Kitty Valentine Dates an Hockey Player Read online

  She nods, looking across the room to her boyfriend. I think his name is Bobby, but I haven’t gotten many proper introductions. Besides, there are so many people on the team; there’s no way I’d get everybody’s name right on the first try.

  “Yeah, this is the way it usually goes. When the team’s together, they talk about nothing but sports. Not just hockey either. If there’s a game on TV, they wanna watch it. Or they’ll talk about this week’s football or baseball or whatever game is being played.”

  “Wow. Sounds super fun.”

  She giggles, and I decide I like her. She’s friendly and approachable. Ginger, on the other hand, intimidates me a bit. I wish I knew why.

  “Yeah, it gets boring real quick. So, we hang out and talk about what we wanna talk about, which of course, the guys think is all about periods and stuff, so they stay far away.”

  I have to laugh with her over that one. “Let them keep thinking it. That’s how we ladies will end up ruling the world one day, making plans they’re too scared to learn about.”

  “Amen.”

  We touch pint glasses and laugh some more. If anything, this is turning into a more enjoyable night than I first imagined.

  Though Luke hasn’t shown up yet. Has he even left the ice? Thinking back to what I witnessed earlier, maybe not.

  There are ways I can find out what I want to know though. “So, are all the guys on the team dating somebody? It seems like an even one-to-one ratio.”

  “I guess writers observe all sorts of stuff, huh?”

  “Now, I feel awkward.”

  “Don’t.” She touches my arm in a friendly, warm sort of way. “Most everyone on the team has a girlfriend at least. Greg and Mike are both married. Mark and Ginger just got engaged. The rest of us are girlfriends.”

  “Is there … how do I ask this … a high turnover rate?”

  She just about chokes on her beer until I pat her on the back, feeling a little guilty. When I apologize, she shakes her head and giggles. “No, it’s just … I’ve never heard it put that way before. I love it. A high turnover rate. And there is, but here’s the thing: random girlfriends, dates, whatever—they don’t come to practices. They might show for a game, but to sit through practices and whatnot? That means a girl has, like, passed a test or something.”

  “I think I understand what you mean.”

  To be a girlfriend to these guys, one has to devote her free time to his career—or what will, hopefully one day, be his career. I’m already taking notes in my head.

  Darcy jerks her chin over my shoulder, toward the door. “Here comes Luke. I’ll wave him over.”

  “Oh no, you don’t have to do that.” I swat my hand at her.

  “Please. Don’t play. You’ve been waiting to meet him ever since you saw him skate.” When my eyes go wide, she grins. “You’re not the only one who pays attention to things. You don’t have to be a writer to be a girl who understands other girls.”

  I blush in embarrassment, but I decide I’m not stupid enough to actually keep her from waving him over.

  Just as she's about to call his name, Matt comes up behind us. I lost track of him as soon as we entered the bar.

  “There you are. Luke just came in. Do you want to meet him?”

  “Sure.” I sort of wish he weren’t standing right here though. How’s a girl supposed to get her flirt on when the neighbor who kissed her is standing right next to her?

  I look over my shoulder in time to see Luke’s ear-to-ear smile when he catches sight of Matt. He’s tall, well-built—the way an athlete of his talent needs to be—with sandy-blond hair in a high-and-tight cut and a short, well-groomed beard. He’s handsome, for sure, though his nose looks suspiciously like it’s been broken at least once.

  It’s his bright, easygoing smile that catches my attention though when he reaches us. The smile of somebody completely at home in their skin. Confident, calm, sure of himself—on and off the ice. Unless my writer’s imagination is running away with me, I think he’s the sort of guy I wouldn’t mind getting to know.

  He claps Matt on the back before pulling him in for a bro hug. “Wow, man, it’s been way too long! Don’t tell me you’re ready to put your skates on again.”

  Matt shakes his head with a laugh. “Nah. I’d much rather spend all my time messing around with numbers while you guys strap on your pads.”

