Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star

by Dodd, Jillian

  “What about you?” I can’t help myself.

  The woman’s always been a mystery to me, mostly because she holds herself at a distance. She’s regal and cultured, and she was raised way before parents and kids connected and shared and opened up to each other.

  She’s also filthy and raunchy under that shiny, polished surface. That, I wish she’d keep to herself. But no, she has no problems sharing that part of her personality with me.

  “Me?” She lifts her martini glass with a dazzling smile. “I’ve always marched to my own beat. Don’t get me wrong. There have always been parameters to stay within or else I would’ve risked ex-communication from just about every social circle imaginable. While I don’t care very much for some of the people in those circles, I know better than to believe myself capable of living without them. There’s a reason humans gather together and form their cliques and tribes. We need each other. We can’t get along without each other. Your grandfather cared a lot more for appearances than I ever did. When I lost him, I gained a bit of freedom. I know how it sounds, saying something like that. But time has given me the benefit of hindsight.” Her smile slips a little by the end.

  I believe she was madly in love with my grandfather but just doesn’t know how to say it.

  “I wish I could find somebody to be madly in love with,” I confess, staring at the arrangement of flowers in the center of the table. Enormous, fragrant roses in cream and pink. Her favorite colors.

  “You deserve that. You’re young. You’re beautiful. You have the entire world at your feet. Don’t sell yourself short for the sake of a few books, dear.”

  “But I have to—”

  “I know what you have to do—or what that horrid editor of yours wants you to do.”

  “I can’t afford to go unpublished.”

  “I realize that. How many times have I wished your grandfather had purchased a publishing house?”

  “Grandmother.” I have to laugh. “I wouldn’t accept any offer you handed me. That’s cheating.”

  “As if the world wasn’t built on cheating and nepotism.” She laughs with me. “I don’t want you to lose your sweetness, darling, but there’s something to be said for realism.”

  Soon, she stops laughing, eyeing me again. “Don’t waste the best years of your life dating random men for the sake of your career. I wouldn’t want to see you regret the wasted time.”

  Wow. Talk about putting my life into sobering perspective. “If something good comes out of it, the time’s not wasted. Right?”

  “There’s that positive attitude I like to see.” But she’s still not smiling. If anything, she looks a little sad.

  So sad that I feel like I have to cheer her up. “I’m learning more about myself as a person too. When you look at it that way, you’ll see what a good thing this is. I holed up in my apartment for years, writing. Just writing. I hadn’t had more than a handful of dates in all that time. If anything, I was wasting time then. Now, at least I’m getting out and into life. I’m learning about people. I’m learning about what I will and won’t accept from a partner.”

  “That is important,” she agrees.

  “If anything, I owe Maggie a lot of gratitude for pushing me out of my comfort zone. Without this shake-up, I might’ve ended up a recluse, surrounded by all the stray cats I’d have brought in during my rare forays out into the neighborhood.”

  “Dear, I would never have allowed that to happen. I can accept an eccentric granddaughter. I cannot accept the thought of her living in squalor, surrounded by defecating cats.”

  “Grandmother.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I need you. Now.”

  She squirmed against him, thrilled and breathless. He wanted her? Her? Plain, mousy, the girl who had never once stood out in a crowd? When he could have any girl he wanted?

  “Me?” she whispered in his ear as he did things to her that turned her legs to jelly.

  She had to hold on to him and lean against the wall at her back to stay upright while his tongue flicked over her neck. When he bit down just a little, she gasped.

  But it was good. It was so good.

  She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the bricks behind her. He took this as the go-ahead to continue kissing down her neck, to her chest, where he spread her blouse open with his chin and chafed her sensitive skin with the scruff on his jaw.

  “So sweet,” he rasped, grinding his hard cock against her.

  She was a feast, and he was devouring her like a starving man. She threaded her fingers through his hair, lost in sensation and sheer, blinding joy. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he’d—

  “Wait.” She brushed his hand away, the hand crawling up her thigh, the fingers hooking around the lacy hem of her panties. “Hang on.”

  “I have to have you,” he groaned, his breath hot in her face before he thrust his tongue into her mouth, teasing and tormenting.

  She whimpered, clutching him tightly, for fear her weakened limbs would no longer hold her up. Her desire for him couldn’t be quenched.

  But that didn’t mean fucking in a filthy alley. She still had standards, no matter how many fantasies a quickie against the wall would fulfill. Because deep down inside, she wanted him to take her. She wanted to be slutty, just once, instead of always being the good girl who did the right thing.

  She couldn’t give in; that wasn’t her. When he felt around again for her panties, she forced herself to ignore the stimulating touch of his fingers against her wet, swollen flesh—God, it had been so long, too long since somebody touched her there—and pushed him away.

  Whew. I have to sit back for a second and take a few deep breaths after writing that.

  Because it’s one thing to imagine that happening, to build a scene in my head and describe what I’m seeing and what the characters feel in that situation.

