Kitty Valentine Dates a Fireman Read online

  She shrugs. “I think a few thousand each.”

  “Thousand?” Another look to Hayley, who’s finally caught up with me.

  “That’s a little much,” she murmurs with a sigh.

  “Oh, did you think I would call upon you to pony up?” Grandmother’s laughter trills out as she rings the bell for Peter to come and clear away our plates. “Please. Obviously, I’ll write the check.”

  “I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “You aren’t asking. I’m telling you, Kathryn. You have no idea what a thrill this will be for me, watching you pick your next boyfriend.”

  “Not my boyfriend.” I look to Peter for help when he comes in. “She’s going to buy me a date at an auction, Peter. What am I supposed to do?”

  He smiles as he picks up the plates. “Thank her and be done with it. You know as well as I do how pointless it is to argue with her.”

  The man is absolutely correct.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I’m halfway up the last flight of stairs when Matt’s voice greets me, “Whoa. I didn’t know today was a shopping-spree day.”

  “You could help, you know.”

  “Nah. It’s more fun to watch you struggle.”

  “I swear to God.”

  He’s laughing when he joins me and takes two bags full of shoes and all sorts of other things from my one hand, leaving me with the dress over my arm.

  “Thank you. I thought my hand was gonna break.”

  “Hey, you wanna go on a spree, you’ve gotta get everything home.”

  “It wasn’t my idea,” I groan as we reach the landing and head down the hall. “It was my grandmother’s.”

  “I was gonna say. Bags from Nordstrom. No offense, but that’s usually not your style.”

  “Shopping in an actual, physical store isn’t my style either. I’m freaking wiped out.” Once we’re inside my apartment, I lay the dress in its bag over the back of the sofa before collapsing. “It’s so exhausting.”

  “Oh, I bet. Trying on dresses and shoes, twirling around in a mirror.” He leaves the bags by the coffee table and looks down at me with his hands on his hips.

  It’s a darn shame he’s so hot, all tall and muscular and tanned, even in early December, which strikes me as being unfair. He’d make a tasty piece of eye candy if he wasn’t such a pain in the butt.

  “It wasn’t like that at all. My grandmother forced me into it, like I said. I had to try on everything she liked, and it didn’t matter if I’d wear it to my own funeral or not. She insisted. No. She ordered.”

  “Sounds like the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.” He plunks down in a chair with a smirk.

  “I didn’t ask you to sit down.”

  “I carried your bags into your apartment. I think that warrants a few minutes of conversation.”

  “Yeah, but your idea of conversation usually devolves into making fun of me or making fun of how I’m feeling. Sorry if it doesn’t thrill me.” I close my eyes with a sigh. “My head hurts.”

  “What was it all about?”

  Oh, he’s going to love this. I wish I hadn’t run into him. Though he’ll find out eventually—the risks of two people who work from home, living across the hall from each other, I guess. We don’t have much else to do during the day besides work, so we tend to bug each other.

  “She was treating me like a full-grown, living doll, so she can take me to some charity auction this weekend.”

  “Wow. Your life is so difficult.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Seriously, who do you think will play you in the movie they make about your toils and tribulations?”

  “I swear to God. When they bring me in for questioning and I’m soaked in your blood, nobody will believe the stuff I tell them. I need to be recording these conversations for future reference.”

  “Right, but that implies forethought, which wouldn’t look good for your defense.” He nudges my leg with his foot. “Come on. You know I’m kidding.”

  “It takes a lot out of me to go shopping. I’ve never liked it.”

  “Why not? Especially when there’s somebody willing to foot the bill for you—I mean, I assume she did.”

  “She did, which meant she got final say in what I’m wearing to this event, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” I sit up with a groan since, jeez, even my body aches.

  It’s like I went through a session with a trainer, which, let’s not lie, my grandmother would be perfect at. So long as she could still look fabulous and sip cocktails while ordering her clients to work harder.

  “What are you talking about?” He’s not kidding anymore.

  One thing I can say about him: he knows when to stop teasing. It hasn’t always been this way, but in the months since we’ve gotten to know each other, he’s finally begun to understand my signals. I’m like a cat that can only be tormented for so long before the claws come out.

  Which I guess makes Kitty the perfect nickname for me.

  “When I was a kid, shopping was stressful. It was almost never fun. Because we didn’t have a lot of money, you know?”

  He frowns, nodding. “Right. And if I know you, you were always concerned with how much everything cost and whether you were asking for too much.”

  “How did you come up with that?”

  “Like I said, I know you. You have a hard time asking for what you need if you think it’ll inconvenience somebody else.” He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a deep thinker.”

  “You’re also full of yourself.”

  “But I’m not wrong.”

  “No, you’re not wrong. Which is why I like shopping online, not just because it’s convenient, but also because I can plan a whole series of looks around a few key pieces, then see what the total in my cart looks like, and pare down if I feel I need to.”

  He chuckles.

  “Hey, sales were low for a while there. My residuals weren’t as hefty as they used to be. It’s times like that when my frugality comes in handy,” I add.

  “Fair enough.”

