Kitty Valentine Dates a Rock Star

by Dodd, Jillian

  And she expects me to go out and have a good time tonight?

  There’s still work I need to get done before I can even think about going out. Namely, the writing of my happily ever after, the scene that opens the door for my hero and heroine to walk off into the sunset together.

  Sappy love stories.

  Ugh, he’s in my head, the idiot! I need to push him out of the way, so I can do my work. My important, well-read work. Work people love. Work that means something.

  The jerk. The creep. Couldn’t he have at least waited until I wrote this scene before showing me his true colors? I might’ve been able to get through it without wanting to throw myself out the window. It’s just that the entire time I’ve been writing these characters, I’ve imagined them as Dustin and me.

  I think it was different this time than it was with the last two guys. This was intensely personal for me since Dustin had already meant something. He had for years. The others I had just met.

  I was setting myself up for failure all along.

  Still, the words eventually start to flow. And then they stop. And then I delete a paragraph but come up with something better. I slowly shape and polish the scene and plumb the depths of my soul to figure out how to describe what my heroine is feeling.

  How would I feel if this were me? If things had gone right?

  The strangest feeling of the past and the present sliding together, connecting like two pieces of a puzzle, enveloped her as he took her in his arms and swore to love her for always. For the rest of his life. Because she was worth protecting, worth cherishing. She was worth the world to him.

  Just like she had always wanted to be.

  Okay. Not bad. Maybe not great, not yet, but I’m getting there.

  Just in time, too, since I have to get ready for that darn party. If ever there was a night I needed to sit at home and binge on chocolate, this would be that night. But no. I have to show my face at a party I didn’t want to go to before one of the firm’s clients threatened legal action against me.

  It makes getting into my slinky dress that much less of a thrill.

  An hour. She promised we’d stay for an hour.

  There’s a knock at the door around seven thirty. Hayley said she’d pick me up just before eight. For a moment, I wonder if it’s Dustin. That he wants to make up or at least smooth things over.

  But I’m not a complete idiot. It would never happen.

  And it’s not happening because Hayley’s at the door.

  Conspicuously un-costumed.

  “Um, you’re not dressed. Or made up. What’s going on?”

  She’s wearing a sweater and jeans and carrying a backpack over one shoulder. Not exactly what I expected.

  “Are you supposed to be a student? I don’t get it.”

  “You’ll never guess what happened.” She comes in like a storm, setting her bag on the floor and whirling around to face me.

  “You could try telling me.”

  “Guess who’s providing entertainment at the party. On the yacht.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re kidding me!”

  “I wish I were. But no. Dustin’s the musician they hired for when people go out on the water. I mean, Dustin? What the hell is this all about? Why would anybody want to listen to him at the firm’s Halloween party?”

  “Maybe they want a good scare?”

  Hayley bursts out laughing. “I guess so!”

  I can’t help it. I join in. We both crack up until tears roll down our cheeks and we have to lean on each other for support even though nothing that just happened is particularly funny.

  Because I’m laughing at a man whose music I loved before last night. At least, I told myself I did. Now, I’m making jokes about it. Life is weird.

  “Needless to say”—Hayley wipes the tears from her cheeks—“we’re not going. I wouldn’t go to that party now if you paid me—even though I’d love to push him off the yacht. The temptation would be too strong. I can’t put myself in that sort of dire situation.”

  “Thank God for that. I’m going to go change out of this outfit real quick.” I run into my room and yell back, “What do you have in mind?”

  “An at-home girls’ night. What do you think?”

  I think she’s the best friend I could ever ask for since she’s not the type to stay at home. Especially not on Halloween.

  “That sounds good to me. As long as you actually want to.”

  “Girl, I need to.” So much so, I guess, that by the time I join her in the living room again, she’s already wearing pajamas. “It’s not every day I get a chance like this. I thought I was gonna have to spend the night in heels, fake smiling at people I see every day. Now, I get to be comfy and hang out with you.”

