Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star

by Dodd, Jillian

  I can’t help myself. “Thank you,” I cry, throwing my arms around her in the middle of the sidewalk, stopping us both in our tracks. “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

  “I know that too.” She laughs. “Come on, you dork. I’m starving.”

  “This is why I packed snacks.” For once, I was the one thinking ahead.

  “Yeah, but you’re not the one who has to put up with you while shopping. Forget snacks. I’ll need wine to get me through it next time.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “You know, pretty soon, we’re not going to be able to do this anymore. It’ll be too cold up here.” Matt takes a pull from his bottle of beer, smacking his lips. “I do like autumn beers. This pumpkin ale is pretty good.”

  “And you thought I was an idiot for buying it,” I remind him with a roll of my eyes. “It doesn’t taste like pumpkin pie at all, does it?”

  “What can I say? I hear pumpkin, I think pumpkin pie. Who doesn’t?”

  “Most of the world, I guess.” I can’t help but feel just a little bit smug since Matt likes to make fun of me at pretty much every opportunity. For once, I’m the one making him feel like a dope.

  “Anyway, I don’t think we’re going to have many of these warm days.” He stretches his legs out with a sigh.

  Warm is right. After a few days of temperatures being down in the fifties—which, at this time of year, feels pretty cold—today, it feels like spring. “I hope we don’t have many more.” I shrug.

  He puts a hand to his chest, gasping. “Is that an insult? You don’t want to meet up on the roof?”

  He is insufferable.

  “This may come as a surprise, but not everything is about you. Shocking, I know. What I meant was, I like fall. I like feeling cozy and wearing big, thick sweaters and boots and jeans and scarves and hats.”

  “And lions and tigers and bears—”

  “Shut up.”

  “And pumpkin spice lattes and pumpkin cereal and pumpkin beer.”

  “Last time I checked, that’s your second pumpkin beer, and unless you want to pay me for it, you can keep your snide comments to yourself.”

  “It was your turn to buy the beer.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t demand repayment when you insist on being such a tool.”

  He winces. “Tool? Now, I know you’re irritated since you don’t usually go any more extreme than jerk or dork.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m growing as a person. Expanding my vocabulary. You know, it’s not a good idea for a writer to become complacent with their vocabulary.”

  He winks, and I know the direction his thoughts have taken the second a slow, knowing smile starts to spread. “That’s true. You’ve definitely been expanding your vocabulary, if what we first talked about was the sort of stuff you were writing.”

  “The stuff we first talked about?”

  He slaps his forehead. “Oh, right. You were half out of your mind on tequila shots. Let me remind you. You had me read part of what you’d tried to write, and it was … not good.”

  “I do remember that, thank you very much.”

  He snorts. “What did you call it? Her silky petals?”

  “Do you ever get tired of being you?”

  “Not yet.” He shrugs with a grin. “And now that we’re on the subject, who’s your next victim—I mean, boyfriend?”

  I hold up one finger. “For starters, none of these guys are my boyfriend. We date, yes, but they are not boyfriends. You need to keep that one in mind.”

  “Noted.” He nods.

  He’s trying to keep a straight face, which I guess is something I should be grateful for, but I wish he didn’t always have the impulse to laugh at me in the first place.

  I hold up a second finger. “Two, dispense with the whole victim thing. They are not victims. They are human beings who are fortunate enough to spend time with me.”

  “It sounds like you’ve been reading girl-power self-help books.”

  “So what if I have? Which I have not, by the way,” I add when it looks like he’s about to laugh. “But you have to admit, I’m sort of a big deal. The total package.”

  “That’s Hayley talking.” He snickers before taking another drink.

  Darn him. “So what? She’s right. What’s wrong with being confident? And with people like you in my life, who always make fun of me, it’s a good thing I do have some self-confidence.”

  “Then, why do you hang around me?”

  “Geography, nothing more. You just happen to live across the hall.”

  He holds his hand to his heart. “You sure know how to put a man in his place. And here I was, thinking you liked the company.”

  I do sort of like the company. I can’t let him know that though. It doesn’t take much for things to go to his head, and he already has a monstrous ego.

  “Hey, I call it like I see it.”

  “In all seriousness, you’re pretty hard on yourself.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.

  “See? How am I supposed to try and help you when you get all … that way?” He waves his hand in my general direction.

  “For one thing, I didn’t ask you for help. So, your opinion isn’t exactly needed. And like I said, you’re the one always being so hard on me.”

  “You know I’m kidding, right?”

  I lower my brow. “All the time?”

  “Most of the time?” he counters with a wince. “Some of the time?”

  “I thought so,” I sigh.

  “Lighten up!” He laughs, going for another beer. “Listen, I joke around because it’s fun to joke around with you. Maybe because you take things so seriously. I don’t know. Or maybe I’m really a mean person.”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “What can I say?” He runs a hand through his brown hair, making it stand up on end. “That’s how I am. Ask my sister. I teased her when we were kids to the point where she would cry.”

  “Are you bragging? Because it sort of sounds like you’re bragging a little bit.”

