Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star

by Dodd, Jillian

  “Do you get that a lot?”

  We’re alone again—or as alone as we’re going to be for the rest of the night. Now that word is starting to spread, things are getting interesting. People are craning their necks to get a better view, whispering to each other, nudging each other. Probably daring each other to approach him. He seems to be taking it all in stride, accepting his drink with a murmured thanks.

  “Something tells me I’m about to get a lot more of it. I’d be the worst liar if I told you this was a huge inconvenience. It can be, for sure, but this is nothing. Your hair would go white if I told you just half of what I’ve put up with over the years. Girls sneaking into my room, disguising themselves as hotel employees, trying to crawl through ventilation ducts—”

  “No kidding!” I should totally be writing this down.

  He nods slowly. “That’s nowhere near the worst of what I saw. Honestly, for as young as they were, those girls were pretty creative. It finally got to the point where I would have to send a bodyguard into my hotel room to sweep it for anybody hiding in the closet or under the bed before I even stepped in.”

  “That’s wild.”

  “That’s fame.” He’s already through with his drink and signaling for another.

  By now, the girls are practically clawing each other’s eyes out for the opportunity to be the one to bring him a refill.

  I can’t help it. I’m feeling a little full of myself right now. I mean, who wouldn’t? I’m the lucky girl sitting next to him. The one having a conversation with him—not because I brought him a drink, but because he asked me out. Me! He asked me out! Just thinking it is enough to make me want to start giggling all over again.

  “What about you? You haven’t said much about yourself.”

  He’s not wrong about that, but it’s because we’ve been talking about him since we arrived. Not that I mind. Even if I wasn’t writing a book about a rock star, I would want to hear all about him. I could drink him in with a straw and never get tired of it.

  “Me? My life is extremely dull compared to yours.”

  “That’s all in the past though. That’s not the present.”

  “Those three women over at the next table who are trying to convince themselves to come over here is happening very much in the present moment.” I nod my head in their direction, where the three of them are giggling furiously behind their hands, trying to get a picture of him in the extremely low light.

  “You are what I want to know about though.” He actually goes so far as to remove his glasses, and he leans in until we’re practically nose to nose.

  Did I die? Is this heaven?

  My laughter is a little breathless, a little giddy. “I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

  “I doubt you could ever disappoint anybody if you tried.”

  “I’m afraid if you made a bet on that, you would lose.”

  “I like my chances.” And then he touches my leg, and my soul leaves my body for a second. “What do you say we get out of here? There’s a little too much attention now that you mention it, and I wanna get to know you better.”

  Oh. This is happening so fast. Why doesn’t my mouth want to work? I moisten my lips with my tongue since my mouth is now as dry as a desert. What do I say? What’s the right thing to say in a situation like this?

  In other words, what is the non-Kitty thing to say?

  He laughs softly, probably picking up on my immediate discomfort. “I’m starving. Doesn’t look like they have any food here, and I haven’t eaten since lunch. Eating right before a performance is never a good idea. It’s bad enough that I’m trying to get back out there, but nobody wants to hear me burp in the middle of a song.”

  I can’t help but think back to Blake and how I ruined what could have been a beautiful evening with a rather bassy belch of my own. I don’t think there will ever be a time when I don’t cringe at the memory.

  “Yeah, let’s get something to eat. Whatever you want.”

  Anything so long as it means spending more time with him. It feels like this is such a magical night, the sort of experience that only comes once in a lifetime. I want it to last as long as possible.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “Best pizza in the city.” Dustin hands me a slice with extra cheese, so big that it needs two paper plates to hold it.

  “It’s bigger than my head!”

  “Good thing it’s so amazing then.” He flashes a killer smile before folding his slice in half and taking a huge bite. His eyes close, and he groans in a way that just about curls my toes.

  What would it take for a girl to make him sound like that without the pizza?

  One bite, and I realize I could never make him sound that way because, good Lord, this is some incredible pizza. The thing about living in New York is, every pizza joint claims it’s the best, just like every bagel shop and every sandwich shop claims they’re the greatest thing that ever happened to their individual type of food.

  But this stuff is no lie.

  “Oh my goodness. I wish I’d worn stretchy pants.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. Those are really working for you.”

  Sweet Jesus, he’s checking me out and not being subtle about it. His eyes crawl over me. I don’t bother reminding him that my eyes are further north.

  “They won’t be working if I eat much more of this.” I take another bite for lack of any other way to respond to his attention. I mean, sure, it’s amazing and incredible and a dream come true, but it’s more than a little overwhelming too. Like getting the moon and not knowing what to do with it. I don’t want to tell him to stop, but I’m at a loss for how to handle him.

  “Come on then.” He holds the door open for me. “Let’s get out of here and walk some of this off as we eat.”

  “You know we’ll have to walk to Staten Island and back to even begin to burn it off, right?”

  Of course, I follow him because, all things considered, I’m having a really good time. Even better than I would’ve imagined. Underneath the whole fame thing, he’s just a person. A real person who really just wants to be able to get a piece of pizza and live a normal life. I don’t know why that means so much to me, but it does. It makes me like him so much more than if he were just some egomaniac out for a quick good time with a fan.