  “So, you can imagine having to try on these very expensive dresses, which I didn’t even like in the first place, which I feel like I don’t even need and will probably never have the chance to wear again. It feels wasteful to me. No matter how good life gets, I’m still stuck with those old feelings and patterns. I can’t help it.”

  “Sure you can, if you want to. You have to train your brain to think differently.”

  I groan and roll my eyes.

  “I mean it!” he insists. “I’ve been reading books about this for a while now. You can borrow them if you want. All about neurology and stuff. You should check them out.”

  “I don’t know that it’s that serious.”

  “You can’t only read romance books all the time.”

  “I don’t! I read all genres. It’s important for a writer to read widely.”

  “So, read them. You’ll thank me.” He eyes the bags. “Anyway, what’s the event for?”

  “It’s an auction to raise money for local animal shelters.”

  His brows lift. I can tell he’s taking me a little more seriously now, which is miraculous since he almost never does.

  “Good cause. I picked up Phoebe at the shelter a few blocks away.”

  “Really? That beautiful girl was given up?”

  Phoebe is a breathtaking golden retriever. There are times when I think I like her a lot more than I like her owner—and considering the fact that she once caused me to sprain my ankle, that’s saying something.

  “She sure was.” A slow smile starts to spread across his generous mouth. “So, what kind of auction is it? Silent auction? Gift baskets and certificates to the spa?”

  Here we go. “No.”

  “Win a date with a romance author?”

  “I’m not the one being auctioned off! Oops.” I clamp my hands over my mouth as he bursts out laughing.

  “Duh. I’m on the email list for the shelter, and it’s one of the
shelters involved in the event. I already heard all about it.”

  “Of course.” I can never seem to get ahead of him. He always knows just a little more than I do.

  “So, is your grandmother that desperate to get you settled down? She’ll dress you up and take you out and find a man for you?” He actually has to wipe tears from his eyes by the time he’s finished laughing hysterically.

  “No, smarty. I have to write about firefighters this time, and firefighters are being auctioned off.”

  This kicks off another round of laughter, which, by now, I expect from him. “Oh, that’s too good. You have to bid on the guy you think will make the best hero for your next book. What I wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall.”

  “Hush.”

  When he doesn’t hush, he gets a pillow to the side of his head.

  “Seriously! This isn’t funny to me. And she offered to foot the bill for my guy, so I guess there’s nothing I can do to get out of it.”

  “Why would you wanna get out of it? It sounds like a perfect setup to me. You don’t have to lift a finger aside from getting yourself dressed up and whatnot. All your potential dates are right there in front of you. Like a buffet.”

  “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Much more than I am.”

  “Lighten up. You take everything too seriously. It’ll be fun if you let it. Imagine how many women will be there, clawing at each other for a date with a lucky bachelor.”

  Hmm. He might have a point. I wonder how long it’ll take before fur starts to fly. If anything, it could be interesting fodder for another book—or even a scene in my current project, which has yet to be started.

  “Oh. That could actually be entertaining to watch.”

  “See?” He sits back with his hands folded behind his head and a smug grin. “Like I said, I wish I could be a fly on the wall.”

  “I’ll see if I can get some video for you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Oh, what a delicious idea! Winning a firefighter in a bachelor auction!” Maggie’s pleased as punch when I tell her about this new scheme. “You must write that in your book. You have to. It’s perfect.”

  “I’m already outlining,” I promise. “The auction’s tonight, so I’ll be able to get started soon enough.”

  “Good to hear since we’re salivating over here. As are your readers. They really like the new direction you’ve taken in your books.”

  “Well, they’re what matters after all.”

  I have to admit, knowing they’re looking forward to reading my next book is thrilling. It’s not all about the money. Although it’s certainly helpful to have a steady income and be able to continue doing what I love. That’s something I’ll never take for granted, not after being so unsure whether I’d write another profitable word again.

  At the end of the day, I do it for them. The readers. The people who want to escape for a little while into a book, to forget what’s going on in real life. I mean, everyday life is sort of a nightmare for a lot of people, for all sorts of reasons. If I can help alleviate that for a little while, so much the better.

  And they know what they want, these readers. They’re sharp and savvy. And if they don’t like what you’re putting out there, they’ll let you know by refusing to read your books. Not that I know what that feels like or anything.

  No. Not me.

  “I expect you to look your very best tonight,” Maggie crows. “You’ll want to make it worth this young man’s while.”

  “I think I can handle it. You realize I know how to go out and be among people, right?”

  “Just in case, it never hurts to look your best.”

  “Of course, of course. But hey, I don’t think the guy’s going to have much of a choice. When he’s mine, he’s mine.” Grandmother’s technically since she’s the one paying up. But I don’t feel like getting into the particulars with my editor.

  “Can I offer advice on the next book since we’re already talking about it?”

  “I figured this wasn’t a social call.” I sit back in my chair, crossing my ankles on the coffee table. I just had a pedicure today as well as a manicure. And a facial. And maybe a haircut. Though I didn’t go as short as Hayley and Grandmother had wanted. I do have a mind of my own.

