Kitty Valentine Dates a Hockey Player

Book 8: Kitty Valentine®

by Jillian Dodd

Genres: Humor & Satire; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Spin the wheel. Date the guy. Write the story. Fall in love?

Six years ago, Kitty Valentine took the book world by storm when her sweet debut romance hit number one on the Best Sellers List, which was followed by a string of successful releases.

 Her latest novel, however, totally bombs, causing her editor to suggest she write much sexier books.

 To Kitty, writing smut is the literary equivalent of stripping.

 But with no advance coming in and her royalties dipping to an all-time low, Kitty has no choice.

Armed with a hot-guy spinning prize wheel, made by her best friend, listing all the different types of men she will date and then write about, Kitty will be spinning—not stripping—her way back onto the best-sellers list. 

And in the process, she just might write her own happily ever after. 

This humorous chick lit series (imagine an awkward Carrie Bradshaw navigating the NYC dating scene) is now complete and ready for binge-reading!

Release date: December 14, 2020

Publisher: Swoonworthy Books

Print pages: 216

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

“Kitty, it’s been months,” my best friend, Hayley, says into the phone.

“So? I don’t wanna,” I whine.

“Look, I know your head has been all over the place for the last few months, but you have to get out of your funk and out of your apartment.”

“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll meet you, but I want extra cheese on my nachos, and there’d better be a large drink waiting for me when I get there.”

“You got it. See you later, Kitty.”

“Bye,” I grumble into the phone after she’s already disconnected.

I’m not really in the mood to get together for drinks with Hayley tonight. I know what she’s going to pester me about, and I’m not a fan of being pestered in general.

I’m especially not a fan of being pestered about my work. I mean, do I show up at her office and demand she file a new brief or whatever it is she does? I don’t know the first thing about the intricacies of being a lawyer, but that’s a word she uses a lot, so I’m going to imagine she files a lot of them.

This past year and a half has been a whirlwind. I’ve been writing different tropes to stay relevant, and that’s not all. I’ve actually dated a guy from each trope, determined by a handy-dandy spinner Hayley created, and I’m so very much over it. 

It isn’t the mechanics of putting a new book together that has me dragging my feet on the way to what I suspect isn’t going to be a very happy, happy hour. It’s the emotional toll. It’s everything that goes on behind the scenes, where my heart is dragged through the mud on a consistent basis. 

I really don’t feel like dating anybody new just so I can write a new book. And I certainly don’t need to be reminded of how I’m neglecting my career by essentially going on hiatus.

So, who can blame me for not exactly floating out of my apartment with wings on my heels? Hayley has been so busy lately that I know if she’s this determined to get together, it’s time for me to spin the wheel again. I get the sneaking suspicion that Maggie is behind this. 

My editor has been terrific in letting me take the last six months off, but I knew the day would come when I’d have to get back to it. And she’s probably making Hayley do her dirty work. How she ever got Hayley’s number, I’ll never know, but I wish it would get deleted from her phone. I hate that they discuss my choice of men behind my back. I’m pretty sure there’s some law being broken here. 

I grab my purse and open the door to leave. As I step out into the hallway, the sound of Phoebe whining fills the air.

Phoebe doesn’t typically whine. My super-hot, super-confusing neighbor Matt has a lot of flaws, but he’s nothing if not a devoted dog owner. And since he works from home like I do, sweet Phoebe rarely suffers from loneliness.

I knock on the door. “Matt? You in there?”

No answer, but Phoebe’s whining is becoming louder and more insistent. I don’t remember hearing him leave the apartment, but it’s unusual for Phoebe to make all this noise.

Which is why I go back into my apartment and grab the key to Matt’s place from the kitchen drawer. 

“Wellness check,” I call out while sliding the key into his lock. I sincerely hope he isn’t in the middle of something embarrassing—though really, I wouldn’t mind having a reason to tease him for a while. He’s always the one teasing me, if not openly making fun of me.

Phoebe just about knocks me down when I step into the apartment. Good thing I’m not wearing a new outfit since she practically tackles me to the floor. “Okay, okay! Where’s your daddy?”

As if in reply, a loud snore comes from the bedroom. It’s just past six o’clock at night, way too early for him to have gone to bed unless he’s sick.

