I rub my hands together. “Okay, let’s see who the lucky guy will be this time.” Wow, that almost sounds hopeful and positive. If things ever do go permanently south in my writing career, maybe I could take up acting instead.
When my next trope appears, we shoot each other a skeptical look.
“Hockey?”
She shrugs. “Well, sports romance is a big deal. Even I know that, and your books are the only fiction I read.”
“But hockey? That’s, like, the one sport I know the least about. It takes place on the ice. That’s the extent of my expertise.”
She giggles. “Well, you could always show up to a practice and announce you don’t know anything about the sport. I’m sure there would be plenty of men willing to explain it to you.”
“Oh, joy. I can’t wait.” I roll my eyes but laugh anyway.
Hey, this is my life. This is what I do. Nobody ever said it would be easy.
“So, you’re committing to this? Finding a hockey player for your next book?”
I stick my tongue out at her and make my voice sound nasally. “Yes, Miss Hayley.”
“And you’re going to give it your all because you’re Kitty fucking Valentine and that’s what you do?”
It’s not so easy to make a snarky response when she puts it that way. “Yes, I’m going to give it my all.”
“Atta girl. Now, get your butt out of here since I know you’re dying to go check on Matt.” She pops an olive into her mouth and grins. “Don’t even pretend like you’re not.”
“I wish you weren’t such a know-it-all.” I grab my things and let Miss Always Right pay the bill. I need to get Matt some wellness supplies.
See? How the heck am I supposed to date somebody when Matt keeps creeping into my heart more and more each day.
CHAPTER TWO
By the time I reach the apartment, Matt’s awake and watching TV with Phoebe curled up beside him on the couch. He looks suspiciously cleaner than before, like he dragged himself into the shower for the sake of seeing me.
Though I could be imagining that.
It’s easy to let my imagination run away with me after that kiss. The most unexpected kiss I’ve ever received in my whole life, which is saying something since I’ve been on the receiving end of a few unfortunate kisses.
Those kisses usually took place in dimly lit clubs and bars though and once during a concert when the guy was so drunk that he mistook me for his girlfriend.
Matt’s kiss took place in broad daylight, in his kitchen, while we were both stone-cold sober. There was no mistaking me for anybody else.
He offers a sheepish smile. “Thanks for looking out for Phoebe. She would rather be in pain than pee in the house.” This earns her a kiss on top of her head. She gazes up at him in adoration.
“She’s well-trained.” I hold up a bag. “Pho? I thought it might help.”
“Oh, thank you. I was just wondering if I should get up and fix something.”
“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well.” I set things up on the coffee table before going to the kitchen to get him something to drink.
“I don’t do well with being taken care of. Besides, aren’t guys supposed to be tough?”
Sometimes, it’s too much effort to even hide an eye roll. This is one of those times. “Gimme a break. I know you can be stubborn, but that’s a little much, even for you.”
“Stubborn, huh?”
“I get to call you that when I bring life-saving food and set it up for you.” I nod toward the dog. “And when I take valuable time from happy hour to walk your dog.”
“Oh, you went out earlier?” He looks me up and down. “You do look nice.”
Darn it, I wish he wouldn’t hand out casual compliments like that. Back in the pre-kiss days, I would’ve made a snarky comment about how bad he must think I look the rest of the time.
I didn’t put a ton of effort into my look for the evening since I knew I was going to get an earful and not much else.
Now? I have to turn my attention to the soup I’m pouring out for myself, so he won’t see how flustered that tiny compliment made me.
“Thanks. Hayley approved. So did the guys who tried to pick us up.”
A quick glance in his direction reveals his tightening jaw. So, maybe I shouldn’t have added that part, but I can’t help myself when the opportunity is right there in front of me. We haven’t talked about that moment in the kitchen since things went south with Paxton, which is probably for the best.
Even if it leaves me with a ton of questions. I don’t think I can be blamed for testing the waters, seeing where he stands.
“She shut them down though. She’s good at that. Tons of practice.” I can’t leave the poor guy hanging when he’s not feeling well.
“Yeah, I can see how she’d attract a lot of attention.”
I wait, staring at him. When he doesn’t continue, I arch an eyebrow. “And?”
“And what?”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Nope. You’re not going to trick me into giving you a compliment.”
“I didn’t know I needed to trick you.” I wave an arm, indicating the soup and multiple containers of toppings and proteins. “Look at all the trouble I went to, and you can’t even give me a teeny compliment?”
“I already told you, you look nice. I’m a one-compliment-per-night sort of guy.” He takes a noisy slurp of his soup, which is heavy on jalapeños and Sriracha. “And thank you for this.”
I toss him a tissue box since nobody’s sinuses can stay packed after all that heat. “So, tell me, how long have you felt sick?”
“A few days, I guess. I have plenty of sick and vacation time banked, so it’s been easy to lose track of which day it is.”
When he mentions that, I can’t help but think about the weeks I’ve spent not working. It was one thing when Maggie forced me into a short sabbatical, but this has been ridiculous. I haven’t been able to talk about it with Matt either since I haven’t wanted to explain just why I’ve been unwilling to date somebody new.
