Dear Roomie

by Kate Meader

  She was kind of regretting wearing this sweater right now, one of Edie’s gems, borrowed along with the rest of her winter wardrobe. It had cats embroidered on it with green jewels for eyes. Yesterday she’d thought it ironic. Today, not so much.

  She sought out the dog, now nowhere to be seen. “Where did he go?”

  “He’s in the empty TV box.” Sure enough, the cardboard box that had once housed the fifty-inch screen affixed to the living room wall, was breathing. “I think he feels safe in there.”

  “Has he been like this all day?”

  “He was better when I brought him out for a walk to the coffee shop and the pet store but he was nervous at the vet’s office. He didn’t like the shots.” He gave her a twice-over, long and penetrating. “Are you recovered from the day’s events?”

  “I’m okay. I think I’ll just sit here and see if he comes to me.” She took a seat on the sofa. “Maybe you can tell me more about what you have in mind.”

  Reid—she couldn’t call him Hot Jerk forever and frankly, the label was fifty percent too nice anyway—sat at the other end of the sofa. He took up a lot of room with his long legs and big chest and no doubt other body parts vying for space on the leather.

  “I play hockey for the Chicago Rebels.”

  “Mia said.”

  “I’m on the road and at practice a lot. Home games are often an all-day affair though I can come back here in the afternoon for a couple of hours and check in on him.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’d make a good owner at all.”

  There it was, the beast scowl, but with something else mixed in: she had wounded him.

  “I know he needs a lot of care,” he said after a protracted beat. “But I’m determined to look after him. I don’t think he’d have much luck at a shelter.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. If you spin the story of how you saved him, do something on Insta or with your team’s PR, you’re bound to find a good home for him. You see stories like that all the time.”

  What was she playing at? It was in her interest to have him need her, not to find a way to divest him of this puppy. But she also wanted the dog to have a good life. He hadn’t had one up until now. As much as she needed a roof over her head, she wouldn’t play along with any puppy-for-a-day scheme.

  Reid shifted, placed his hands together and his elbows on his knees. He seemed to be thinking about what she said, actually giving it careful consideration. It made her heart thrum. Having someone listen to you with such intensity was potent stuff.

  “I would like to try to care for him first. If it doesn’t work, I’ll find a solution but I have to give this a shot.”

  He sounded so serious, like this was his sole purpose in life. His gravity seeped into her and laid claim to her heart.

  She felt a cold nose at her hand. Bucky must have sensed they were talking about him and had left the shelter of his cardboard harbor to be part of the conversation.

  “Hey, there, it’s great to meet you again.” She gave him a tentative pat. He stayed put. She rubbed him a little more forcefully. He angled into her touch.

  She turned back to Reid, who was watching her and Bucky carefully. Almost like his Terminator brain was recording the interaction.

  Three strokes. Dog likes. Store in memory hard drive.

  “So are you going to tell me what happened that got me fired but still wasn’t your fault?”

  “There was another guy.”

  “Did he have one arm, Dr. Kimble?”

  He raised that arrogant eyebrow. “I was waiting for you to finish your rant when another customer came in after me. He was annoyed to have to wait but he recognized me and wouldn’t shut up. Then he got annoyed about you again and said he would call the corporate office.”

  “And how is this your fault?”

  “I told him he should do it.”

  “I see.”

  He gestured with his hand. “Purely to get him out of my face.”

  “Well, I can understand how your need to escape some inconvenient fan worship might be more important than my employment.”

  He scowled again. “I may have encouraged him but he made the call.”

  “Incitement to do violence to my job prospects. Got it.”

  Head shake. “I’m making up for it now by offering you a job looking after Bucky. I would need you to stay over here while I’m out of town and stop in to care for him during practices and home games. It would be a full-time gig.”

  “Until you get tired of him.” She was still hung up on the loss of a job she didn’t even like though the answer to all her problems was being offered up on a platter.

  “I won’t get tired of him.” Said with a growl and a clear sense of conviction. “I want to keep him and I’ll do whatever it takes. True, I won’t be around as much as I’d like but when I am he will be left in no doubt that I care for and love him dearly.”

  Just when she thought this guy had hit the ocean floor of her disapproval, he said something to haul himself above sea level. Looking around, she took in the large apartment filled with furniture but lacking in personality. Of course it was his apartment, so it shouldn’t surprise her.

  “Did you just move here?”

  “A couple of months ago.”

  “From where?”

  “Boston, but I’m originally from Canada. A small town in Quebec.”

  The source of that accent. Would he murmur French endearments to the dog? To her?

  “Where would Bucky sleep?”

  He stood, stretching to his full height. She was impressed with the whole man package in her immediate sightline. Walking away, even more so.

  He barked over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

  Never mind. That rudeness was a vat of ice to her genitals.

  She followed him further into the bowels of hell the apartment. He stopped at the entrance to one room and stepped back so she could peer inside.

  The master bedroom.

  “I have his bed there so he can be close to me when he sleeps.” A dog bed lay beside the nightstand. “But if he needs to sleep on the bed with me, then he can. I won’t have rules for that.”