  “No! I’m just saying, I joke around a lot with the people I like.”

  He likes me, does he?

  “So, you teased your sister just because you liked her?”

  “And it was fun—don’t forget that part.” When I roll my eyes, he adds, “But yeah, I don’t waste my time teasing anybody I don’t care about. I guess, in a way, you’re like my surrogate sister. You live right across the hall, just like she did when we were kids, and you’re always getting yourself into situations that I would swear couldn’t be for real. Like, how does anybody light their sleeve on fire during dinner?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you? My sleeve was a little puffy, and the stinking candle was right in the middle of the table!” Like I did it on purpose or something. “Trust me, that was one of the most humiliating experiences I’ve ever been through. It’s not like I go around experimenting, seeing how much I can embarrass myself today.”

  “I don’t think you could do a much better job of it if you tried on purpose.”

  “Why do I even bother with you?”

  He’s still laughing when he leans a little closer, arching an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me. Who is it this time? What’s your trope?”

  Terrific. I should’ve had more to drink to brace myself for what’s coming next. He’ll never stop asking if I don’t tell him since he’ll know I’m holding back for a reason. I might as well get it over with.

  “A rock star.”

  The fact that he’s silent for so long is actually kind of alarming.

  “What’s the matter? Did I break your brain?” I ask in a whisper. “Do you smell burned toast?”

  He shakes his head, nostrils flaring. His lips are pressed together, and there’s a flush creeping up over his cheeks. He’s practically turning purple.

  I lean back in my chair, deflating. “Go on. Let it out before you
die from trying to hold it in.”

  The first tiny snort escapes. Then, the second. Before long, he’s doing that laugh of his, and I’m sitting with my head in my hands.

  “A rock star?” That’s all he can manage in the middle of so much laughter at my expense.

  “Obviously, it doesn’t have to be an actual rock star,” I add while he’s laughing. “A musician should do the trick. But somebody with a following, somebody with fans and gigs or whatever they’re called.”

  “Oh, so you’re not going to show up at the next big concert at Madison Square Garden and throw your underwear on the stage?”

  “I like to do that anyway,” I retort, sticking my tongue out at him. “No, that’s not what I’m going to do. Jeez.”

  “No, I guess not.” He wipes his eyes because, of course, he’s still crying with laughter. “No, you need something more immediate than that.”

  “This is why I didn’t want to tell you. Because you always take things too far.”

  “You know how funny I think this is in general. Why do you act surprised when I laugh?”

  “I guess, deep down in the bottom of my heart, I hope, this time, you’ll have grown up a little bit. What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

  “You should know better by now.” He grins. “I’m pretty much a preteen boy when it comes to my sense of humor.”

  He leans forward, elbows on his knees. He’s in his uniform of a T-shirt and jeans, his feet bare, as usual. I wonder what he’ll do once the weather turns colder and he has no choice but to wear shoes if he comes up here.

  “Seriously though, how do you plan on meeting this guy?”

  “Hayley says she has connections at her law firm. Lawyers who represent entertainment agents—that sort of thing.”

  He blows out what sounds like an impressed whistle. “Nice to have friends in high places.”

  “In situations like this, yes, it is nice. Because you know me. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to go about this. I never have the first clue how to go about anything when it comes to this. It’s still so far outside my wheelhouse—this concept of dating somebody to get inspiration for my books.”

  “This is the third one. It must be getting at least a little easier by now, right?”

  “Not really. Like you said, I take things seriously, and it’s more for work than my own fun.”

  “Yet you seem to keep attracting these guys, right? I mean, you managed to hook your first two guys without too much trouble.”

  I won’t say what immediately comes to mind because I know it’s wrong. I know I’m not supposed to form deep connections to these men, that I’m only dating them for the sake of my work.

  But after not being enough for not one, but two men in six months, well, my pride stings a little. A lot actually. Who could blame me for being gun shy? Who could blame me for wondering if I’m the problem, not the perfect-on-paper men I keep finding?

  Matt knows how I feel about this since I cried to him about it. I really wish I hadn’t. He doesn’t need to know those intimate details of my life. Besides, he’s got a life of his own. I should know. I’m the one who ends up having to listen to the screaming and moaning through the wall we share.

  Which is why, instead of complaining to him like I would to Hayley—who is so tired of it, I’m sure—I force a smile. “That’s true. But I’ve gotten lucky. They landed right in my lap.”

  “And now, you have a best friend with the ability to hook you up with a candidate for your next dating project. I mean, you practically live a charmed life. I hope you know that.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” I snort before finishing off my one and only beer.

  I never drink too much when we sit up here together, mostly because I don’t trust myself. I’ll end up saying something stupid again, like I always do when I get drunk. And in spite of the girls’ nights I have with Hayley, I’m still a lightweight. I only drink maybe once a week, if that.

  “I would. I know you’re being modest because you’re not a stupid person. You see things the way they are. And you know as well as I do that you’ve been crazy fortunate in your life. A great career, a great apartment, and you live across the hall from me, which pretty much means you hit the lottery.”

