex-gotta-jerk-off-in-my-room-now idiot.”