  Spoken as if rules were important—or important enough that an infraction, even by a dog, would have to be pre-approved, if only in Reid’s brain. Some people lived rule-bound lives, so it was probably a big deal if this guy was considering breaking one or two.

  “And when you’re not here?”

  “He can sleep anywhere but if he bonds with me, he might like to be in here. Perhaps he’ll smell me on the sheets.”

  He sounded so earnest and her heart melted all over again. Kind of like Data in Star Trek striving to attain humanity. “Is he house-trained?”

  A rather adorable sheepishness came over him. “He might need some help there.”

  In other words, there had already been accidents but Reid had cleaned up. The house smelled lemony fresh. In fact, it looked pin-neat with not a hair out of place except for that cardboard box.

  The only objection she could make was the potential for hurting this dog further. If Reid couldn’t be a more permanent, loving influence in his life, then Bucky might be harmed, though how could it be any worse than what he’d already endured? Reid wanted to try and he had a good point about the shelter—it wasn’t much better.

  She looked down to find Bucky standing between them. He trotted in and sat in the dog bed.

  “When you’re in the living room, he’d probably like being there with you, too,” she said. “If you don’t mind moving the bed around. Or you could buy two.”

  “That’s a good idea. Between the pet store purchases and the vet visit, I’ve already dropped six hundred bucks on this guy. What’s another fifty?”

  What, indeed? She kept her smile hidden. Reid’s affection for the dog was so stinkin’ cute.

  “If I was here for a few days, where would I sleep?” Not in the master bedroom. Unlike Bucky, she wouldn’t want to get accustomed to the smell
of Hot Jerk on his sheets.

  “There’s a guest room here.” He walked further down the corridor and opened the door, gesturing with a hand inside.

  She stayed where she was so as not to betray her excitement. A bed was a luxury, especially when you didn’t have ready access to one.

  “What do you say?” He closed the gap, looming over her. “Will you help me, Kennedy?”

  Saying her name should not have affected her, yet her heart sped up. That should have been a warning right there.

  “How much does it pay?”

  “Name your price.”

  “Oh, you’ve gone and done it now.”

  “You’re my only option. Either that or the shelter. I can’t leave him alone so you have all the power.” He moved past her, close enough to get a scent of him in her nostrils—something clean and woodsy—then went into the bedroom and sat on the bed. Bucky nudged his legs and Reid lifted him into his lap, murmuring soothing dog-babble. The dog shivered before relaxing in his arms.

  Bucky wouldn’t do well at a shelter. He needed full-time care and these two had already bonded.

  Kennedy had all the power, and for someone who had lately felt powerless, that was about as good a reason as any to say yes.

  “Let’s talk about my fee.”

  8

  Reid might have made a mistake.

  He lived a life constricted by rules. What to eat. How much to practice. When to sleep. His entire life was organized this way so he could be the best at what he did. Henri Durand expected it, so Reid expected it of himself.

  When he was five, his stepfather took him onto the ice for the first time. Bastian was there as well, only three years old, and Reid remembered a hollow ache of disappointment that it wasn’t just him and Henri. That his baby of a brother was being introduced to the family business at the same time as Reid. Henri wanted to train them together. He wanted to train them against each other, hoping to instill a competitive spirit. They wouldn’t just compete on the ice, they would compete in all areas.

  All with the goal of winning Henri Durand’s approval. To know Henri was to understand that there wasn’t enough of that precious commodity for both his sons.

  For five years, they trained as a duo, though at two years older, Reid was better for a while. Stronger. Back then he didn’t enjoy hockey all that much, merely saw it as a tool to win his stepfather’s love and respect.

  By the time Reid was ten, Bastian was starting to catch up and fulfill the promise of the Durand genes. It was the great experiment, nature versus nurture. Reid had the training, the need to prove himself, and maybe that was why Henri pushed him so hard. He would never be able to rely on natural talent like Bastian. Every moment on the ice would require focus and hard work. No skating by for Reid.

  Henri would hate the idea of Reid owning a dog. When they were kids, Bastian had one, and Reid wasn’t allowed to walk him because Bast (a) deserved the companion more and (b) had to exhibit responsibility in owning it. Reid could easily imagine Henri’s reaction now, that fleshy mouth curved in a sneer, his barrel chest heaving in disgust.

  How the hell can you look after that thing? Your focus will be divided. Remember you can’t fall back on a talent you don’t have.

  Reid didn’t think he’d made a mistake because he now owned a dog. It was the other thing: her. He was going to allow a stranger stay in his apartment. Introduce an element of randomness to his carefully-calibrated world.

  He rarely made a decision so quickly and now was torn between exhilaration at jumping in, feet first—literally!—and unease that he was moving too fast. Last night, the moment Kennedy left with instructions to return the next day at 10 a.m. precisely—it was now eleven minutes past—Reid had called Mia. The conversation went something like this:

  “I need a reference.”

  “Reid, is that you?”

  “Oui. I’ve just hired the coffee shop girl to look after my dog. Can you verify she’s not some sort of grifter?”

  Mia chuckled. “I can verify that I trust her with Gordie Howe when I’m out of town.”