  “Good. More room on the ice without your ego in the way.”

  Darcy bursts out laughing. “Sorry, don’t mean to butt in, but look who’s talking about an ego.”

  “Love you too.” He turns his attention to me. “And who’s this? Another new girl, Matt?”

  Well, talk about an intro. My cheeks turn bright red as my gaze darts over to the man in question. I guess being a fabulous hockey player doesn’t make a person exempt from putting their foot in their mouth.

  Though how could he know?

  And hang on a second. Did he say another?

  None of your business, Kitty. I need to keep reminding myself of that.

  “No, she’s not that lucky.” Matt smirks at me while I do everything in my power not to stick my tongue out at him. I’m trying to go for a good first impression here. “Luke, this is Kitty Valentine. She is lucky enough to live across the hall from me, and she’s writing her latest romance novel about a hockey player.”

  “And he’s left me with nothing to tell you about myself, so I’ll settle for telling you that I think you’re a hell of a skater.” I hold out my hand, which he takes and squeezes in a firm shake.

  “And that makes you my new favorite person.” He winks at Matt before accepting a beer from one of the other guys on the team. “You’ve been hiding her from me, huh? I guess I can understand that.”

  Something flashes across Matt’s face, something I’ve never seen before. Lord knows I’ve seen just about everything from him over time. Usually laughter at my expense, but there’s been a lot more than that.

  And this looks a heck of a lot like anger.

  But it’s gone in no time, replaced by a smug look I’ve definitely seen in the past. This I’m familiar with. “Maybe I was keeping her away from you for your own good. She’s a walking disaster.”

  “Wow. Okay, thanks for talking me up.” I shoot him a look while laughing a little too hard. “Maybe I should take the reins now.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” Luke takes me by the hand, pulling me off my chair. “Let’s find a quiet corner. If Ryder’s so protective of you, that must make you worth getting to know.”

  Protective? That’s what he calls it? I can think of a few better words, some of which I might need to share with my dear neighbor once we’re away from witnesses.

  But I’m trying to be on my best behavior, right? And killing him in front of so many people would probably be frowned upon.

  “I’ve got to ask you a question.” I turn to Luke when we’re as alone as we can be in a crowded bar, sitting together at the far corner of the scuffed walnut bar.

  “Yes, I’ve had my nose broken. Twice.” His smile is disarming.

  “I’ll make note of that, but that’s not what I had in mind.” Though I was right, which says good things about my observational skills. “I was wondering how many hours you spend every week in practice.”

  He strokes his beard, like he’s actually thinking, not simply showing off his impressive facial hair. “I normally work out on the ice four or five hours a day. Less in the off-season.”

  “Every day?”

  When my mouth continues to hang open, he laughs. “What? Is that weird?”

  “No, not weird. Impressive. How do you fit that in with a job?”

  “Well, I’m a hockey trainer by day, player by nights and weekends.” He grins. “I can book my clients around my schedule, and it keeps me on the ice, so I can easily practice before and after work. I read a long time ago about the amount of time it takes to master something. Ten thousand hours.”

  “Sure, of course. So, you fi
gured you would put your ten thousand hours in?”

  He nods.

  “How many years have you been working toward that number?”

  “Ten? Twelve?”

  “I think you’ve hit it by now—and the work shows, for sure.” I look around the bar, picking out the different players and their girls. “And from what I’ve heard, it’s only a matter of time before you get called up.”

  I didn’t expect him to look so uncomfortable. “Sorry. Did I say something wrong?”

  He flashes a grin. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Superstitious then. I know I can be.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t supposed to mention getting called up? Sorry.” I cringe.

  “It’s okay. I’ll just have to go home and burn a sage bundle and perform my salt-circle ritual.” He can’t finish with a straight face. “I don’t actually do that. Anymore,” he adds.

  “Good to know.” We share a laugh before I offer, “I would feel the same if somebody was like, This next book is going to be a best seller.”