  Yeah, she’s pretty much the best.

  “There’s nothing better than the feeling you get after you’ve canceled plans, is there?” I ask, sliding down onto the couch next to her.

  “Well, actually, there is,” she counters. “It’s that feeling you get when your best friend comes prepared.”

  I squint my eyes at her, not following, but then she picks up her backpack and pulls out two bottles of wine.

  “One for me and one for you,” she says, screwing off the lid and handing me one. “We don’t even need glasses.”

  “You never cease to amaze me, Hayley,” I say sincerely.

  “Well, who needs stupid boys anyway?”

  “Uh, I do. You know, to write my books.”

  She clinks her bottle against mine and says, “To the next hottie then.”

  Thank you for reading KITTY VALENTINE DATES A ROCK STAR!

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jillian Dodd is the USA Today best-selling author of more than thirty novels.

  She writes fun romances with characters her readers fall in love with—from the boy next door in the That Boy trilogy to the daughter of a famous actress in The Keatyn Chronicles to a spy who might save the world in the Spy Girl series.

  She adores writing big fat happily ever afters, wears a lot of pink, buys too many shoes, loves to travel, and is distracted by anything covered in glitter.

  Start reading Kitty Valentine Dates a Fireman:

  CHAPTER ONE

  Fun fact about me, Kitty Valentine, best-selling romance author: I have a surprisingly high tolerance for pain.

  Not emotional pain, mind you. Just the opposite. I’m what my best friend, Hayley, would refer to as a drama queen. The first time she called me that, I had to pick myself up off the floor where I’d just thrown myself to tell her how wrong she was.

  Physical pain, on the other hand, I can handle. Probably a side effect of being rather clumsy and prone to accidents. If there’s a one-in-a-hundred shot of somebody falling into a mall fountain while texting, I’m the one dripping wet with a broken phone.

  Yet there is no pain, either physical or emotional, that can compete with lunch at Grandmother’s. Oh, the cringing. The slow, silent inner death as she questions each and every one of my life choices while managing to embarrass me with tales of her own flawed choices.

  The best part? I brought Hayley with me this time to give my grandmother somebody else’s life to dissect, and what is she doing? Is she taking the heat off me the way a decent best friend should? Is she steering the conversation toward positive aspects of my life? Good decisions I’ve made lately?

  Is she using the prepared list of talking points that I slaved over for hours in advance of this lunch date?

  “I think she should cut her hair. What do you think?” Hayley gestures to me with her knife, which she might as well slide into my back while she’s at it.

  Grandmother, whose hair is always gleaming and perfect, studies me with her sharp blue eyes. “Hmm. I do prefer Kathryn with long hair, but I see what you mean.”

  It takes all the self-control in my body to keep my hands away from the brown waves tumbling over my shoulders. What the heck is wrong with my hair?

  “Not short, short, mind you.” Hayley tilts her head to the side. “But shoulder-length. She looks so cute with shorter hair.”

  “I can’t disagree.”

  “Do I get a say in this?” I whisper, looking back and forth between them. “Because I can leave the room if you’re gonna keep talking about me like I’m not here.”

  “Don’t say gonna.” My grandmother sniffs the air like she smells something foul. “It’s low-class.”

  “You should hear some of the things that come out of Hayley’s mouth if you think that’s low-class.”

  Hayley gets a big smile from me after that.

  “What Hayley says is her business.”

  “Why isn’t what I say my business?”

  “And she needs to refresh her wardrobe,” Hayley adds before popping an olive into her treacherous mouth. “I mean, how’s she going to impress her next boyfriend, wearing last season’s collections?”

  “I’m going to kill you. I hope you know that.” I drag a thumb across my throat for effect, which doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. If anything, she smiles wider than before.

  No wonder she was okay with coming to lunch today. She even seemed to look forward to it.

  Because she hates me. I mean, that’s literally the only explanation I can come up with. I must have done something to her long ago, and she’s been planning my demise ever since. Gotta give her credit. She’s done a good job of pretending to be my friend all this time.

