“Oh, you guys heard about that? Hold on—does Cal know?” She threw a semi-annoyed look around the group. “What did I tell you? The damn team vault!”
Erik laughed. “Durand let it slip the other night by accident, the weirdo. Not that he should be automatically jumping on you, Kennedy. We gave him some strategies on how to resist you.”
Reid had sought advice from his teammates on how to not give her the satisfaction she was starting to see as her God-given right? This man’s training regimen was going to be the death of her.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” she murmured morosely, which drew a laugh from everyone but Casey who was too busy throwing eye-daggers at Erik.
Erik seemed oblivious to Casey’s stank-eyed stare. “Ladies, can we get you a drink?”
Tara opened her mouth to no doubt say yes, when Casey stood suddenly and grabbed her unopened bottle of wine.
“I have to go. Uh, thanks for—” She waved at the table and added, “I need to leave.”
Erik took a step back to give her room. “Something I said, Casey?”
Her eyes flashed with emotion then dimmed quickly, almost practiced in its control. “No, not at all. I—I need to get home, that’s all.” Before anyone could dig deeper, she was out the door leaving a gust of wind and wide-eyed confusion in her wake.
“Hell, with moves like that, we should have her on the team,” Theo said. “Fess up, Fish, what did you do to piss her off?”
Erik appeared as baffled as the rest of them. “I’ve no idea. Maybe she really just had to leave.”
Theo rubbed his hands together. “Well, that awkwardness aside, how about another round? And then we can gossip about the people we know and who they’re banging.” He pointed at Kennedy. “Or going to an awful lot of trouble not to bang.”
23
Reid’s phone rang with a call from Henri. Usually he would pick up, but tonight, Coach was planning to put him in at center. If he talked to his father now, he’d have to tell him about the position switch and suffer an earful.
Almost immediately after the voice mail notification, a call came in from Bastian.
“You okay?” his brother asked.
“Fine.”
It was BS, but then so much of his life these days was. No such thing as fine anymore. Kennedy was at the sink, rinsing something and moving fluidly in a way that was far too attractive for Reid’s kitchen or peace of mind or sanity of dick.
Everything turned him on. Kitchen counter stools. The toaster. That fork, just lying there.
A couple of nights ago he had just about lost his mind when she touched him, toweling him off after he’d given her a nice show of cute dog-bathing and wet muscles. Only moments earlier she had mentioned her visa problem and how it wouldn’t stop her from leaving.
You can stay as long as you like. This is your home.
He couldn’t believe he had said that, or maybe he couldn’t believe that she had dismissed the offer so readily. Not even a hint that she might regret leaving Reid and Bucky behind. Her heart was set on a place far away from here. From them.
This shouldn’t have surprised him. He wasn’t boyfriend material, hadn’t dated much, and had a hard time making connections. A woman like Kennedy with friends all over the world wasn’t going to change her plans for a man with ice in his veins.
“You’re trending on Twitter.”
He refocused on Bast who was yammering on about something. “What?”
“The no sex thing. Someone spilled.”
He hung up and started checking the bird app. Sure enough there was some tabloid rag discussing the inside track they had on Reid’s preparation for his game.
“No sex, said one of our insiders. Reid Durand is one of the most focused players in the NHL and he’s determined that not indulging his vices during the season is the best way for him to prepare. We haven’t seen it pay any dividends on the ice yet, but maybe Reid knows something we don’t. Will the Rebels reward that kind of dedication with a multi-year contract? Only time will tell.”
The rest was the usual commentary from fans, non-fans, and the perennial know-nothing know-it-alls. Maybe the source was Foreman, trying to throw him off his game.
On cue, a text came in from the man himself. That wasn’t me.
“What’s wrong?” Kennedy was leaning on the counter. “You look like you’re—oh no, are you getting another headache?” She reached out to his jaw and cupped it, as if that had ever helped anyone with a headache. It helped with something, though.
He shifted on the stool, glad he was behind the counter.
“Someone told the press about my no sex rule.”
She dropped her hand. “It wasn’t me!”
“I never thought it was.”
“Oh, okay, then.” She looked stricken. “I thought you were accusing me.”
“I’m pretty sure it was some big mouth on the team. Though Foreman has already reached out to deny.”
“What are they saying?”
He passed his phone with the news article to her and watched as she scrolled.
“You’ve made a list of the greatest sportsmen to keep it in their pants during the season, though I find it hard to believe Tom Brady is on here. I’d be all over Giselle if I lived with her.”
He snorted. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He would just have to “no comment” any questions at the next press bloodbath.
“My father won’t like it.”
“Sounds like your father doesn’t like anything. Oh, wait a second.” She scrolled some more. “Listen to this: Reid Durand has a female roommate, a situation, which while challenging, he uses to prove his mettle.”
“That’s not on there.”
“There’s more: Durand now spends so much time with his right hand that the circumference of his right bicep is three millimeters thicker than his left. Fascinating. And in metric measurements, too. Must be a Canadian source.”
“It does not say that.” He went to retrieve the phone but she deftly dipped away from him, so he rounded the counter and bore down on her. She held the phone behind her back which forced him to cage her in, his forearms on either side of her curvy, fuckable body.
“Maybe I’ll sell my story to the tabloids. Flexible dog-nanny slash roommate tells all! Reid Durand and his never-cold-enough showers!”
Okay, that was funny. “Give it back.”
“Or what?” She set her chin, her ruby-pink lips in a tempting pout. In outright challenge. The air churned thick with sudden—or not so sudden—sexual tension.
“You want to push a man this close to the brink?”
“Maybe.” She splayed the hand not holding his phone on his chest, right over his thumping heart. Her heat, her nearness, her scent … he was about to lose all semblance of control. Just step away.
Or move closer.
He could resist her. He’d already held her in his bed, hugged her when she cried, kissed her until he almost exploded. This should be child’s play, yet his hips had their own momentum. His cock was a heat-seeking missile, and there was no missing its intent.
Destination Kennedy.