  “I would definitely not go that far,” I mutter.

  He ignores this. “You’ll find a way to make good on this. I’m sure you will. You always do. Some people are skilled at landing in a pile of shit and coming out, smelling like roses.”

  “Are you sure you’ve never considered a career as a writer? Because you have such a way with words.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  911. Girls night. No excuses.

  Hayley’s text is probably the only thing that could get me up and out of the apartment in record time—looking pretty decent, I might add. She didn’t order me to look hot, which tells me this is a serious situation.

  I can’t help but worry as I hurry my way to our normal spot—a trendy restaurant and bar a few blocks from my apartment. It’s only Monday night—two days after she promised to spread the word at work. What if she got in trouble for that? Darn it, that’s probably it.

  I’m all apologies the second I find her seated at a high-top table near the bar. She must’ve just gotten here because, otherwise, she would be swarmed with interested men by now.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. Is there anything I can do to make things right? Oh my gosh. This is so awful.”

  Hayley just sits there, staring at me. “Do you need medication? I’m starting to think you need medication to manage your brain.”

  It’s my turn to stare at her. “I thought something had gone wrong today, and why you called this emergency girls’ night.”

  “Yes, on the emergency girls’ night, but nothing went wrong.”

  I have to hold on to the table when my legs almost go out from under me. “Jeez Louise! What is wrong with you? You could’ve at least told me everything was okay when you texted. But no, I’ve been worried sick about you for the past half hour. I was worried you’d gotten in trouble for asking around, the way you’d said you would.”

  “For heaven’s sake. Sit down, take a few breaths. I already ordered drinks and appetizers.”

  It’s not until I sit and calm down enough to really pay attention to her that it’s clear she’s practically vibrating. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this way in all the years we’ve known each other.

  “What the heck happened? Did you get a promotion? I mean, you deserve it.”

  She shakes her head, eyes sparkling with some hidden excitement. “You’re never going to believe this.”

  Now, my blood is starting to hum too. “Tell me already! You’re driving me crazy!”

  She leans in, cheeks now flushed. “Okay, get this,” she says with an urgency in her voice that I’m not used to hearing from her. It’s like she went back in time ten years and is about to tell me she just got invited to the prom by the captain of the football team. “As it turns out, one of the firm’s partners does handle an entertainment agent whose client just so happens to be launching a tour of small venues around the city, starting this weekend. As in four days from now.”

  My eyes widen. Maybe Matt’s right about the whole charmed life thing. “Really? That’s convenient! And small venues mean I’ll have a better chance of actually making contact with him. Who is it?”

  “Guess.” Now, she’s bouncing up and down a little bit.

  “I literally have no idea. Who can make you react like this?”

  “I’ll give you a hint.” Her eyes narrow, her smile widening. She’s practically lighting up the whole room. “We both love him.”

  “We both love a lot of people. That doesn’t help all that much.”

  “We both loved him when we were teenagers.”

  Hmm. Intriguing. “That explains why you’re acting like one right now.”

  “Focus!” she barks, drawing a different sort of attention than she’s us
ed to.

  For once, people are frowning in her direction instead of in mine.

  “Okay. Somebody we both loved when we were teenagers. So, like, before we met?”

  “Yeah, way before that. But we have him in common.”

  Who the heck could she possibly be talking about? Maybe I need to open up my mind a little more because every name that comes into my brain is immediately rejected. It couldn’t possibly be this person or that person—but it has to be one of them, right?

  I’m trying to narrow it down and think of who she could mean when she blurts it out, “Dustin Grant!”

  And then the room goes dark for a second, and I might or might not black out. It’s all a blur, caused by the fact that my brain has melted and is running out of my ears.

  When I finally come out of my stupor—which might’ve lasted three seconds or three hours for all I know—I manage to find my voice. “Dustin. Grant. The Dustin Grant? Dustin Grant, who, for most of my adolescence, was the man I pictured marrying? Dustin Grant, whose babies I wanted to have by the dozen? Dustin Grant, who was the reason I wrote Kitty Grant all over every notebook and folder I owned?”

  “Dustin Grant, whose face was all over my sheet sets. Remember I told you about how I made my parents buy me three separate, full sets of sheets with the band’s pictures on them just so I never had to go without Dustin’s face on my pillowcase when I went to sleep? That Dustin Grant.”

  I have to hold my head in my hands since it might fall off otherwise. “Oh my God. I can’t breathe. Dustin Grant. He ushered me into womanhood, Hayley.”

  “And so many others.” She giggles. “I knew you would freak!”

  “So, what? He’s trying to revive his career? Crazy 4 You broke up years ago.”

  They were the biggest band in the entire world at one point, selling out massive arenas on each continent they visited. Girls routinely passed out from excitement before, during, and after the shows; there were always ambulances and medics waiting for the inevitable to occur.

  “Yeah, he wants to start a solo career. He had to take some time off, which could mean anything. Hard times, disillusionment. Rehab. Whatever.”