  “Right? Like, Don’t do me any favors, thanks.” He eyes me up with a thoughtful look. “So, have you written any best sellers?”

  “I don’t want to brag.”

  “So, you have.” His teasing smile makes me blush. “Good for you. I’m sitting here with a best-selling author.”

  “And I’m sitting here with a professional hockey player.”

  We raise our glasses in a toast, and I try to fight off the slight tingle that races through me when our eyes meet. His are about as intense as everything else about him, the color of slate and framed by thick lashes.

  “Was Ryder telling the truth when he said you’re writing about hockey for your next book?”

  I’m not used to hearing Matt being referred to by his last name. Why has it never occurred to me that he has an entire life outside of what I’ve seen? Friends, a past, hobbies he’s never talked about. Meanwhile, he knows just about everything there is to know about me.

  Well, mostly. He doesn’t know how guilty it makes me feel to sit here and laugh and flirt with this guy while he’s somewhere in the same room.

  “Yep, I am. I could use insight into the game, the strategy, what it’s like to work so hard to be a professional athlete.” I eye him up, brows raised. “You interested?”

  “Could be. You interested in hanging out tomorrow?”

  “Sure.” Then, I have to ask, “At the rink?”

  “No, away from the rink. Before I let anybody in on the specifics of how I train, I have to take them to dinner first. It’s a rule.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to break the rules.”

  At least he’s charming and easy to get along with. I guess I can make the enormous sacrifice of going out with him. Just once. Just to see what he’s all about.

  Luke excuses himself to go talk to the guys, and I return to my seat next to Darcy for the remainder of the night. After a few winks and giggles with her, we join the rest of the ladies and compare dress-shopping horror stories and all other matters of women until Matt comes over to take me home.

  I say good-bye to everyone and let him lead me out of the bar.

  “So? You gonna thank me now or wait until later?” Matt’s wearing his oh-so-smug grin as we step outside.

  “Thank you for what? Making fun of me earlier? But seeing as how I have a date with Luke tomorrow, I guess I’ll refrain from wiping that smirk off your face,” I say, elbowing him in the ribs.

  “Well, you’re welcome,” he says with a big grin.

  He makes it so hard to like him sometimes.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I have to admit, when I imagined sitting here and discussing these matters with you, our positions were reversed.”

  I look up from the wedding magazine on my lap—Grandmother’s a wonderful lady, and she’s way more open-minded than a lot of her contemporaries, but she’s not interested in the vision boards I might or might not have put together for her big day—to roll my eyes. “You imagined discussing my wedding with me?”

  “Naturally. What grandmother doesn’t imagine her granddaughter finding happiness and love?”

  “I’ve never been a grandmother before, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “Trust me then.” She looks around at the stacks of magazines I hauled to her house with a hopeless laugh. “I had no idea there were so many of these publications in print.”

  “Right? Weddings are big business. Though when my time comes, I’m sparing a few trees and doing this virtually.” I’d be sparing my back, too, since these magazines were heavy.

  “Virtually,” she scoffs. “So silly.”

  “It saves paper.”

  “Says an author.”

  “Who sells e-books. Sheesh.” I flip through to another spread. “Ooh, how do you feel about a string orchestra? Maybe do a brunch reception if you’re not interested in throwing a huge blowout?”

  “You’ve clearly given this more attention than I have over the last few days.”

  “Of course.” I close the magazine after folding down the page I left off on. “This is huge. It’s your wedding. You’ve spent all this time waiting for someone special to come into your life, and what you and Peter have found together is worth celebrating. What’s the point of celebrating if you’re not going to give it serious consideration? Like, this is emblematic of your entire relationship and you’re sharing it with the rest of the world.”

  “You speak like someone who’s given this a great deal of thought.”

  “What girl hasn’t?”

  “Plenty, from what I understand. Aren’t young women of this day and age supposed to be career-minded? Not so focused on marriage?”