  “The feedback we’ve been getting from advance readers is invaluable, and it all points in one direction.”

  “Let me guess,” I sigh.

  She doesn’t give me a chance. “Hotter. More.”

  “Right. I get it.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” she insists. “I think what you’re writing is head and shoulders above what you wrote before—at least in terms of sex and attraction. You’re gifted when it comes to creating chemistry. What we need is heat. Not just chemistry, but also tension. Plenty of it.”

  “Okay.”

  She pauses for a beat. “Just okay?”

  “What else should I say? I’ve accepted your note, and I’ll take it to heart.”

  “I expected pushback,” she admits with a soft laugh. “It seems you’ve come around nicely.”

  Come around? More like I’ve been beaten into submission.

  “I have to get better at writing hot sex. Lots of it.”

  “Yes. And it doesn’t always have to happen when the two of them have already decided they like each other a lot. It can happen spontaneously. It can even happen when they hate each other. Hate fucking can be hotter than any other kind really.”

  Oh, for joy. This is always my favorite part of our talks—when she grants me a glimpse into her personal life. She’s an older woman, too, so there’s a lot of living under her belt. I have to grit my teeth and roll my eyes and bear it.

  “I’ve never done that,” I admit.

  “Tell me something else that’s supposed to surprise me but doesn’t.” Her laughter is light, teasing. “You need to find somebody to hate fuck, my young friend.”

  “I’ll make note of that.” Then, I have to ask, “What’s it like? I mean, don’t go into detail, please. But I’ve always associated sex with emotion as much as with physical attraction. I have to like somebody to want to do it with them. Why would I want to have sex with somebody I hate?”

  “Because they’re hot and you’re hot, and love and hate are often two sides of the same coin. When you truly hate someone—I mean, hate them to the bottom of your soul, to the point where you’d like to see them burn in hell—but you’re still attracted to them and you were married for seven years until they cheated on you? It can be very intense when all that hatred boils over.”

  Gee, I wonder whose personal experiences she’s drawing on when she talks about this.

  “Okay, I see your point.”

  “Passion is passion.”

  “I get it. I do. Thank you.”

  She’s no help though. I have to really understand what it’s like to hate somebody while also wanting to have sex with them.

  Should I ask Matt?

  No. I should definitely not ask Matt. That’s possibly the worst thing I could ever do.

  Though he’s probably the only person in my life who could offer insight. Darn it.

  “Now, get out there tonight and score yourself a hot, sexy firefighter. God, to be young again.” She’s laughing as she hangs up.

  Meanwhile, I feel like I need a shower. And I just took one before she called.

  Well, I’m not asking Matt for advice right now; that’s for sure.

  I have an hour to finish getting ready for the banquet, and knowing Grandmother, she’ll notice and comment if I have a single hair out of place.

  By the time I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, I have to admit, my grandmother has an eye for what suits me. There was no way I’d ever go along with anything she chose for me while we were shopping. I wasn’t in the right headspace after trying on a dozen dresses and having each and every one of my problem areas dissected.

  Now, days later? I can see why
she liked the black dress with its full satin skirt that swishes a little when I move. The bodice is black lace, off the shoulder with long sleeves.

  I can still hear her advice. “You have a beautiful neck and exquisite shoulders. You should show them off.”

  I don’t know that my shoulders are exactly exquisite. I mean, they’re not weird or misshapen or anything, but exquisite? My hair is up to show them off regardless, and pearls hang around my neck. Grandmother can’t be disappointed with me. She’ll like showing off her granddaughter.

  I hope.

  The car is right on time, and the fact that Peter’s the one driving both tickles me and concerns me a little.

  “Is there anything you don’t do for her at all hours of the day and night?” I ask after saying hello.

  He only offers a gentle laugh. The man has the patience of a saint.

  “What an untoward question.” Grandmother looks me up and down once I’m seated and we’re on our way to the hotel. “You look lovely, as I knew you would.”

  “I’ll pretend you don’t sound smug.”

  “I know how I sound, and I have every right to. Goodness knows you fought like a toddler who missed their nap while we were shopping.”

  “I did no such thing.”

  “Perhaps I’m misremembering. Perhaps I went shopping with another young woman who rolled her eyes and pouted very dramatically every time I asked her to try on something new.” She shrugs, sighing.

  “I didn’t,” I huff dramatically. “I rolled my eyes. Maybe.”

  Peter, meanwhile, is having a good laugh over this whole thing.

  “You could back me up a little bit, you know,” I grumble his way.

  “And you know I would like to defend you, but your grandmother signs my checks.” He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror and winks.

  I swear, the day he showed up at Grandmother’s front door was one of the best days of her life, whether she knows it or not.

  I turn to my grandmother, who looks like a million bucks and is even wearing a cape. An actual cape with a collar encrusted in pearls. She might as well be a queen on her throne.

  Maybe the sight of her looking so regal and dignified and the reminder of the whole signing-checks thing—in other words, the fact that she’s paying for all of this—are what soften my attitude. “Thank you for this. I know I was a little difficult at the store, but this means a lot.”