  Mia seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t take guardianship of her dog lightly. She called the dog Gordie Howe, after the great player. Perhaps Reid should have done that—named his new friend after a legend.

  Yet he balked at bringing hockey into it at all. He wanted this to be separate. He had very little in his life that existed apart from his career.

  “She’s staying here. In my apartment.”

  “Who? The dog?”

  “Kennedy.” Just saying her name made him warm.

  “Oh, I see. I suppose you could have her pick him up and bring him to her place?”

  Kennedy had already said she couldn’t do that. “It’s better the dog stays here with the familiar. He needs special care. I just wonder if it’s a good idea to have a stranger in my apartment.”

  It was a bit late to be making these kinds of enquiries. He just needed someone to tell him he wasn’t making a terrible decision.

  “I can see that’s kind of tricky. I could visit if you want, see how they’re getting on.” She whispered away from the phone. The next voice he heard was … merde. Foreman’s.

  “Durand, what’s the problem?”

  “I see you’ve figured things out.”

  “You could say that. What’s going on? You want Mia to check in at your place?”

  “I didn’t say that—she offered.” The idiot growled and while normally Reid found it amusing to needle Mr. Nice Guy, he didn’t have time for games. “I’m not interested in your woman, Foreman. This is purely for informational purposes.”

  “Right, the puppy. How’s he doing?”

  “Fine.” He recalled their last conversation. “You said you share custody of your dog. How does that work?”

  “My dog’s in Boston with my ex. I see him every couple of months. She sends pics, videos. We, uh, Facetime.”

  “You FaceTime with your dog?” In the background, he could hear Mia saying something that sounded like “sexy,” followed by a muffled sound. Kissing. Serenity fucking now.

  Foreman came back on. “He needs to know I’m still his guy, so the phone and video contact is important. You’re keeping the dog?”

  “I am. But I had to hire someone to look after him while I’m away and I’m trying to determine the best way forward.” Neither did I call to talk to you, Masshole. “I just wanted to find out if the dog sitter can be trusted. I’ve learned that so we’re done here.”

  “Okay, see you at the bus—”

  Reid had already clicked off.

  That was last night, and now Reid was second-guessing … everything. He looked around his place, a bland bachelor pad that he had yet to personalize. This was his fourth city in five years, so he didn’t see the point in expending the effort. He wondered if his space would feel different when he returned, if she would somehow imprint her personality on it.

  There was a knock at the door. Bucky started growling in a menacing manner, or as menacing as this baby bundle of bones could manage.

  “It’s okay. It’s just your nanny.”

  On opening the door, his heart hitched while his brain immediately set up a counter-argument: why? She didn’t look any different. Same chin-length blonde hair with that rebellious pink streak, same sly grin that seemed to know all his secrets, same bulky coat that had seen better days. She rolled a suitcase in behind her.

  “Hey, roomie!”

  “You’re only here for two days. And we’re not roommates.”

  “Ah, wasn’t talking to you.” She fished in her pocket, hunkered down, and opened her hand to reveal a bone-shaped biscuit. Those actually existed? Reid had always thought they were fake, for cartoons and commercials. He had a lot to learn about this dog-raising business.

  Bucky tentatively approached, sniffed the biscuit, and looked up at him for approval. Reid’s heart burst.

  “Go ahead. It’s a treat for you.”

  The dog lick
ed the biscuit, decided it was safe, and took the whole thing in his mouth, crunching away and spilling crumbs on the hardwood floor. Reid threw a furtive glance at the closet where the Dustbuster was located. It would take just a minute to clean up …

  “Good fella!” Kennedy stood and smiled. “What time do you have to leave?”

  “Twelve minutes ago. You’re late.”

  “Okay, let’s chat,” she said blithely. “I assume I can call you on the regular number. Would it help to have your hotel’s as well in case I can’t get a hold of you?”

  Good. She was asking the right things and focused on the dog. “I have a list here with numbers of the hotel, the team management, and the team’s travel staff. I also have the vet’s information.”

  “Got it. And his food and any meds?”

  He led her into the kitchen and opened a cupboard. “This is what the man at the pet store recommended. I also have shit bags and his leash.” He refused to say the word “poop,” though that’s what the pet store guy had said, like they were all children. He opened another cupboard door. “This is the ringworm medication and vitamins.”

  “Hold on, let’s look at the food again.” She laughed, her silver eyes shining with amusement. “You leave anything at the store?”

  So it was a lot, but he wasn’t sure how much dogs ate. If he could buy in bulk to save time, why not?

  “I’m new to this.”

  She grasped his arm. “Hey, I’m just kidding. This is great. Really. So is there anything else I can do while I’m here? Clean the bathroom, do laundry—”

  “You’re here for the dog. You don’t have to do anything else. Just look after the dog.”

  She grinned and his heart blundered around his chest again. What was wrong with him?

  She was pretty, but not exceptionally so.

  She had a nice smile, but nothing special. (So he had thought it gorgeous before but that was when he had just emerged from a frigid, wet lake and any flash of warmth was welcome.)