  Let’s be honest. There’s nothing wrong with that either, if both parties are into it.

  But I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. And even though my loins practically burst into flames every time he looks at me, I think I’m handling things pretty well.

  “You probably think I’m the biggest dick in the whole world,” he informs me as we walk.

  One thing I love about New York is how there’s always something happening, always something going on, no matter what time it is. It’s now well after two in the morning, but there are still people wandering around, laughing, eating huge slices of pizza like we are.

  I shoot him a look. “Why would I think that?”

  “Because I keep telling you I want to know about you, but we end up getting back on the subject of me. I promise, I’m not usually this self-centered.”

  “I don’t think you’re being self-centered. And honestly, I’m not trying to be cute when I tell you there’s not that much to know about me. There really isn’t.”

  “You said you’re a romance writer, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Do you self-publish? Or do you do the traditional publishing thing?”

  Just the fact that he even thinks to ask that question is impressive. I can’t help but smile. “Traditional publishing.”

  “Impressive. Good sales?”

  “I hope you won’t think I’m bragging.”

  He laughs. “That answers my question.”

  “I’m really not trying to brag!”

  “Why not? You might as well. You’re successful. Own it. You deserve it. So, really”—there’s a teasing note in his voice, and it matches well with the teasing look i
n his eye—“what are we talking about here? Any best sellers?”

  I can’t help but blush as I hold up four fingers.

  His laughter echoes against the tall buildings around us. “Shut up! Are you serious? Four best sellers?”

  “Well, four number ones, and the rest have hit somewhere on the list. I’ve been very lucky.”

  “That’s not luck. That’s talent. You must be a hell of a writer. The only people I know who made it to the New York Times list are people whose memoirs were written by ghostwriters. Not the same thing. That’s so neat.”

  The fact that he uses the word neat is probably the most endearing thing about him so far. I can’t help it.

  “It is pretty neat,” I have to admit. “And now, here I am. Having pizza with you. I don’t think I could ever come up with a scenario from one of my books that would top this.”

  “Well, that’s a nice compliment.”

  “I mean it. I’m not just saying that. This is … this is a real thrill. I know that sounds corny. But it’s true. I would never have guessed something like this could ever happen. Would you forgive me if I told you I kind of feel like Cinderella right now?”

  “Oh, no way.” But he’s smiling when he says it. “But I’m not that big of a deal. I learned a long time ago not to listen to my own press.”

  I’m watching him with my writer’s mind clicking away in the background. Not just as a fan either and not just as a woman in the grip of a dizzying, heart-stopping crush—even if that’s exactly who I am and exactly what I’m dealing with.

  It makes it difficult for me to be in the moment sometimes, even if the moment is one I very much want to be in. Like right now. I wish I could soak in the glory of being with him and leave it there, but I can’t stop thinking. Watching him. Noticing the way he reacts when people recognize him. People who, like me, probably haven’t thought about him in a very long time. The sight of him brings back so much nostalgia.

  In a way, I feel sorry for him because those people don’t care about him right now. They only care about who he used to be to them.

  Strangely enough, he’s thinking along the same lines. “It’s funny how many people stop caring about you when you’re not on top anymore,” he murmurs.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “No, you can’t. Consider yourself lucky. You’re on top.”

  I could tell him a thing or two about that, but I choose not to. It might end up sounding ridiculous compared to what he’s been through.

  “You saw how it was tonight. With everybody expecting me to be who they wanted me to be. Because that’s all they think I am. Just the guy who used to sing with that band years ago. God forbid I have my own music, something I want to say. All they want is what they remember. Not who I am now.”

  Yes, I can most definitely relate on a smaller scale. “I know what it means to feel boxed in by people’s expectations,” I say in a quiet voice.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.” Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best thing for me to say because, now, he sounds irritated.

  My face must reflect how bad I feel about that because he immediately softens.

  “I’m sorry. I’m being moody and morose, like my manager calls it. His exact words. Only he deserves it most of the time, but you don’t. Please, don’t take it personally. I’m acting like a dick, but that has nothing to do with you since you’ve been nothing but sweet.”

  “I’m sure you’re very frustrated,” I offer. “Just know that one pigeonholed artist understands what another artist is going through.”

  He comes to a stop, which means I do too. I feel his eyes moving over me, studying me. It’s not unpleasant even if I’ve never been very good at handling attention. But this isn’t the same as suffering through Hayley going overboard with compliments.

  “You called me an artist.” It comes out almost in a whisper, like he’s afraid to say it too loud. Like he’s scared I’ll say he misheard me and laugh about it.

  He didn’t, and I wouldn’t.

  “I did. That’s what you are. Sure, back in the day, you were part of … well, sort of part of the machine. You did what you were told to do, sang the music you were told to sing, all that. But now, you want to get back out there and make something real for yourself. Right? Isn’t that true?”

  “Absolutely.” He’s gazing at me with so much intensity; I can barely breathe. He takes one step closer to me and then another. “That’s exactly what I want. How did you know? How did you see so easily?”

