Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player

by Dodd, Jillian

  “It was awesome, man. I’m glad you could come over. It’s been so long.”

  Luke stands and pulls me off the couch. “May I walk you home?” he asks with a grin.

  “I’d hate for you to go out of your way,” I say with a giggle.

  “It’s no trouble at all.”

  “Good night, Matt,” I say over my shoulder, giving him a wink.

  “Night, Kitty. Night, Luke.”

  Luke opens my door and pulls me into my apartment and into a big hug.

  “Thanks for being such a good sport tonight. I really didn’t plan to stay over there. I really do want to get to know you, Kitty.”

  “I want to get to know you too. So, you think maybe next time, it could just be you and me? Sitting on my couch?” I ask.

  “Definitely. Hey, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “Do you think Matt’s lonely?”

  “Lonely? I don't think so. Why?”

  “Just a feeling I get.”

  “Well, you aren’t his neighbor, and I can assure you that Matt is not lonely. There are plenty of women coming and going out of that apartment.”

  “That’s funny. He said he hasn’t really been with anyone for a while.”

  “When did he tell you that?”

  “I asked him if he was seeing anyone the other night, and he said no one worthwhile.”

  “Hmm, interesting. I didn’t think guys talked about stuff like that.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes, we do, and I thought it might be nice if I took him out this week. Maybe help him find someone.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, that’s very sweet of you.”

  I give him a hug, and then he pulls me back in for a chaste kiss on the lips.

  “I’d better go. I need to get some sleep. Good night, Kitty.”

  “Good night, Luke.”

  As I close the door behind him, I’m suddenly annoyed. And I'm not sure it’s because Luke is choosing to go out with Matt instead of me or if it’s because they are going out to find Matt a new girlfriend.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “So, you haven’t slept with him yet?”

  I’ve been on the phone with my editor for all of three minutes, and she’s already giving me a headache.

  “No, we’ve only gone on a few dates, and on the last one, Matt invited him over to watch a game.”

  “Oh, Matt blocked you? Interesting. Very interesting. So, do you think the next book will be Kitty Dates her Hot Neighbor?”

  “Maggie, just stop right there. I’ve already had to explain this to everyone else. Matt and I will never get together. We have nothing in common, and he’s my neighbor.”

  “So?”

  “So, I really like my apartment, and I don’t want to have to move when it doesn't work out. You won’t let me use my imagination anymore, so I can’t stay with my neighbor forever if I’m writing these books.”

  “Hmm, point taken. Good thing we have lots of other tropes for you. Now, let’s get this hockey book started. You’ve had plenty of time off, and while I’ve been doing some publishing magic, we need something new to keep you relevant. Things have changed so quickly. Readers are voracious in a way they never were before because, now, they feel they have all the content in the world at their fingertips. And for the most part, they do. But there’s no satisfying them.”

  “I’m on it, Maggie.”

  “And, Kitty?”

  Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it.

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t forget to bring the heat.”

  “Haven’t I proven myself by now?”

  “Yes, but it never hurts to give us more. You know, character development is a thing in real life too.”

  “Right. Good-bye, Maggie.”

  “Bye, Kitty.”

  Now, all I have to do is write an absolutely sultry book. Just as my love life has been reduced to a simmer. No biggie. I can do this. Just wait until Maggie finds out I actually used my imagination for this one.

  My hero and heroine—a hockey player and the sports writer working her fingers to the bone to be taken seriously in what’s typically a male-dominated field—are currently in the locker room.

  “How many women usually come in here?” She ran a hand over one of the tables, where she imagined players must sit after a tough game and allow the trainers to stretch their sore muscles.

  “Counting you? One that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Just one.” It made her shiver, like she was an explorer in a new world. A pioneer.

  “Yeah, even the lady reporters stay out of here. There aren’t many of them that I know about though.” He turned to her, leaning against the wall separating one locker from another. “We might have to cover up if a girl ever came in here, and there are some of us who don’t like covering up.”

  “So, you just walk around, swinging free?”

  “Why not? Might as well.” When she made a face, he laughed. “It’s not weird. By the time you make the pros, you’ve grown up in locker rooms. You’ve been around other guys your entire life. Undressing, showering, dressing. It’s as natural as breathing. But you also get set in your ways, I guess. When you’re not used to covering up because you didn’t have to worry about it for twenty years …”

  “I get it.” She arched an eyebrow, her eyes flicking up and down over his impressive body. Even in a sweater and jeans, he was droolworthy. “Maybe I could dress up like a guy and sneak in here sometime. Sounds like there could be a lot of eye candy strutting around.”

  “Hey. There’s only one piece of eye candy you should be interested in.”

  Her body flushed all over, her skin tingling. Even her nipples hardened under his gaze and the heaviness in his voice. There was now the promise of a lot more than the professional relationship they were currently in.

  Now, it was like all the lines had been blurred. The lines between what she needed from him—stories, legitimacy as a reporter—and what he needed from her.

  What did he need from her? He had been doing fine on his own before she came along, before her editor put them together for a series. It wasn’t like he needed his profile raised. If anything, his growing fame had started to pull focus from the rest of the team and ruffle some proud, egocentric feathers.