Sure, I could use Paxton as an excuse with Matt since, of all people, he knows how betrayed I felt. But it’s one thing to tell a fib based in reality over the phone or through email when I’m talking with Maggie. It’s a whole other story when I have to lie to somebody’s face—especially when they are part of the lie, whether they know it or not.
“It’s easy to lose track of time when you aren’t working,” I reply. Settling for a vague answer.
“And when you feel like you’ll never be able to breathe through your nose again. Colds are the worst.” He blows his nose noisily, as if punctuating that statement.
“And here I was, thinking you were avoiding me.”
“No, nothing as dramatic as that. Though you’ve been quiet lately too. I figured you were busy, working on the next book.”
Why does everything with Matt feel like it’s so much more important now? Like everything has extra meaning, deeper significance? Back in the day, I would’ve happily talked about my work. If not happily, eagerly. Openly. I wouldn’t have felt this twinge of awkwardness, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it.
“Well, I haven’t started the next book yet.” I swirl the noodles around in my bowl before taking a mouthful. Chewing is easier than talking.
“You haven’t? What’s going on? I mean, I thought it was weird for you to not mention it, but …”
“Honestly, I’m tired. Tired of dating and writing about tropes. I miss the days when I could just write what I wanted. Sweet romances that filled readers’ hearts with joy. You once asked if it was worth it, and I said it was. That I was happy to be getting out and meeting new people, but I’m not sure my emotions can take this roller-coaster ride for much longer.”
“That makes sense. Honestly, I give you credit for not throwing in the towel after that last debacle.”
“Yeah, that was bad. Of all the guys, that one hurt the most. But I’m tough.” I fl
ex a bicep for good measure, grunting.
He only shakes his head, snickering at me. “Whatever you say, Valentine. But you can’t break your contract either.”
“This is true, which is why I really need to start on the next project. That’s why I went to happy hour with Hayley. We picked the next trope.”
“You sound unhappy.”
“Not unhappy. Just not looking forward to having to learn about hockey.”
To my surprise, his eyes light up. “It’s a hockey book? I know all about hockey. I love hockey. Did I ever tell you I used to play?”
“No, you didn’t. I had no idea.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard me yelling at the games over here before.”
“I’ve heard yelling, yeah, but I never knew what you were yelling at.”
“So, what, you don’t know anything about the sport?”
“I know there’s a puck and ice involved.”
“Well, that’s a start.” A smile plays over his lips as he picks up the remote and flips on the TV. It’s hooked up to the internet, so it takes no time for him to pull up videos from various games.
“I didn’t mean for this to turn into a lesson.”
“I don’t mind—unless you have something else you would rather be doing.”
The sad part is, I don’t. Even though he’s sick and I’m deliberately keeping my distance and even though spending time with him isn’t so great for my mental health since all I can do is question everything that comes out of his mouth anymore, I would still rather be here than across the hall, staring at a blank page on a computer screen.
“Well, if you think you’re up to it.”
The next thing I know, we’re watching snippets of one game after another with Matt explaining the technique and skill behind what looks to me like a bunch of guys batting a puck around on the ice.
“When do they start fighting?”
He laughs, which unfortunately turns into a coughing fit. “You do realize, fighting isn’t actually part of the game, right?” he asks after he can breathe again.
“Of course, but isn’t it always more interesting when they do?”
It’s like they heard me somehow. Suddenly, two players start throwing fists, and the crowd absolutely loses their mind while referees do their best to break things up. By the time it’s finished, I’m wincing.
I’m supposed to date somebody who might be involved in something like that? I’m not sure my heart could handle it. Do I really have to even date a hockey player? Maybe we could just be friends and hang out, and I could interview players. I mean, sex is sex. I can come up with that, right?
Noticing my pensive look, Matt turns to me. “I’m sure whoever you end up with, he will be more than happy to explain the finer points to you.”
I glance at him from the corner of my eye, unsure of whether there is a deeper meaning to what he just said. Oh, to go back to the days of being able to assume he was being snarky and not having to give it any further thought.
“I’m sure. Though honestly, I’m at my wits’ end, trying to figure out how to meet a hockey player. What am I supposed to do? Put an ad in the newspaper? Or online somewhere? Wanted: one hockey player who won’t mind his life being used fictitiously in a romance novel. Maybe that’s how I should’ve approached this all along. It might’ve been easier.”
“Probably, though can you imagine the sort of responses you would get?”
I shiver, remembering the copious amounts of unsolicited dick pics I got when asking if anyone knew an actor.
“Hey, didn’t you find that doctor you dated on a site?”
“While I found some doctor potentials on that site, that’s not how I met Jake. You should remember.” I hold up the ankle I sprained, thanks to Phoebe tripping me on the stairs.
“Oh, right. That was the day I was sure the nurses at the hospital thought I’d hurt you.” He rubs his temples, grimacing. “How could I forget?”