  It’s another to imagine myself as the girl against the wall with her dress hiked up, with Dustin as the man of my dreams, positioned firmly between my thighs. I might need a cool drink before continuing with the scene.

  I’m on my way to the kitchen for just that when there’s a knock at the door.

  “Food’s here.”

  “Oh, great.” I open the door to find Matt standing in the hall with a bag in one hand. The other hand is petting Phoebe’s head.

  “Do you mind if she joins us? She’s been a little whiny lately, and I don’t know why.” He looks down at her, and I can see the concern written in his expression. It’s sweet, how much he loves her.

  “Of course. She’s missing her daddy, I guess. Have you been out a lot lately?” I usher the dog inside the apartment and then her owner.

  “No more than usual. I think she likes you, honestly. Always scratching at the front door. Always whimpering next to your door when we go out for walks.”

  “Really?” I drop to a crouch in front of her, scratching her behind the ears. She’s a beauty, and Matt takes excellent care of her. “Do you like me, sweetie? I like you.” Even if she once made me sprain my ankle on the stairs.

  In the end, if it hadn’t been for her, I might never have spoken a single word to Matt. He used to be the astonishingly hot neighbor from across the hall, who I was too nervous around to say anything but a quick hello to in passing.

  Now, we sometimes coordinate our food delivery to save on the fees, and more often than not, we end up eating together. Since he works from home the way I do, he knows what it means to feel cut off from the rest of the world. As much of a hassle as it has to be to deal with people day in and day out, like working in an office, my grandmother was right about humans needing each other.

  “Iced tea?” I ask from the kitchen as he sets things up in the living room.

  “Hmm? Yeah, sure. Thanks.” He sounds distracted.

  Too distracted.

  Oh, shoot.

  I look over my shoulder and out through the kitchen to the desk near the window, where I was just working. Where he�
�s now reading what I finished before he showed up. Shoot, shoot, shoot.

  “Not bad.” He throws a wicked grin in my direction. “Not bad at all. You could heat it up a little though. I know that’s what your editor and your readers want.”

  I wish there weren’t a telltale flush creeping over my skin right now. “Oh? How would you heat it up?”

  Right, because I’m confident and cool and he’s not half as intimidating as he used to be. In fact, he doesn’t intimidate me at all anymore. He’s just the guy who lives across the hall and thinks of me as a sister. No biggie.

  Though he’s still impossibly handsome and about to talk sex with me, and who wouldn’t blush in this situation? I can’t be the only one.

  “I’d definitely have him finger her a little,” he affirms, nodding. “I mean, he’s not gonna keep stroking her thigh or whatever you have him doing with his one hand. If he’s forceful and demanding, he’s gonna go for it right then and there.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I sure do wish I could stop blushing. I really do.

  “So”—he takes a seat on the sofa, smiling that knowing smile of his that I’d like to slap off his face sometimes—“how does the scene end? You have her pushing him away.”

  “Right.” I sit on the floor since even sharing a piece of furniture with him seems like a bad idea right now.

  He’s feeling naughty, and he knows I’m not exactly comfortable with getting into conversations like this. I might be able to write it—and even then, it still doesn’t come naturally to me, hence him needing to coach me along—but talking about it? Yikes.

  “What happens next?” He opens a container of chow mein, which he knows I think looks like vomit and which is probably why he always orders it and eats it in front of me. Slowly. With great relish.

  “I’m not sure. I mean, I know they’re not gonna do it.”

  “Ah, come on.”

  “Not yet anyway. They will eventually.”

  “You’re still holding back.”

  “So, you think she should do it right there, in that dirty alleyway? Gross.” Then, I remember something he once told me. “But you’ve done it on the roof of our building, so I guess that wouldn’t seem like such a big deal to you.”

  “Ouch.” He doesn’t look hurt in the least. In fact, he’s smiling—because of course he is. “Would it make you feel better to know it was sort of a romantic experience?”

  “No.”

  “And there were blankets and stuff? And I made sure she was comfortable?”

  “Stop.”

  “You need to live a little, Valentine.”

  “Sure, sure. But that doesn’t mean screwing in an alley where anybody could walk by and God only knows how many diseases are floating around.”

  “Okay, that I can agree with. But this isn’t real life we’re talking about. It’s supposed to be fantasy. Just because you would tell your rock-star boyfriend to get his hands out of your panties—”

  “Not my boyfriend.”

  “That doesn’t mean every woman in the world would. And even if they would, that’s probably not what they wanna read about. This is supposed to be escapism, not real life. What do you think a woman reading your book would want to read about? If she were in a dark alley with the rock star she used to dream about and who she probably had feelings for now or whatever.” He waves this off like it doesn’t matter, which is pretty much on-brand for him. Like, God forbid people have feelings.

  “I guess some of them might want to read about a quickie in an alley.”

  “Of course they would! I mean, come on. That’s the whole point of what your editor wants from you now.”

  “Has she called you? Do you two get together to discuss this?”