  “I don’t know,” I confess with a soft giggle. It’s impossible not to feel a giddy surge of excitement when he looks at me the way he is right now. “I see you, I guess. I understand at least a little. And I saw you up there on that stage tonight; you were so brave.”

  He snickers softly, shrugging. “Brave? I don’t know about that.” A little smile plays over his face just the same, so I can tell he likes that I said it.

  The sensation of his hand touching mine is roughly what I’d imagine an electric shock feeling like. It’s a spark that runs up my hand, my arm, and then all through me. It lights up my brain and my heart and my insides.

  But he holds himself back from more than that, and I don’t notice that he’s nervous until his gaze darts away from mine and over my shoulder.

  “I want to kiss you,” he admits, though he’s still not looking at me.

  Okay. Not the most romantic way of telling me. “Thank you?”

  He doesn’t see the humor. “I’m still a little paranoid about doing things like that out in public. I know it’s dumb. But I’ve had my life blasted all over the world for so long …”

  “I get it.” And I do. I’d be paranoid too. “I remember some of the things they used to say. I don’t know how you put up with it.”

  “I didn’t do such a good job—but I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

  Instead, he pulls me along with him to the curb and hails a cab. We take the first one that comes up, and I follow him inside without asking why we’re doing this or where we’re going.

  Certain situations, you don’t stop to question. Like looking a gift horse in the mouth. Not a good idea.

  “Drive around.” Those are the only two words Dustin mutters to the driver before practically pulling me into his lap.

  Our mouths are so close.

  This is happening. I can feel it. I can smell his cologne and the pizza and whiskey on his breath, and I can hear blood rushing in my ears as he takes my face between his hands and brushes his lips against mine. It’s sweet, tentative, gentle.

  And hot. Hot as hell, hot enough to make my nerves tingle and my lady bits sing the “Hallelujah” chorus.

  And that’s before he plunges his tongue between my lips, and I just about explode. Somebody taught him how to kiss, and he took detailed notes. His hands leave my face in favor of running through my hair while my hands slide over his chest and shoulders.

  This is real. It’s real!

  His heart’s pounding in his chest, under my palm. He’s feeling this too.

  When he takes me by the hips and pulls me closer, I can tell other parts of him are also responding. If I wasn’t in the middle of the hottest make-out session of my life, I’d have to pinch myself.

  Dustin Grant, with his tongue in my mouth and his erection pressed up against me, groans softly as his hands run up and down my back. Not moonlight and roses, but it’s pretty darn good in the moment.

  “Let’s go to my hotel,” he whispers in my ear before nibbling on my neck.

  I can barely hold a single thought in my head, but that invitation rings out like a gong and sweeps everything else away for a second. “Your hotel?”

  “Yes.” He thrusts his hips against me. “I need you. Now.”

  Sure. Why not?

  That goes through my head right away because I’m only human, right? This onetime music god wants to take me back to his hotel and rock my world. And it’s all in service of my book after all. Isn’t it?


  Somewhere deep in the back of my mind, I know what this will lead to. It might be a great night, one for the books—no pun intended—but that’ll be it. I’ll be one more girl to add to his list of conquests, and I don’t want to be that girl.

  So, even though every part of my body wants desperately to give in and go to his hotel and let him ravish me, I pull back and look him in the half-lidded eye. “I can’t do that. I want to, but I can’t.”

  His eyes snap open wide. “What?”

  “I said, I can’t do that. I want to. But that’s not how I am.”

  He snorts softly like this is news to him. “You’re serious?”

  “I am.” I wiggle out of his lap even though my heart’s sinking and my lady parts are not happy with me right now. I’m afraid they’ll stage a revolt.

  He stares at me, frowning, straightening himself out. “Wow. Okay. I’ve gotta say, that’s new.”

  “I guess it is.” But I won’t apologize even though I’m sure I ruined my chances for this to go anywhere else. Man, I always make the wrong move! It wouldn’t have hurt anything for me to say yes, would it? I’d have had an incredible memory and a heck of a story to share with Hayley.

  And Matt because he needs to have it rubbed in his face. Why he should come to mind right now is a mystery.

  “Where do you wanna go?” He’s still looking at me like I’m some unknown species.

  Is it really that unusual for somebody to turn him down? I mean, the law of averages says he’s had to have been turned down at some point, right? The girls he picks up can’t all be willing.

  Jeez, how could I have been so dumb? This whole night was nothing more than a drawn-out pick-up for him. He took me for drinks, for pizza, for intimate conversation while walking the streets of New York. A magical, dizzying sort of experience he hoped would knock me off my feet and into his bed.

  No wonder people think I’m naive.

  “I think I should go home.” I wrap my arms around myself and look out the window, away from him. “I really want to go with you, Dustin. I really do. But I can’t. Not when I don’t know you.”

  It’s a long time before he says anything. When he does, it sounds like he’s trying not to laugh. “You’re different. I’ll give you that. I can’t remember the last time somebody turned me down. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”