Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player

by Dodd, Jillian

  Table Of Contents

  Title page

  Copyright page

  About this book

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  KITTY VALENTINE

  Dates a Hockey Player

  ————————————————————-

  JILLIAN DODD

  Copyright © 2020 by Jillian Dodd

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal use only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with someone, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you love swoonworthy boys, strong heroines, and epic love stories.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Jillian Dodd, Inc.

  Madeira Beach, FL

  Jillian Dodd is a registered trademark of Jillian Dodd, Inc.

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  ISBN: : 978-1-953071-05-7

  SPIN THE WHEEL. DATE THE GUY. WRITE THE BOOK.

  Six years ago, debut author Kitty Valentine took the book world by storm when her sweet romance hit #1 on the New York Times Best Sellers list, which was followed by a string of successful releases.

  Her latest novel totally bombed, causing her publisher 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 romance-trope 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.

  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 ge
t 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 underst
and. 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.