  “No, but I’d be glad to charge her a consulting fee.” He’s grinning as he pops a wonton into his mouth. “I’m sure she would agree.”

  I decide against getting on his case for talking with his mouth full because I know he’d only open his mouth and let the food fall out if I did.

  He’s right. I hate that he’s right. My instincts on this are still all messed up. I keep writing about nice girls, which is fine because there are plenty of nice girls in the world, but I need to be writing about nice girls who go against everything they’ve ever believed about themselves in favor of something different. Something sexy.

  “So … how did your boyfriend react when you turned him down?”

  I almost choke on my bean curd. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. Don’t play. The girl in your book was gonna turn her guy down because you turned him down. Right?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “I have my answer.” He sits back with that smug smile of his.

  Why do I even bother spending time with him?

  “Fine. You’re right. But don’t tell me I was wrong to do that.”

  “I absolutely don’t think you were wrong to do it. Not even a little bit.”

  I sit there, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he doesn’t say anything else right away. In fact, he goes back to his food. I should probably let it go, right? We could easily change the subject. I wouldn’t have to suffer under the humiliation of him knowing about my sex life.

  Or lack thereof.

  But I’ve never done things the easy way.

  “Why not?” It sounds casual enough, doesn’t it? Especially since I’m picking around in my container of bean curd and mixed vegetables when I ask.

  “Because it wasn’t right for you. It might be right for some people, but it wasn’t for you. I would never imagine you to be the kind of girl who would do something just because it’s what somebody else would do. You’re just not the one-night-stand type of person. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “So, why do you sound dismissive when you say it?”

  “I wasn’t trying to be dismissive. It’s just that some people have it in them to sleep with somebody and move on, and some people don’t. If you ask me, there’s nothing wrong with either type of person. Don’t try to draw me into an argument right now because I’m not trying to argue with you. I’m sitting here, telling you I think you did the right thing.”

  “For me.”

  “Who else would you do it for? Not for a book, I would hope.”

  “No …”

  “Besides, the guy’s probably crawling with diseases.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Oh? Did you have him go to the clinic for testing? Or maybe he’s already given you a look at his medical records.”

  “You’re one to talk. There’s been a parade of women in and out of your apartment ever since you moved in.”

  “I take care of myself, thank you. And unlike your boyfriend, I wasn’t sleeping my way through half the world when I was a teenager.”

  “Not my boyfriend.”

  He ignores this. “I can’t imagine a kid that age would make a lot of smart choices. So, maybe keep that in mind.”

  “I’m not a child. I’ve already kept that in mind.”

  “Good. Just be careful, you know? I doubt this guy is the type for you to get serious about.”

  “I never said I was even considering getting serious! You’re the one who insists on calling him my boyfriend. I never once did, and I won’t because he’s not. We’re just having fun.”

  “Apparently not since you keep turning him down.”

  “Once, genius. I turned him down once.” Twice, but he doesn’t need to know that either. “Isn’t your food getting cold? Shouldn’t you eat it and stop talking for a little while?”

  Honestly, he’s enough to give me a headache.

  It seems like I’ve finally gotten through to him though since he turns his attention to his lunch and the dog who’s been waiting patiently for a bite of food all this time. I don’t even know how Phoebe puts up with him; I really don’t. And she’s just a dog.

  Still, it’s good to hear he thinks I made the right decision. I mean, I know I did, and Hayley agreed
with me—sort of.

  Somehow, hearing it from Matt eases my mind in a way Hayley didn’t. Maybe because he’s a man—and a total horndog.

  I feel a lot better now. Even if I have to watch him eating chicken chow mein.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When the sound of Dustin’s knock echoes through the apartment, I instantly decide that I hate every piece of furniture I own, that the walls should be repainted, and that I should seriously consider hiring an interior decorator.

  But that’s just a silly knee-jerk reaction. I have to stop reacting to him that way. He’s just a person. The person I invited over because it seems like we haven’t been able to sync our schedules up lately and it’s been a week since I saw him. He finally has a free night, and I pushed pretty hard to get him to agree to spend it here, at my place. Just the two of us.

  Well, he’s not going to wait in the hall forever. I fling the door open with a wide smile to find him standing there with a bouquet of roses in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He looks perfectly mussed, his hair falling over one eye, the sleeves of his tight sweater pushed up to his elbows to reveal his tattooed forearms.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” It’s practically a purr—or at least, that’s how it sounds to me.

  Darn it, no matter how many times I tell myself not to react this way, there’s still part of me that wants to squeal and shriek and jump around in disbelief. He’s talking to me. I’m gorgeous.

  “Hey, handsome.”

  I step back to let him come in, and he rewards me with a deep, passionate kiss that leaves me panting and wanting more.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all week,” he whispers, his face only inches from mine. “You have no idea.”

  “I think I do.” I giggle.

  If anything, he has no idea how much I’ve thought of him since I’ve spent the past week writing about a character based on him.

  I leave him to look around a little while I find a vase for the flowers.

  “This is beautiful. Really stunning. I love the color on the walls.”