  When she looked back at him, he was staring at her with his mouth twitching upward. He was smirking. He knew what he was doing to her, the way he made her feel, the thoughts he stirred up.

  And he liked it.

  He stalked across the room. Keeping eye contact. Ready to pounce.

  She didn’t look away, and she didn’t back away and run for the door either. Her knees were shaking, and her heart was racing, but she refused to run.

  She wanted this. She wanted him.

  By the time the door opens behind me, the hero is on his knees, giving my heroine the most exquisite oral pleasure she’s ever received.

  Which, of course, is why Matt chooses this exact moment to walk in.

  Why didn’t I lock the damn door?

  It takes a second for me to come back to reality; I was so wrapped up in my work and what was turning out to be a very steamy scene.

  “Don’t you ever knock? And now, you’re interrupting my work. I was finally in a groove with this damn book, and you come strolling in.”

  All that, and I haven’t even turned around yet.

  “Wow. Anything else you want to accuse me of? Just get it all out of the way now. There was a cab stolen around the corner earlier this morning. Maybe I did that too.”

  I spin in my chair, and if there isn’t fire flashing in my eyes—literal flames—I’d be surprised. He even takes a step back when he sees me.

  “Okay, okay. I was a dick last night. I thought I’d buy you lunch to make up for it.”

  “Lunch? You think sesame tofu and an egg roll are going to make up for what you did last night? And you’re admitting you were a dick too! The nerve!”

  “You know what? I didn’t
come over here to be yelled at.” He holds up his hands, surrendering. “I was trying to make it up to you.”

  “You can’t just make it up to me. This isn’t right, none of it.”

  “What does that mean? What are you talking about?” Now, his arms are folded, which I know means he’s on the defensive. He’s ready for war.

  “You deliberately got in the way last night. You admitted it, and you admitted you were a dick about it. Why would you do that? Why help me meet Luke and then stand in the way of me spending time with him? What game are you playing?”

  “Who said I’m playing a game? I don’t have time for that.”

  “Bull. You’re lying.” I stand, facing him. “It’s one thing for us to joke around and get on each other’s nerves, but you have never deliberately stood in my way before. You’ve never sabotaged me.”

  “Valentine, you’re letting your imagination—”

  “Don’t talk down to me.” My voice is a hiss, sharp and dangerous, even to my own ears. “You’re in my apartment right now, and you didn’t even bother knocking. You walk in here like you own the place; you play games with my work!”

  He rolls his eyes.

  “Yes, my work!” I insist.

  He clearly does not feel the same. “He’s a person. A good guy. He’s not your work. None of these guys you’ve dated are work. They’re people. And you … you …”

  “Use them? Is that what you’re trying to say? I use people? Because let me tell you, you’re not saying anything I haven’t already thought before. But you know what else? I go into these new books and new relationships openly. With hope. Maybe it’ll work out this time. Maybe this is the right person. And isn’t that how normal relationships work?”

  He snorts. “I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time, so I couldn’t tell you for sure.”

  Oh, man.

  I shouldn’t say it.

  I should not.

  I absolutely, a hundred percent need to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying something I will never be able to take back.

  But dang it all, I want to. It’ll feel so good to let him know what I know. To throw it in his face and watch him react. He’s not the only one who can sling a barb.

  I won’t let him get away with thinking he has the upper hand.

  Which is why I open my big, stupid mouth and let it pour out. “No, I guess it’s been a while since your breakup with Ginger.”

  Bull’s-eye.

  I’ve never seen him go pale. His complexion is usually tan year-round, thanks to all the time he spends outside running, walking the dog.

  Yet here he is, looking pale indeed. His eyes are wider than normal, too, and there’s a flatness to them.

  “Too far.” He unfolds his arms, letting them fall to his sides. “You went too far.”

  I know it, and I already feel sorry. But I’m not about to agree with him. I mean, he deserved it.

  “You went there first. I only followed you.”

  Now, his face is red, and I can’t say I like that color much better. “Too far.” That’s all he manages to grunt before leaving, slamming the door hard enough to make the frame rattle.

  Terrific. I’m officially a terrible person.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  It’s been a while since I’ve worked through the night. It’s been a while since I’ve had a reason to.

  Either I work until my eyes can’t stay open any longer or I sit around, stewing over Matt and how disappointed I am in myself for sinking to his level.

  Because after giving it some thought, it became clear, that was the real problem. Not what he said. Not what he did yesterday.

  It was that I sank to his level. For some reason, he was being mean and rude, and I had to one-up him.

  I succeeded. But I went too far. Lord knows he said it enough.

  Did things end that badly with him and Ginger?

  It’s past three in the morning, and my eyes are starting to tire out when I hear footfalls in the hall. And stumbling. And drunken laughter.

  And a girl’s voice.

  When there’s a knock at my door, I cringe and then freeze that way. The lights are on, so I know they can see the glow under the door.