  “We’re talking about a wedding, not the marriage.” I offer a helpless shrug. “Hi, I write romance for a living. I’ve planned so many weddings in my books, it's crazy. And I will admit, I have gotten a few ideas about what I want for my own someday.”

  “What have you imagined?”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Plenty.” Her eyes twinkle. “Though I’m getting on in years, so you might want to get straight to the point.”

  “When I was younger, I used to imagine a lavish ceremony at St. Patrick’s. Don’t laugh!” I warn when it looks like she’s about to do just that. “Hey, Mom was a big fan of The Sound of Music. It’s not my fault that I took one look at that wedding scene where Maria walks down the aisle with the veil stretching out behind her and decided that was what I wanted.”

  “Oh, yes,” she sighs softly, batting her eyelashes. “I certainly wouldn’t have minded seeing Christopher Plummer waiting for me at the end of the aisle. I wouldn’t mind it now, honestly.”

  “But I’ve gotten older and figured out that isn’t what I’m interested in. I think something more sophisticated is in order. Smaller too. I don’t know enough people to fill a cathedral.” I can’t help but laugh at myself. “How was I supposed to know back then that my closest coworker would be my laptop?”

  “Certainly, you would want the white dress and veil.” She arches an eyebrow to go along with her dry tone of voice.

  “Put that eyebrow back in its place, thank you very much. Hardly anybody expects a bride to be a virgin nowadays.”

  “There weren’t all that many back in my day now that you mention it.”

  “So, yes, white dress, veil, that whole thing. But simple. Classy. Elegant.”

  She nods in approval. “That’s precisely the sort of event I imagine for you. You’ll certainly be able to afford whatever you want—I demand it. The sky is the limit. Nothing is too good for my granddaughter.”

  “I don’t expect you to pay for it.”

  “I fully intend to do so.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “I don’t recall asking whether you wanted me to or not.”

  “If it means I have to do everything your way just because you’re footing the bill, I woul
d like to respectfully decline.”

  “You have so little faith in me, Kathryn.”

  The woman could use a history lesson centered around the fact that we lost touch for much of my adolescence, thanks to her need to control things. My mom didn’t like it any more than I do.

  It’s only the memory of that lost time that keeps me from crossing into annoyance. “I think we got off track. I’m not engaged, and we’re already arguing over my wedding. It’s your wedding we should be talking about.”

  She chuckles while pouring a fresh cup of tea. “Yes, you’re probably right. Let me explain something. When I married your grandfather … oh, it was so lovely.”

  Her gaze takes on a sort of faraway quality as she glances at the painting of her late husband on the wall. It’s been there for as long as I can remember. He passed away when my mom was just a girl, yet that painting still stands there.

  “Like something out of a dream. Have I ever shown you the photos?”

  “No. I’d have remembered that, for sure.”

  “I’ll have to find the albums someday, if only to show you how a wedding is really done. And to remind you, I haven’t always been an old woman.” She pats her smooth cheek with a grin. The woman is practically ageless, I swear.

  “I should hope to be such an old woman.”

  “As I was saying, my first wedding was a beautiful event. Lavish. We had five hundred guests. Your grandfather and I had twelve attendants each.”

  “Twelve!”

  She nods. “We danced into the night. Feasted on oysters and chicken Kiev, drank champagne. There were enough flowers to entrance an entire colony of bees. Candlelight, crystal, the most beautiful music. It was magical.”

  When she sighs though, there’s sadness to it. “You know I loved your grandfather. We’ve spoken of him. We’ve also spoken of his failings and faults. His weaknesses.”

  His gambling. Yes, we’ve talked about that too.

  She clears her throat, sitting up straighter. “The reason I’ve brought this up is to point out the difference between a lavish wedding and a magical marriage. I loved your grandfather, but our perfect ceremony and reception weren’t a recipe for a perfect marriage. Or even a long-lasting one.”