  The very mention of the B-word is basically Grandmother’s trigger. “Speaking of which, have you found another boyfriend for your next writing project?”

  No matter how many times I explain it, it doesn’t seem to stick. Either that or she’d rather not remember things correctly. Now that I think about it, yeah, that’s what she’s doing. Much like the way she refuses to call me Kitty, the woman tends to believe what she wants and then basically sticks her fingers in her ears and yells to drown out everything else.

  “Whoever he is, he won’t be my boyfriend. He’ll be the man I’m seeing and learning about, so I can write the hero of my next book.”

  She waves a hand. I’m surprised she can lift it, considering she’s wearing her eight-carat diamond today. I have to give her points for style—when a new guest comes by, she likes to break out the big guns. “You children of today, with your special relationship words and technicalities. Not so much has changed since my day.”

  I know better than to make a snarky comment about that one, no matter how good it would feel in the moment to ask whether they had color TV back in her day. Besides, I know the answer.

  Hayley brought charm to spare today. She leans in like she and Grandmother have a secret. “Don’t pretend you don’t get your share even now. Look at you. Flawless.”

  Grandmother laughs softly. “Oh, you should talk.” I swear, I should’ve stayed home. “With your chic little suit. Don’t tell me. Chanel.”

  “I know that’s your favorite,” Hayley purrs.

  I also know she found it at a thrift store—great score, don’t get me wrong, but come on. It’s like they’re getting married or something.

  All right, I’m feeling a little mopey.

  “Anyway …” I have to wait for them to quit fawning over each other before continuing, “We haven’t come up with the latest trope yet, but I have to choose one soon. Maggie wants the next book by the holidays, so they can release it in the new year.”

  “And her agent wants to negotiate a new contract in the new year too.”

  That’s more like it. I knew I brought Hayley for a reason.

  “That’s wonderful! So, this new writing style has translated into higher sales then?” Grandmother raises her martini to me with a genuine, warm smile.

  “It looks that way. Maggie’s happy, which means the publisher’s happy. Which means I’m happy.”

  Her eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Are you sure about that?”

  Darn her. She’s so grandmotherly when she feels like it.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” My smile’s a little tight. I have to consciously loosen it. “No, really, I’m thrilled. I am. Life is good. And I could easily write ten books based
on what I’ve seen and done so far.”

  When Hayley chokes a little on her salad, I realize what I just said.

  “I mean, you know, going places. Not. Like. Doing it. Not sex things.” Yeah, that cleared things up. I’m not blushing harder than ever or anything like that.

  Grandmother, meanwhile, doesn’t care one way or another. “If anything, I’d rather see you getting something more than a royalty check out of this. A good lay has a way of smoothing out any rough spots.”

  Which is when Hayley starts full-on choking, to the point where I’m pretty sure she’ll need the Heimlich maneuver.

  “No, no, I’m fine,” she manages, red-faced and watery-eyed. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” Grandmother is all innocence, though I know better than to believe her. “I thought I was speaking the truth. You strike me as two modern, forward-thinking young women.”

  Hayley jerks a thumb in my direction after sipping water to clear her throat. “We are. Well, I am. I’m not so sure about this one.”

  “Hush. I’m modern and forward-thinking.”

  “In theory, if not in practice.” Hayley grins.

  “Uh, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that.”

  “And there isn’t.” Grandmother laughs indulgently. “In fact, I commend Kathryn’s good sense. It’s one thing to know something is possible. It’s another to know whether it’s a good idea for oneself. Self-awareness is a commendable quality.”

  “Thank you.”

  And Hayley gets a smug look from me.

  Except my grandmother isn’t finished. “On the other hand …”

  “I should’ve known,” I mutter.

  “There’s something to be said for expanding one’s horizon. Stretching yourself. Seeing what you’re capable of. So many of our so-called limitations are self-imposed. We are all capable of far more than we give ourselves credit for.”