  Who would knock at this time of night? I made it a point to lock the door after Matt stormed out, just in case he was of a mind to storm back in. I’ll be smarter about locking up from now on.

  “Maybe she fell asleep on her computer,” Matt slurs, but there’s an edge in his voice, though what I hear a lot more clearly is the laughter of the girl. Whoever she is.

  “Shh. Go on, do your thing,” I hear Luke's voice say.

  Another knock. So, they’re finally home from carousing. At least he sounds soberer than Matt, who, come to think of it, I’ve never heard like this. He drinks but rarely gets drunk—that I’m aware of. He’s always struck me as somebody in control of himself.

  I tiptoe over to the door, holding my breath. Listening hard so I can hear when the door to Matt’s apartment closes. I can’t see him right now. I don’t even want to set eyes on him.

  As soon as I hear the click of his lock, I unlock my door and open it a crack.

  Luke’s standing there with a grin. “Hey. He told me you might be awake.”

  “Oh, did he?” I shoot a glare at the closed door across from mine. “That was nice of him.”

  “Sorry.” He offers a sheepish look with a shrug. “I can go. I just figured if you were up …”

  I look him up and down, opening the door wider now. “You figured you’d come by and ask for the tour I wasn’t able to give you yesterday? Or you just wanted to tuck me in for the night?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Come on in then.”

  I close the door behind him but not before a burst of raucous laughter from across the hall sets my teeth on edge. Whoever she is, she’s having a good time.

  “Mind if I have some water? I never drink much, but still, I like to stay hydrated.” He points to the kitchen, and I nod in encouragement.

  “You were a good boy tonight then?”

  “Sure. I usually am. I can’t abuse my body that way. A beer or two—that’s it.”

  “I admire you. You’re so focused on your goals.” I lean against the island and admire other things about him that have nothing to do with goals. Though really, I guess they do since his fitness is directly tied to how well he performs on the ice.

  Another burst of laughter from Matt’s. Even Luke hears this. “Is it always so easy to hear what goes on over there?”

  “You have no idea.” I roll my eyes with a groan. “For a long time, before we ever officially met, the most I knew about him was how he made girls scream his name.”

  “Wow. Good for him. Not so good for you.”

  “No, it wasn’t a lot of fun, especially since I tend to work late at night.”

  He finishes off the water and tosses the bottle into the recycling bin before coming to me. “You talk about admiring me, and you’re working at three in the morning.”

  “It’s usually when I do my best writing.”

  He stands roughly an inch from me, so close that I can feel the heat of his breath on my face. “What else can you tell me? I want to know all about you.”

  “Hmm. I practice yoga.”

  “You do, huh? I wondered how you kept in such good shape.”

  “Not nearly as good as you.” I take a chance and trace his bicep with one fingertip. It’s impressive. Extremely. “But it does help me stay flexible.”

  A devilish grin. “How does that help a writer?”

  “It doesn’t. But it helps at other times—when I’m not writing.”

  “Oh?” He lowers his head slowly, inch by inch. “Like when?”

  It’s not easy, finding the breath to respond. “Like when a hockey player shows up at my door at three in the morning, looking and smelling so good that I don’t know if I can handle myself.”

  “Do me a favor.” His lips are almos
t touching mine, and, oh, my heart is pounding hard enough to drown out every sound but his voice. “Don’t try too hard.”

  Then, he sweeps me up in a kiss, arms tight around me, holding me close. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him pick me up and carry me to the bedroom.

  So, this is happening. This is really happening.

  And I want it. I need it.

  “Oh … oh yeah … oh yeah, baby …”

  I can’t believe this. This can’t be happening. Luke doesn’t seem to notice, too busy pulling off his shirt and unbuttoning his jeans. I should be focused on him. I want to be focused on him. He’s freaking glorious. He’s standing next to the bed and ready to pounce on me, and all I can hear is some random girl getting off on the other side of the wall.

  Luke kisses me, kisses my neck, while his hands run over me. Yes, this is what matters; this is where I am. Here, in this moment, with this man in my bed. The pressure against my thigh reminds me of just how much he wants to be here, too, with every thrust of his hips against me as he lowers my shorts.

  “Matt! Oh, fuck, yes!”

  Okay, I know he heard that.

  Luke jerks, surprised. “Are you serious?” It’s a low murmur against my chest, where he was just putting his lips.

  “Don’t pay attention.” I take his face in my hands and pull him in for a kiss while Miss Whatever Her Name Is screams like the world’s crashing down around her.

  But I can tell it’s distracting, the screaming and moaning. He lifts his head, glancing at the wall.

  Then he looks down at me with a gleam in his eye. “Wanna see if we can do better?”

  Oh, yes, I do.

  And by the time we’re finished, I’m hoarse and sweaty and exhausted.

  “I think … we won,” I manage to pant out between breaths.

  “I knew we would.” He gets up and comes back with two bottles of water, one of which I gratefully accept.

  “I’m sorry for what was going on next door. It was—”

  “Don’t even mention it. Hey, I’m glad he got laid. Though he didn’t have to try too hard. That’s one area he’s never had trouble with.”