A quick peek into the bedroom tells me that’s exactly the situation, and all I can do is shake my head at the sight of a nightstand piled high with balled-up tissues, bottles of cold and flu medicine, and even a jar of eucalyptus rub. I didn’t think people used that anymore.

No wonder poor Phoebe is dancing around the way she is. Hayley’s going to have to get started without me.

I hook on Phoebe’s leash and get her outside, barely crossing the street into the park before she takes care of business.

“You really had to go, didn’t you? You’re such a good girl.” I scratch behind her ears and try not to read too much into the way she looks up at me. Like she’s never been so relieved. “I think that means you get an extra treat when we go inside.”

Matt is sleeping when I return with the dog. Now, I know he is truly sick, and I can’t help but feel a little sympathetic. In all the time we’ve been friends, I’ve never seen him like this. He’s usually snarky and full of energy to pick on me. But now, he looks so helpless.

Which is why I leave a note by his bed, letting him know I walked the dog and that I’ll be back with supplies.

For a second, I consider adding a postscript, asking how he manages to still look so good when he’s clearly sick. It doesn’t seem fair. Even with a couple of days of scruff on his cheeks and hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in way too long, he’s like an angel.

And of course, I can’t believe I’m even thinking that as I stare at him. So sweet and peaceful. I’m trying my best to keep us at a platonic friendship, but each day, it gets harder and harder. 

And that, in a nutshell, is my current problem. 

After dating several men to gain new experiences so I could write about different tropes—and up the sex appeal in my stories—Matt messed everything up.

Because ever since he kissed me a few months ago, I haven’t been able to even think about dating anybody else seriously. Not for the sake of a book.

But I haven’t figured out a way to tell my editor this. Which means I’m off to meet Hayley to spin the wheel yet again. Even though it’s the last thing I want to do.

I give Phoebe a kiss on the head before she climbs into bed with Matt, settling in at his feet. “You take care of him while I’m gone,” I whisper as I slip out of his bedroom and lock up his front door. 

At least I know he’s not alone. 

A while later, I give Hayley a breathless kiss on the cheek before I slide into the booth, sitting across from her. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay very long. I think Matt is really sick.”

She listens, lips pursed thoughtfully, while I fill her in on what I found before meeting up with her. 

“It seems like he’s been taking care of himself just fine without your help,” she concludes once I’m finished.

“Sure, the poor dog’s bladder almost exploded. He’s definitely managing well. I wonder how long he’s been feeling like this. I should’ve known, come to think of it. I haven’t seen him for a few days. Maybe I should keep Phoebe with me until he’s feeling better. That way, she won’t wake him up, though if she didn’t manage it earlier with all her whining …”

“You realize you’re making his problem your problem, right?”

I lean back in the booth, folding my arms. “Okay, counselor, let’s hear it. You might as well lay it on me.”

“Lay what on you?” She lifts her glass to her lips, eyeing me over the rim.

“It’s clear you think I care too much about Matt being sick. Why don’t you just come out and say it?”

She lifts a shoulder. “You two are friends. Why wouldn’t you care about a friend being sick?”

“So, what’s with all the I’m making his problem my problem stuff? What’s with the guilt?”

“I didn’t mean to lay guilt on you.”

“What did you mean to lay on me then?” Gee, I sure do love these little word games we sometimes play. I’m the writer here. I should be the one to win these arguments without breaking a sweat.

“I only want you to be careful.”

“You’ve been telling me to be careful for months. And haven’t I been? We've basically gone back to being friends. Nothing more. I haven't even mentioned … the kiss,” I whisper the last two words.

“No, but you’re letting what happened between you get in the way of your livelihood. And that’s what bothers me. Because I know how much your writing means to you, how hard you’ve worked to maintain your career. And I’d hate to see all of that get thrown aside because a hot man kissed you once.”

“Now, that’s just unfair. I’ve kissed lots of hot guys …” I start but quickly stop as the server comes by, asking if we need anything, because I’m about two seconds away from causing a scene. Just a few moments of putting on a pleasant face and smiling are enough to pull me up short and keep my temper in check.

Here’s the thing: Hayley is a fantastic friend and an absolute genius, both of which I love and admire her for. Yet that genius of hers means she has a habit of boiling things down to the point where they’re just about unrecognizable. I know I tend to be a drama queen, but she swings all the way in the opposite direction. I’m all about being pragmatic and realistic, but there’s more to the situation with Matt than just a hot guy kissing me.