“I have no idea, but thanks for taking care of me.” I quickly look away before he thinks my comment is more than a simple thank-you.
When my phone rings, the sight of my grandmother’s name on the screen makes my hands tremble. Ever since her heart attack, I freak out a little whenever I get a call from her home number. Grandmother prefers we have our lengthy conversations in person, so I can’t help but be nervous when I see her number appear on my phone.
“I realize we are a few days out from our normal weekly tea, but would you mind stopping in tomorrow afternoon?” The sound of her voice—confident, strident, full of energy—helps me breathe easier.
That’s unexpected. The woman is nothing if not a stickler for routine. “Is everything okay?”
“Why is that the first thing you ask?”
“Because you’re a creature of habit, and I literally can’t remember the last time you called an unscheduled visit because it’s probably never happened.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Of course not. I’ll be there. But you can’t blame me for being concerned.”
She clicks her tongue, chuckling. It seems like ever since she got together with Peter, her former longtime butler, she’s become a different person. Sure, she can be sharp and dismayingly judgmental, and she has very definite opinions about my life and how I choose to live it, but there’s a brightness to her now that wasn’t there before. She can laugh at herself and at life, which I never thought was possible for her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, dear.”
“Good-bye, Grandmother,” I say before setting my phone down.
“Why did you immediately assume there was a bad reason for her to want to get together tomorrow?” Matt asks after I’ve ended the call.
“We’re talking about a woman in her mid-seventies with a bad heart.”
“You’re a pessimist.”
“I prefer to be called a realist.”
“Yet here you are, writing about romance for a living. There’s got to be some sort of hopeful spark alive in you.”
Is there? I’m starting to wonder.
“Listen”—he finishes his soup before leaning back against the couch cushions, like he’s exhausted from the effort of sitting up to eat—“I used to play in college. I decided not to go pro, but I keep in touch with some of the guys.”
“Really? Do you think—”
“If I didn’t think, I wouldn’t have brought it up.” He offers a tired smile. “I might be able to arrange taking you to a practice.”
“You would do that?”
“What, we’re friends, right? Of course I would do that. Give me a day or two to set it up.”
And that’s that. Once again, he’s going to step in and help save the day. I only wish I didn’t feel a strange sense of guilt for bringing him into it at all.
But Hayley’s right, as always. I am Kitty fucking Valentine, and I’m not going to let any man get in the way of my work. Especially when I now know we’re friends.
CHAPTER THREE
The second I see my grandmother’s smiling face and the sly sparkle in her eye, I know something is up. But I also know better than to come straight out and ask her since she’ll insist on asking why anything has to be up in the first place.
She wants to have some fun? I can have fun too.
“Any of those yummy cherry preserves left from the last time I was here? It was delicious on a scone.” I’m very deliberate in fixing my tea just so, acting like this is any ordinary visit. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of drooling over whatever news she has for me.
She sounds stiff when she answers, “No scones or preserves this time around, I’m afraid.”
“Darn it. I wouldn’t have come if I had known that.”
“Kathryn.”
“Okay, fine. It’s nice, seeing you.”
“You’re full of sass today.”
“What can I say? I try to get all of my sass out over the course of the week between our teas. There hasn’t been enough time yet.”
Finally, I can’t help it. She looks like she’s just about ready to burst out of her Chanel suit; she’s so full of energy. It’s cruel to keep her hanging like this. “So, what’s with the last-minute invitation? It’s obvious you’re just dying to tell me.”
She lifts her chin. “I am not dying to tell you.”
“You don’t have to act so insulted.” I dunk a shortbread cookie into my tea, watching her as I do. “So? Spill.”
“I’m getting married.”
And there goes the cookie, straight into my cup. “You’re what? Are you kidding? What—how—what—”
“Don’t forget to breathe, dear.” She can sound as dry and sarcastic as she wants, but there is absolutely no hiding the complete joy shining from her smile, her eyes. “Yes, Peter and I have decided to make things official.”
I can barely place the cup on its saucer before I’m on my feet. “Where is he? How come he didn’t tell me he was planning on asking?”
She waves this off. “He’s visiting his nephew at the moment, to share the news.”
“Hug me! Hug me already!” I have to yank her up from the sofa, but she’s laughing by the time I throw my arms around her.
“I knew you would be glad.” She looks suspiciously teary by the time I let her go.
“Glad? I’m freaking thrilled! Though if he thinks I’m going to get over him not coming to me for permission”—I wag a finger at her—“he’s got another thing coming.”
“To be honest, it was a mutual decision.” She sits again, gesturing for me to do the same. “You’ve spoiled your tea. I’ll pour a fresh cup.”
Like I care about tea right now. My grandmother, who’s been a widow for most of her life, is getting married. A woman who assured me more times than I could count that she didn’t need a man, except for when her bed felt cold—and yes, she actually used those words once, and yes, I never quite got over it—is tying the knot.
“So, he didn’t pop the question? You popped it?” Not that I would put it past her.
She might be old school, but that doesn’t mean she carries an old-school mentality.
Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player Page 2
