Even if I’d rather be dating the infuriating, fascinating, annoying, sexy-as-sin, and sweet-when-he-feels-like-it guy across the hall.
I rub my hands together. “Okay, let’s see who the lucky guy will be this time.” Wow, that almost sounds hopeful and positive. If things ever do go permanently south in my writing career, maybe I could take up acting instead.
When my next trope appears, we shoot each other a skeptical look.
“Hockey?”
She shrugs. “Well, sports romance is a big deal. Even I know that, and your books are the only fiction I read.”
“But hockey? That’s, like, the one sport I know the least about. It takes place on the ice. That’s the extent of my expertise.”
She giggles. “Well, you could always show up to a practice and announce you don’t know anything about the sport. I’m sure there would be plenty of men willing to explain it to you.”
“Oh, joy. I can’t wait.” I roll my eyes but laugh anyway.
Hey, this is my life. This is what I do. Nobody ever said it would be easy.
“So, you’re committing to this? Finding a hockey player for your next book?”
I stick my tongue out at her and make my voice sound nasally. “Yes, Miss Hayley.”
“And you’re going to give it your all because you’re Kitty fucking Valentine and that’s what you do?”
It’s not so easy to make a snarky response when she puts it that way. “Yes, I’m going to give it my all.”
“Atta girl. Now, get your butt out of here since I know you’re dying to go check on Matt.” She pops an olive into her mouth and grins. “Don’t even pretend like you’re not.”
“I wish you weren’t such a know-it-all.” I grab my things and let Miss Always Right pay the bill. I need to get Matt some wellness supplies.
See? How the heck am I supposed to date somebody when Matt keeps creeping into my heart more and more each day.
CHAPTER TWO
By the time I reach the apartment, Matt’s awake and watching TV with Phoebe curled up beside him on the couch. He looks suspiciously cleaner than before, like he dragged himself into the shower for the sake of seeing me.
Though I could be imagining that.
It’s easy to let my imagination run away with me after that kiss. The most unexpected kiss I’ve ever received in my whole life, which is saying something since I’ve been on the receiving end of a few unfortunate kisses.
Those kisses usually took place in dimly lit clubs and bars though and once during a concert when the guy was so drunk that he mistook me for his girlfriend.
Matt’s kiss took place in broad daylight, in his kitchen, while we were both stone-cold sober. There was no mistaking me for anybody else.
He offers a sheepish smile. “Thanks for looking out for Phoebe. She would rather be in pain than pee in the house.” This earns her a kiss on top of her head. She gazes up at him in adoration.
“She’s well-trained.” I hold up a bag. “Pho? I thought it might help.”
“Oh, thank you. I was just wondering if I should get up and fix something.”
“You should’ve told me you weren’t feeling well.” I set things up on the coffee table before going to the kitchen to get him something to drink.
“I don’t do well with being taken care of. Besides, aren’t guys supposed to be tough?”
Sometimes, it’s too much effort to even hide an eye roll. This is one of those times. “Gimme a break. I know you can be stubborn, but that’s a little much, even for you.”
“Stubborn, huh?”
“I get to call you that when I bring life-saving food and set it up for you.” I nod toward the dog. “And when I take valuable time from happy hour to walk your dog.”
“Oh, you went out earlier?” He looks me up and down. “You do look nice.”
Darn it, I wish he wouldn’t hand out casual compliments like that. Back in the pre-kiss days, I would’ve made a snarky comment about how bad he must think I look the rest of the time.
I didn’t put a ton of effort into my look for the evening since I knew I was going to get an earful and not much else.
Now? I have to turn my attention to the soup I’m pouring out for myself, so he won’t see how flustered that tiny compliment made me.
“Thanks. Hayley approved. So did the guys who tried to pick us up.”
A quick glance in his direction reveals his tightening jaw. So, maybe I shouldn’t have added that part, but I can’t help myself when the opportunity is right there in front of me. We haven’t talked about that moment in the kitchen since things went south with Paxton, which is probably for the best.
Even if it leaves me with a ton of questions. I don’t think I can be blamed for testing the waters, seeing where he stands.
“She shut them down though. She’s good at that. Tons of practice.” I can’t leave the poor guy hanging when he’s not feeling well.
“Yeah, I can see how she’d attract a lot of attention.”
I wait, staring at him. When he doesn’t continue, I arch an eyebrow. “And?”
“And what?”
“What am I, chopped liver?”
“Nope. You’re not going to trick me into giving you a compliment.”
“I didn’t know I needed to trick you.” I wave an arm, indicating the soup and multiple containers of toppings and proteins. “Look at all the trouble I went to, and you can’t even give me a teeny compliment?”
“I already told you, you look nice. I’m a one-compliment-per-night sort of guy.” He takes a noisy slurp of his soup, which is heavy on jalapeños and Sriracha. “And thank you for this.”
I toss him a tissue box since nobody’s sinuses can stay packed after all that heat. “So, tell me, how long have you felt sick?”
“A few days, I guess. I have plenty of sick and vacation time banked, so it’s been easy to lose track of which day it is.”
When he mentions that, I can’t help but think about the weeks I’ve spent not working. It was one thing when Maggie forced me into a short sabbatical, but this has been ridiculous. I haven’t been able to talk about it with Matt either since I haven’t wanted to explain just why I’ve been unwilling to date somebody new.
Sure, I could use Paxton as an excuse with Matt since, of all people, he knows how betrayed I felt. But it’s one thing to tell a fib based in reality over the phone or through email when I’m talking with Maggie. It’s a whole other story when I have to lie to somebody’s face—especially when they are part of the lie, whether they know it or not.
“It’s easy to lose track of time when you aren’t working,” I reply. Settling for a vague answer.
“And when you feel like you’ll never be able to breathe through your nose again. Colds are the worst.” He blows his nose noisily, as if punctuating that statement.
“And here I was, thinking you were avoiding me.”
“No, nothing as dramatic as that. Though you’ve been quiet lately too. I figured you were busy, working on the next book.”
Why does everything with Matt feel like it’s so much more important now? Like everything has extra meaning, deeper significance? Back in the day, I would’ve happily talked about my work. If not happily, eagerly. Openly. I wouldn’t have felt this twinge of awkwardness, wishing he hadn’t mentioned it.