I fold my hands on top of the table, determined to handle this like a professional adult. I mean, that’s who I am, right?

“I appreciate your observations, but I think you’re generalizing quite a bit. Matt isn’t just some hot guy. You know how close we’ve become. And you know how he took care of me the last time I was sick. He brought me pho and everything else I needed without being asked. The least I can do is return the favor.”

She nods slowly, but I know better. The way those eyes of hers narrow tells me everything I need to know about what’s going on in her brilliant, beautiful head. “A reasonable argument.”

“Thank you.”

“But I think you forget who you’re talking to.”

I slump down. Here we go. Good thing my drink arrives when it does because I need it.

Another good thing: the approach of a pair of handsome, smiling guys who look to be around our age. Professionals too, wearing nice suits and expensive watches.

Not that I’m in the mood to meet either of them, but at least they’re a distraction. 

Hayley sizes them up with a single look, flashing a friendly but distant smile before they have a chance to say hello. “We’re kind of in the middle of something right now. Sorry.” 

The two men slink off and make eyes at two women a few tables away.

Now, that is Hayley. She can draw men in like flies to honey, but when she’s not in the mood to entertain their advances, she has no trouble telling them to move along.

She then turns back to me, all business. 

“As I was saying”—she pulls the olives from her martini, sliding one from the skewer with her teeth—“you’re talking to me now. And I know what’s really going on. You’re right; I was flippant. I apologize.”

“Thank you.”

“But you’re kidding yourself.”

“And there it is.”

“Well, you are! The whole reason you haven’t written a new book in months is because you’re hung up on Matt. If you really like Matt, why not come out and tell him?”

“Because he’s Matt. Because he’s the guy who constantly picks on me. Because we have nothing in common. Because he’s my neighbor. You know once we were over the honeymoon period, everything would fall apart, and we’d be forced into uncomfortable conversations in the hallway. And I wouldn't get to see Phoebe anymore. How miserable would that be?”

“Why do you assume things wouldn’t work out?”

“Besides the fact that we are completely different? Look at my track record. For the last year and a half, I’ve allowed myself to date several men, and I’m never good enough for them. Something always comes between us. Why would I think it would be any different between Matt and me?”

“I feel there is so much to say about all that, but let’s not go down that rabbit hole. Instead, let’s talk about your work. You were so freaked out about the change in direction, and then you practically jumped at the chance to spin the wheel before the cowboy because you liked being busy. Now, it's been six months, and you don’t even want me to bring up the spinner. What are you going to do about that? If you’re just going to be friends with Matt, there's no reason to let him stand in the way of your career.”

Man, I should’ve known better than to think I could win this one. “I wish I could make you understand. My feelings for him are all jumbled up.”

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. “I do understand. I really, truly do. And it sucks. But my job as your best friend isn’t just to be a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes, I have to nudge you in the right direction. In this case, the right direction is making sure you see the big picture for what it is. You have to start working again. At least talk things over with Maggie, see how she feels about you going back to writing purely from your imagination.”

“I’ve already done that.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “And?”

“And she argued that messing with success is never a good idea. The fresh inspiration I’ve gotten from each of the men I’ve dated has kept my writing … how did she describe it? Exciting, compelling.” I have to snicker as I raise what’s left of my drink. “Apparently, I’m not exciting or compelling when I’m writing strictly from my imagination. I guess all the people who read my first few books didn’t know what they were talking about when they posted such glowing reviews.”

“That doesn’t sound like Maggie. Didn't you tell me she asked if she was pushing too hard at one point?”

“Yeah, well, I guess now that she’s given me six months off, she’s not so concerned anymore.”

The fact is, Maggie’s patience is waning. Every single tick of the clock reminds me that I’m wasting time, that my publisher expects certain things from me in return.

“So, I guess it’s time for this, huh?” Hayley reaches into her bag, fishing for the spinner, and places it on the table. 

I’ve come to both love and hate the spinning wheel she put together for me when this whole crazy experiment started.

But it’s for my career, and she’s right. I’ve worked too hard to let things fall apart just because I have a crush on someone. The more I think about it that way, the easier it is for me to adjust to the idea of finding somebody new to date.

Even if I’d rather be dating the infuriating, fascinating, annoying, sexy-as-sin, and sweet-when-he-feels-like-it guy across the hall.

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 flex 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.”